Honestly I am not really sure how I'm doing these days. The best thing I can come up with is that I am having post traumatic stress something or other. I know it has been three months since surgery, but I am still not connected to my body. It's weird. I think I'm just going to go with it for a while until I meet myself coming in from the outside.
So... we were at Coney Island last week as part of our visit to New York. My sweet sister thought Taylor might enjoy some of the rides. We walked along the boardwalk, he rode four rides and boom...we had "done" Coney Island. Bam.
Taylor is 28. Taylor is 28 years old. I have been his mama for 28 years now. You'd think I'd be getting used to things. Sometimes I am gripped with emotion from out of nowhere. I gulp.
Watching my precious son walk up to entrance to "The Flying Whales" just about did me in. It was early Sunday morning; he was the only rider on this ride. Taylor was taller than the "You Must be THIS tall to ride this ride." But the nice ticket-taker man let him on anyway.
Taylor's face was one of pure delight. He was thrilled. No scream machine could have evoked the same look of "I've Got This!" than those flying whales. He ruled that ride. And for about 7 seconds I cried---deep, riveting, internal sobs. "IS THIS MY LIFE???"
Yep, sure is.
He was SO happy.
What else is there really?