One hot July summer morning had a surprise waiting for me

 to see. An Italian boy that looks just like me. This can not be I

whispered  lowly. I already had three children to grow up before

my eyes, living their own lives.

Little did I know, my garden was missing a fourth flower.

The heavens open her mouth and chose me to be your mother.

Now, I lay flat down staring up at the ceiling listening to chatter

and laughter. While, I held onto my fret that shook me into a

nervous wreck.

I bit my lip in great expectations of many congratulations!

As a delicate baby came out throwing a fit. I was forty two

years old, when I was told you had long black hair, bronze skin

 just as your father walked in.

 "Look at your beauitful Italian boy," said the nurse.

Blissfully wiggling all ten toes. As I touch and tickle your cute

little nose. After the doctor lightly spanked my baby's red bottom.

I thanked God from my bed, while I kissed my beauitful Italian

boy's head. Then, the spirits of our Italian ancestors gathered in joy

by our side to sing you a bellissima lullaby.

Staying up late with you is always great and alot of fun as I read

 books to my son. It's you and I watching Popeye on Boomerang.

 Thomas the Train whoo-hoo. Come aboard Dinosaur Train

 whistles in your mother and father's brain. Toy Story,

Cat In The Hat. My Italian boy points his finger and ask,

What is that?

The stars in the sky have dim their lights. My Italian boy 's

brown eyes are shut tight. Not before, I kiss you goodnight.

Written by Valerie Crader May 30, 2012