FROM THE WOMB TO THE TOMB
It's the call you dread...the one when the phone rings about 4 a.m. in the morning and the voice on the other end of the line says, "You son is going to be alright...." After you pick yourself up off the floor, you ask, "Which son?" then you ask "What happened?" and then you just listen as hard as you can because your heart's beating so fast it's drowning out what the doctor is telling you.
As long as we mothers shall live, we will always be steeling ourselves for one of these call. When the phone rings at such an hour, we know it's probably not a Nielsen Survey, or the State Troupers wanting a donation, it's that call.
Spexy Lady in her early morning stupor got one of those calls, and thankfully, it wasn't as serious as it could be...too much alcohol, too much testosterone on someone's part and precious youngest son's face happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This too will heal.
Until the next spex-tacular life moment...
As long as we mothers shall live, we will always be steeling ourselves for one of these call. When the phone rings at such an hour, we know it's probably not a Nielsen Survey, or the State Troupers wanting a donation, it's that call.
Spexy Lady in her early morning stupor got one of those calls, and thankfully, it wasn't as serious as it could be...too much alcohol, too much testosterone on someone's part and precious youngest son's face happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This too will heal.
Until the next spex-tacular life moment...
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