I really want to share my pain with other mothers. I can't be the only one on the verge of a nervous breakdown because, when I was young, I made the mistake of giving birth to a son! A fine lad, no doubt, pure pride, unlimited adoration but also a handful! I don't want to confuse or tire you. I just want to express my pain somewhere, I found a pencil and paper handy, I found an outlet… Because I did it, I don't deny it. Nor do I forget my joy that, as a true Greek mother, I had a son, and I deserve it since I didn't ask. Because they say it clearly: "You didn't know! You didn't ask?" May my little one be healthy but he troubled me and still troubles me, and I am certain he will continue to do so until he gets bored. First was infancy, well, we got through it, let's say, okay. He was hungry every two hours, but when you fed him, he closed his little mouth and we had peace for at most an hour. Then came childhood. That's when things got difficult because he turned out to be hyperactive, my dear, and I found myself running around trying to catch him before he destroyed everything in his path.
We gave, we took, we enrolled him in school. I breathed a sigh of relief, or so I thought, because I soon realized I was terribly mistaken! Once a week, or even twice if I’m not exaggerating, the teacher would call me to list the exploits of my Digenis, which were… countless. He wasn’t bad, no. Everyone spoke of his kindness and politeness. Whatever he did, the shameless things, he admitted it and apologized. Disarming but also a handful. As if all the rest weren’t enough, he had another… quality to call it, a flaw to characterize it, what can I tell you, I’m a mother. Strong-built from babyhood, with incredible strength in his hands, he became a public danger to all the other children just by deciding to play.