Give me strength to raise a healthy man from the little baby boy I have made. Give me the strength to remember every little league game, forgotten lunch, and left-at-home-homework assignments. For I am new at this mommy thing and barely managed to make it through childhood unscathed.
Give him strength lord, to make it to the potty before he sh*ts his pants in the kindergarten classroom. Encourage him to draw inside the lines so the anal art teacher doesn’t give him a C, and occasionally, allow him to be captain of the kickball team, so that he can pick the jerk of the class last and put that butt-head in his place.
May his middle school years be without screeching from his voice changing, bloody noses caused by humidity, or getting depants’d by the school bully. May he also be tollerant of middle school girls. Because they can be viscous little darlings who circle poor unsuspecting boys and force them into relationships.
Should he become a bully, help me teach him the path to redemption and respect his fellow classmates. Should he be bullied, keep me from making irrational decisions and chasing said bullies around the playground and throwing soccer balls at their family jewels.
Let him go easy on the amount of Axe Body Spray he uses, and may the acne come and go before the girls start to like boys. That may be really early. Just try to keep his acne down to a few important hallmarks, like homecoming dance but hopefully gone before senior photos.
I pray lord, I pray that when he learns the big curse words that he does not use them at every chance he gets or that they do not sprinkle his sentences in place of verbs, adjectives, and nouns. That he learns the value of a hard days work, because lord you know, I will put that boy to work if he smarts off at me. And generally, please let me get through his room with ease. That if he does not keep it *clean* at least let there be light, and a pathway with visible flooring.
When it comes to picking a degree, please guide him to the path of an Engineer, a practicing doctor, not a PHD with hundreds of thousands of dollars in school debt and living in my basement, or an MBA, except marketing, marketing is for schmucks. Lead him away from professional sports. We don’t have that kind of money for coaches or private leagues, and I don’t think I could take sitting on hard aluminum benches watching back to back baseball games on a hot summer day. Should he drink alcohol, or smoke pot, let him realize that it has a time and place, but that he needs to focus on a bigger picture, and not get addicted to a bar stool.
May he find a career, a job, something to send him out of my house by the age of twenty-five and not into the arms of a devil woman who will eat his soul. Just as the mothers of daughters do not want them to run off with guys on motorcycles, I do not want my son to run off with a pierced up, multi-color hair hussy who resembles Amy Winehouse. May he always always always use a condom until he is ready to be a father or that he is 100% positive that she is on birth control. Guide him to a good woman. One who will eat my food and not complain about it on the car ride back home.
Have I left anything out, lord? Remind him to bathe, pick up his dirty laundry, and eat a vegetable once in a while, when I am no longer around to nag him.