I can't be the only one ready to have a nervous breakdown because, when I was young, I made the mistake of giving birth to a son! A brave boy, I won't deny, a pure pride, an endless love but also a trouble! I don't want to confuse or bore you. I just need to share my pain, so I grabbed a pen and paper, found an outlet... Because I made him, I don't deny it. Nor do I forget the joy I felt as a true Greek mother, having a son, and I deserve whatever comes my way since I didn't ask. Because it's clear: "You didn't know! You didn't ask?" I hope my son grows up healthy, but he has caused me trouble and continues to do so, and I am confident he will keep doing it until he gets tired. First was the infant age, well, we got through it, let's say, okay. He was hungry every two hours, but when you fed him, he would close his little mouth and we would have peace for about an hour at most. Then came childhood. Things got more difficult because he turned out to be hyperactive, my golden boy, and I found myself running around to keep up before he demolished everything in his path.
We gave, we took, we put him in school. I thought I was catching my breath, or so I believed, but I quickly realized I was terribly mistaken! Once a week, or maybe even twice to call me excessive, the teacher would call to list my Digenis's achievements, which were... countless. He wasn't bad, no. Everyone talked about his kindness and politeness. Whatever he did, he admitted to his mischief and apologized. Disarming but also a troublemaker. Not only that, he had another... talent, or rather a flaw, I don't know what to call it, I am a mother. Built sturdy since infancy, with incredible strength in his hands, he became a public danger to all other children just by deciding to play.
