 At 11:20 a.m. on May 22, 1995, I gave birth to a 5 pound, 10 ounce baby boy named Ethan Blake Higgs. I was 22 years old. When the nurses put the tiny bundle in my arms, the first thing out of my mouth was, “What do I do now?”
Clueless does not even begin to cover it. This week, Ethan will turn 19, the same age his father was when I met him. Which means that, if he finds a girl as naive as I was and knocks her up, I could legitimately become a grandmother at any time. Holy shit. Pass the Tylenol.
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 One of my favorite late-1980s science fiction movies is an under-the-sea adventure, called “The Abyss,” starring Ed Harris and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. Most of the action takes place on an oil rig resting on the Atlantic Ocean floor.
There’s a scene where Harris’ lead character, Bud, has to dive into ridiculously deep waters to save the crew from certain death. To survive that insane depth, he has to employ a special suit with a weird breathing device that aspirates liquid instead of air. At first, Bud fights against inhaling the strange, milky fluid. As it enters his lungs, his body violently rebels. But then he relaxes a bit and starts to get used to this new way of breathing. Pretty soon, he’s good to go.  Since he was born in October 2012, I have made a concerted effort to visit with my sweet little (honorary) nephew, Raylan, at least a few times a month. (OK, I go over there to see his parents, too. His mom is my best friend, Whitney.)
During my last visit, Whitney and I were talking about Raylan’s many emerging, unique traits — what makes him giggle like a madman, what foods he loves, and which of his toys and blankets he favors. It’s wonderful to live vicariously through this new little family, because God knows I am done having babies myself. Talking about baby stuff got me to thinking about my son, Ethan’s, favorites back in the day. He’s 18 now, so most of his playthings are packed away in our basement for safekeeping, except for the few he has kept in random drawers in his room.  As I was flipping through one of the trashy magazines I brought to the pool with me the other day, I came across the headline on a photo of Jennie Garth — you know, Kelly from 90210 — that referred to her as a “single parent.” My first reaction as I stared at this perfectly put-together celeb, smiling from ear to ear in her designer gown was, “Fuck her… she’s no single parent.”
Ahem, where did THAT come from? See, my only son, Ethan’s, father was a contributing parent for a sum total of five out of his 18 years. (In other words, not for long.) The rest of the time, he was MIA and the responsibility for raising our child fell solely in my lap. I’m not nailing myself up on a cross here, expecting a standing ovation or even a pat on the back, but it ticks me off to be grouped under the same moniker as someone who clearly has a hell of a lot more resources than I ever did.  My only son, Ethan Blake Higgs, will celebrate a milestone birthday this week, on May 22, and I’m having some conflicting feelings about it.
Eighteen. My oh my, how time has flown. I can still remember our first day home from Baptist East Hospital in 1995, and how terrified I was that I would break him. I didn’t. In fact, I am thrilled to say I have successfully kept another human being alive and in one piece all the way from birth to adulthood. Other parents reading this know that sometimes, simply keeping our kids safe from physical harm is the best we can do.  It was around Christmas time last year when I finally grew the cojones to stand up for myself in the context of an extremely rocky juncture of my marriage.
Needless to say, it did not go over well, and it marked the beginning of the end of that relationship. I remember feeling very anxious and unhappy during the Christmas season, not to mention resentful of my husband for casting such a pall on my favorite holiday. This year, I am in a much better place on nearly every level, so I have been looking forward to Christmas for months. I decorated my house the day after Thanksgiving, I've been blaring Christmas music in my car every day since then, and –- as evidenced by my Facebook posts -- I went into a baking frenzy a couple weeks back. This year, the spirit grabbed me by the waist and vigorously spun me around on the evergreen-adorned dance floor, and I let it. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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