One of her favorite stories to tell about me is when I said my first sentence.
I was nine months old. My older brother, Christian had some crackers. I said, "I want some too."
My mother was holding me at the time and quickly put me down and walked across the room and then realized that I was between her and the exit. She said that she thought I was possessed because she never had heard of a child speaking in complete sentences so young. (She watched a lot of X-Files in those days.)
After that first sentence I just kept talking. Apparently there were quite a few babysitters who, although warned, had their hair standing on end after a night with me yapping away. And because I was so vocal lots of people thought I was older than I really was and told my mom that she shouldn't carry me around so much, to just let me walk; but I was talking for a while before I took my first steps. I don't remember these occasions myself, but I've heard the stories dozens of times.
That's what moms do. They tell you how you were, what you can be and they save piles of scribbles that you lovingly drew for them.
Thank you Mom. And thank you Chris.