Biscuit's Little Brother

Today I watched you walk around the globe three times to signify the 3 years of your life.  Your teacher asked us to share memories from each year of your life and I was speechless.  How can I pick a set of memories to share?  Did she have any clue what she was asking me to do?  Three years ago on a hot summer day, we went in to see if they could do a “version” because we had learned you were breech about a week prior.  I thought your little butt was awfully hard poking up under my ribs and then it all made sense when they told me that was your head:) So I worked and tried to get you to flip, to put your head down…daddy and I spent nights out on the back deck with tiny sticks burning at my big toe (moxibustion) and drank a little wine to relax my muscles before doing hand stands in the pool, but here we were and you were still head up.  The whole time, I also spoke to you and reassured you that it was okay if you couldn’t or decided not to flip around.  I told you I trusted you and that you could do what you needed to, that we would be okay no matter what.  I’m not sure I really believed that, but I wanted to. Perhaps I had started to learn a lesson I would be taught over and over again through these first three years, that I really don’t have as much control as I think I do and that the vulnerability of being a mother is absolutely terrifying.  So we try and we work and we read and we do whatever we can that we think might keep you safe and ultimately also protect our own very fragile hearts.  So on that hot summer day, I went in again saying “whatever needs to happen”, but really I was praying it would work…well things did not go as expected and we were told that you would be born the next morning.  That night I lay awake all night wondering if we were doing the right thing for you. Little did I know how often I would return to that same question over the next three years and likely will for the rest of my life over every decision we make.  At 6:22 am you came into the world, you cried loud, scored a 9 on the apgar and latched immediately.  It was a beautiful day-fall had come over night and all was right with the world.  I never let you go those first days.  I was so intent on skin-to skin that I kept you on my chest- later I regretted that decision since that was the only place you would sleep, but during those first few days, I couldn’t imagine putting you down.  A month later, I was desperate to put you down.  I still loved having you close to me, but motherhood had worn me out.  You struggled to find contentment those first months of your life and we were working round the clock to try and soothe you.  Once again, I tried acceptance but also fought hard to make things different for you (and me).  This dance has continued for the last three years, at every turn I am challenged and awed by you.  You have huge, bold energy.  You fill up a room.  You are self-assured and brave.  You are funny and inquisitive.  You are incredibly strong willed and persistent.  As your mother, it is daunting to be responsible for nurturing such a big spirit.  It has been a roller coaster of emotion.  I have never felt such exhaustion and such elation.  Your intensity and the intensity of parenthood delights me and terrifies me.  I am working on trusting you….and trusting me.  So when she asks me for memories of the last three years, I am overcome by the love, joy, fear and exhaustion that we have experienced. I cannot put into words yet all the ways I am changed but I am forever changed in deep, deep ways that I may never be able to articulate.  And then she asks for my wishes for your third year and once again, I am so completely overwhelmed.  How do you share your deepest wishes with a room full of 3 year olds? Does she really want to know that I wish you would never have to experience any pain in your life?  That I wish you would stay a little, curious, innocent boy forever.  That I wish that incredible spirit you possess will never get trampled on.  Or my wishes for myself-that I can be the best parent to you and learn to always delight in your intensity rather than allowing my fear to squash it.  That I can really SEE you and celebrate exactly who you are.  That I can lean into my own vulnerability so I can experience the joy and pain with you rather than pulling back.  It is hard to remember life before you and I never want to know this life without you.  Thank you for all the challenges and all of the joy.  You are such a gift and I feel incredibly honored and humbled to be your mother.  I love you.