Chapter Eighteen - Ask Any Mother

Friday, February 21st, 2020: A Special Guest!

Recovery has been going exceptionally well. Over the past few days, I’ve felt strong, fast, and awake. I think I’ve graduated from middle-aged pug to a fierce but lazy cat who can move fast when she needs to but still very much enjoys napping in the sun.

Today, my fabulous mother has done the hard work of writing a blog post for you to enjoy. Many of you have complimented my writing style, which has surprised me and also brings me so much joy. However, I cannot take full responsibility for this. As you’ll soon learn, my mother is also an exceptional writer. Her mother, my grandmother, was a published author. I come from a long line of incredible writers, incredible storytellers, and owe credit to these amazing ladies for passing along some of their gifts. Enjoy the following sweet, funny, and slightly embarrassing childhood story from my amazing mother, Mary:

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Ask any mother if her child is special, and then ask her what were the first signs; we all have our stories. Children can be special in a myriad of splendorous ways. I could talk about so many ways my daughter is special, but lately I have primarily thought about that brain of hers. Wow.

Reading to my children was one of my greatest pleasures in early motherhood. What a win/win situation – the warmth of a content child on one’s lap, the quiet transition to nap or bedtime, and the hope that one is transforming the little one into a reader – this is all good stuff.

Often, this daughter of mine would “help” me read the book. Guessing? Memorizing? Who cares. She was actively participating. I didn’t give it much thought.

I was home on maternity leave when she was 3 ½ years old. I realized I needed to make a run to a local store for some supplies, and I didn’t want to tell her where we were going because I knew I would be bombarded with requests. No doubt she already wanted a pair of bad ass boots for her tiny little feet.

I packed up my missy and her newborn brother and drove to this undisclosed location. The longer I could avoid the requests, the better. As we pulled into the parking lot, she looked up and said, “TOYS ‘R’ ‘R’ US. Toys are us??!!”

My immediate reaction was, “Oh, s***. She knows where we are even before we walk in the door.” (I think every parent out there understands this reaction.) My second reaction was, “How interesting that she interpreted the backwards “R” as two R’s!” My somewhat delayed reaction was, “OMG. She read that sign. How long has she been reading??”

3 and ½, folks. 3 and ½. That brain of hers has always been busy.

Bedtimes were not easy for her. She had a lot going on in that head. She liked to share what was going on in her head. This involved a lot of listening on my part. A. Lot. I admit sometimes I was more interested in shutting down my own brain and going to bed. I probably missed a lot of great stuff. I have forgotten even more. But we had one conversation when she was four years old that, frankly, gave me chills.

She was calmly lying in bed chatting on and on about this or that when she said something about “Monsieur.” She was telling me what “Monsieur” was interested in. I asked her who she was talking about, and she tapped the side of her head and said, “You know. In here!!”

Her brain. She was talking about her brain. She had named her brain. She had given her brain a French male designation. I don’t speak French. She didn’t speak French at the time. I suppose we may have read a book with the word in it. Who the hell knows. That brain has always been busy.

I spoke quietly to Monsieur before the biopsy. I told M to figure out a way to get rid of the bad parts and just keep the good parts. I would like to think M is working on this project. It has to - because my child is special. Ask any mother.

Fondly,

Courtney’s mother

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