Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
My strong, independent child has his shirt on backward and is trying to figure out how to put his right shoe on his left foot. Every time I attempt to correct him or, God forbid, help him, he swats my hands away. About five feet to my left is the cabinet, and I look at it more than once, weighing the pros and cons of bribing him with cookies to let me put his shoes on for him and turn his shirt around.
Pro- might get out of the house before noon.
Con- cookies are not a nutritious breakfast.
Eventually, I give in, going and sliding out his favorite brand of cookies. The wrinkling of the package grabs his attention immediately, the shoe abandoned on the ground as he walks toward me.
“Mommy puts on your shoes, and you get a cookie,” I tell him, watching for agreement. He pauses to think about it, and I can almost see him making a pro and con list in his head like I had moments before. It’s one of my favorite things about watching him grow up. His brain has always worked in such interesting ways. After weighing his decision, he gives me a single, decisive head nod.
When Matteo was younger, I was always worried about his speech. I worried about a lot of things. His pediatrician said it was normal for a first-time mom, but his lack of speech took her by surprise. He said his first word at 11 months and decided to barely say anything else until days shy of his third birthday.
He doesn’t have any cognitive delays, just a man of few words.
I make quick work of putting his shoes on his feet while he happily munches on his cookie. I swiftly strap him into his car seat. He doesn’t fight me today as I tighten the straps on him, which is a miracle. And he signs I love you to me. His extended pinky, pointed finger, and thumb make it look a little like he’s rocking out at a concert. Sign language is something his speech therapist recommended. Though he knows how to speak, he still prefers to use signs most of the time.
This semester, I have all online classes. It’s close to a miracle I managed to avoid having to go onto campus for the entire semester. The online classes always fill up quickly. It’s difficult being a single mom, and the flexibility of online classes saves me a lot of hassle. Matteo attends preschool now, and one of his friend’s moms will watch him while I’m at my internship, but childcare options are limited when I don’t have any family around. Luckily, I haven’t had to work to support Matteo and myself. It’s a luxury I know most moms don’t have. Perks of having a father that works for the mafia, I guess.
I don’t think my father ever intended on telling me who he works for, or what his job entails. And if it wasn’t for me falling pregnant with Enzo’s child, I don’t think he ever would have.
He'd done everything he could to shield me from his business associates, which is why he had so many rules at the wedding. Rules I had promptly broken. And those decisions left me carrying who the Lombardi family will believe to be the heir to their crime empire if they ever find out. So, he hid me away from the world. He did everything as carefully as he could, sending me to live with my aunt in Colorado and hiring private nurse-midwives who provided all my care in my aunt’s home. I gave birth in a tub in her living room so that my name wouldn’t pop up in any major EMRs. Then I moved away to go to university, taking my small child with me. Kansas State University was a far cry from Brown University, but my life has strayed so far from the path I thought it was going to go down.
I don’t regret a single second of it.
Thinking about it always inevitably ends up with me thinking about Enzo, though I try not to. My heart cries out some days because Matteo looks so much like him. And though I have no way of knowing if he would have wanted Matteo and me around, my head always conjures up these images of the three of us as a family.
I wipe the thought from my head as soon as it enters. There may only ever be two stockings hanging above the fireplace on Christmas, but I don’t need anything more.
We pull up to the preschool Matteo will be attending. It’s attached to the elementary school and is only a two-minute drive and a ten-minute walk. If I ever get my life together enough to not be running around like a headless chicken, I think it would be nice to walk him to preschool in the mornings.