My son, who is just a few months short of his 21st birthday, has inherited a self-destructive bent from his mother. Although he’s very smart, and doing well at the university, i still worry about him. A lot.
While home on my lunch hour this week, we had a lovely mother-son text exchange. Out of the blue, i got this:
The Boy: Do you know my blood type?
daisyfae: O pos – Why are you asking?
The Boy: Well, I’m at this hospital, and they think it might be relevant. Just kidding. We were going over it in biology and I was curious.
daisyfae: Fuck. You.
My mantra regarding my son is “keep him alive til he’s 25”. Frequently, i wonder if his ol’ lady is the greatest threat to his continued existence…
