I promised a significantly better post than yesterday's, and I shan't disappoint. I even used a spiffy word like "shan't," so you know there's something good coming.

In just a few short hours, my firstborn, my darling Intrepid, will turn thirteen.

Thir-freaking-teen.

That's, like, a teenager. An official teen boy will be living in our house, complete with the large appetite, odd smells, and soon-to-be-cracking voice that goes with the territory. I'm feeling oddly sentimental. I used to think I'd dread this moment, and instead I'm so gosh darn proud of the kid that I need to get my write on and tell everyone about how instrumental he's been in shaping our lives.

Of course, every boy in our batch of gremlins has brought with him drastic changes and lots of chaos, anxiety, stress, pure unbridled joy. But there's something really special about the first.

I don't love him any more than the others, just differently. It's hard to describe exactly, but I'll try: Remember your first love? And I don't mean the guy who dry humped you on his parents' corduroy couch, or the girl who made you tingly in your happy places but purposely gave you the wrong phone number after the dance. I mean the first one who really loved you, and who you loved back. The one you remember years later because it just felt so gosh darn good to be together, experiencing love for the first time. Everything he or she did was new and exciting and fresh. You couldn't wait to see him or her again. You could go on and on about how incredible the person is, or how needlessly long this paragraph is becoming because people obviously get the point by now and you should move on.

Now, add in a dash of whatever you felt when you realized what the stars and planets were, what it meant to have them there, and how amazed you were by the thought of an entire universe of wonders out there.

Now, fold those two ingredients together and mix in the immense pride and sense of accomplishment you had when you taught your puppy to "sit", and you have some kind of an idea.

Love + Wonder + Pride = Firstborn.

The greatest thing about firstborns is that the older the get, the more they impress you. Sure, walking was cool, and that first word - or whatever you convinced yourself sounded like a first word - was neat-o, but seeing your child perform a piano solo or win a spelling bee? That takes the sugar-free cake.

But with Intrepid, there's a little something extra: What sets him apart from a lot of other kids is that he's defied nearly every expectation of who he would become. I'm going to brag in two parts, starting now and concluding tomorrow, on his birthday. Prepare to roll your eyes a great deal as I take a trip down memory lane.

Hey, it's my blog and I'll brag if I want to. Want to stroke your own ego in a purely exhibitionist fashion? Write your own damn blog. This one's mine and I'm not afraid to use it.


We just barely escaped the stigma of teen parenting. I was nineteen, and Geekster and I had been together for just over two years when we realized that, despite the bleak picture painted by a doctor about my fertility, not using condoms could result in a pregnancy. Oops.

There was never a time when we didn't want the baby. The ultrasound tech dating my pregnancy asked that very personal question, and when I said we were happy to become parents, she zoomed in on my six week old embryo's heartbeat. I was blown away, completely smitten, and I walked out a mother.

I've had countless people say things like 'There's no way I could have been a mother at twenty.' Actually, you could have.

Unless you're a dude.

Anyway, I wouldn't recommend motherhood at that age for most people, but it's definitely doable. I'm going to step out of my usual grandiose skin for a minute and say, quite honestly, that there was nothing spectacular or unique about me.

Could you at least pretend to be shocked by this news? Thank you.

I was just a girl who loved a boy and made a baby with him. Then, we made a choice to have that baby (and I don't judge those who chose not to, just for the record). And then, we did everything we could to make it a good choice. It really was that simple.

In short, I wasn't born awesome: Motherhood made me awesome.

Were we scared? Of course. The Maven may be many things, but an idiot she is not. Geekster and I were poor, had very little education, no car or license, and had both only very recently quit smoking (like, maybe a week before conception). And folic acid? What on earth was that? I only started taking prenatal vitamins after my first doctor's visit at five weeks. "Scared" didn't even begin to describe it. But we were excited, too. And eager and happy to become parents, too. We felt ready emotionally and ready to grow our family. We would make it work, we said to each other.

There were several people who kindly informed us that having a baby at that time would be the end of our relationship, our aspirations to climb above the poverty line, and any chance at a life that wasn't straight out of an episode of Cops. Our baby would have only limited resources to become a well-adjusted, well-educated, productive member of society.

Supportive, positive people are wonderful, aren't they?

When I was alone, I would rub my belly and tell Embryo-trepid that it (we didn't know the gender) would be okay. Daddy and I wouldn't let anything bad happen. That together, we would shatter those stereotypes. After all, this child was from my womb, and therefore it was genetically impossible to suck.

And then, one day, at my routine 39 week checkup, I was told my blood pressure was suddenly sky high and I needed to get induced, like, now, because my baby and I were in danger. Young, first-time mothers are at a higher risk for preeclampsia. That was one stereotype my body was kind enough to honour, the bitch.

I'll spare you the gory details of a traumatic birth experience. Suffice to say that, fourty-eight hours later, what I knew about love and the meaning of life was instantly transformed with a cry.

My son entered my world, and that world shifted.


Continued tomorrow...




Oh, wait. I guess I should probably do some kind of cartoon thing, like this:

Will The Maven and Geekster feel they made a grave mistake?

Will their relationship fall apart?

Will baby Intrepid join a gang?

Will parenthood drive The Maven to drink (again?)

Stay tuned for another excited episode of As The Maven NaBloPoMos!