Tremendous Love

Mr. No Hair

Look at that little bald head.

I wake up every morning, walk down the hall to his crib, peer over the railing, whisper “Good morning, handsome” to him, watch him smile at me in reply, and scoop him up into my arms.

Then I kiss his little bald head.

When I lay him down on the couch or our bed so I can prepare myself to nurse him, I look at his sweet face and hold one-sided conversations with him: “Why hello, good-looking! What’s on the agenda today?” I pick him up and get him ready to fill his belly.

Then I rub his little bald head.

I strip him down to get ready for bathtime: onesie off, diaper off, bath water running at a comfortable lukewarm. I stick him in his whale-shaped bathtub and sing softly to him while I’m cleaning his itty bitty body.

Then I scrub his little bald head.

When he is at his grouchiest, his grumpiest, his bitchiest…I sigh loudly, speak to him calmly, let him know that I hear him and want to help him.

Then I pat his little bald head.

When it’s nighttime and I am preparing him for bed, I go through the whole routine…diaper change. Check. Food prepared. Check. Pajamas on. Check.

I cradle him in my arms, sometimes so tightly that I think I might hurt him accidentally. I whisper to him how much I love him. I tell him I will always be around to watch him grow into an amazing man.

Yes.

I kiss his little bald head.

rough times

That’s my belly at 30 weeks.

At the time this picture was taken, I was on doctor-ordered bedrest. Ten glorious weeks of rest until A arrived (or so I thought). I spent a lot of that time watching movies, reading books, doing typical “nesting” things…

And then things changed. Quickly.

I ended up having him at 36 weeks, a whole month earlier than anticipated. It was -as expected- a total explosion of conflicting emotions: was I excited that I was finally “done” being pregnant, or was I terrified that I now had a baby to take care of wayyyy earlier than I thought I would? It was such an intense, intense time.

While I was pregnant, I hated it. I had terrible, terrible morning sickness that lasted most of my pregnancy. I got awful food poisoning during Christmas weekend. I gained almost 30 pounds of just water weight. I developed preeclampsia. Every day, I would look at my body in the mirror and say “Never, ever again.”

It pains me to have that recollection now because I realize, almost four months after giving birth, that I will never have that experience again.

I will never be pregnant with my first baby ever again.

I will never deliver my first baby ever again.

I will never learn how to be a mom to my first baby ever again.

I am so nostalgic for that time now, and I truly never thought I would say that.

I really miss that nervous anticipation of wanting to meet my baby. I really miss the quiet times early in the morning in the hospital, when it was just me & A watching the sun come up. I really miss getting to know him initially, trying to figure out his sneaky baby ways.

I don’t know where all of this nostalgia is coming from. Parenthood turns you into a giant sap, I guess.

the best day

Pedaling on an exercise bike on the back porch at dusk, while reading the Connecticut chapter of State By State (I think the chapter was written by Rick Moody).It was the perfect combination of amazing, clarifying weather and peaceful feelings after a hellish few months.

October 28, 2010. My wedding day. Of course. This is a no brainer. Everything was perfect. Everything was beautiful. I was so excited to start my life with J.

Watching The English Patient late one summer evening with our newly-purchased Netflix account while Josiah was on tour and I was on vacation. Was it the novelty & excitement of finally having Netflix? Was it the fact that it became my favorite movie when it ended? I don’t know…but whatever it was, it felt wonderful.

Sitting in the living room recently, reading the latest David McCullough book and drinking iced coffee, while the sun came in through the curtains and A slept next to me. Bliss.

Thursday, March 7, 2013. The night that A and I were alone in our hospital room all by ourselves, for the entirety of the night. Those sweet, still, silent moments. Just me and him.

Finally…

This one rainy late March evening in 2010. I don’t remember the whole context of the day but I remember wearing a black blazer, skinny jeans, and flat brown boots, and driving around town in my old Volvo with J. Most importantly, I remember thinking that everything would end up okay.

joy.

In my younger years.

It sounds so weird to say that. I will be twenty-four years old in less than two weeks. In case you didn’t know, twenty-four is not old. At all.

Yet, I really, truly feel like I have already seen, done, heard, accomplished, attempted so very very much. All at the ripe old age of almost-twenty-four.

There is a definite freedom to being young, regardless of what responsibilities and obligations you have. I mean, even though I am a wife and a mother, I am still young. That doesn’t change. I still possess a lot of the factors that contribute to the typical twentysomething. On the flip side, though, there is a lot about me and my lifestyle that are completely different than that typical twentysomething.

Spontaneity, for one.

I don’t miss the spontaneity of my former life at all. AT. ALL. I never was very spontaneous to begin with (I’m a Judger, not a Perceiver, you know) but when I was younger, single, not a mother, barely a student, just a barista…I just did.

I slept in a lot and wasted a lot of valuable, precious hours doing so. I pretty much dropped out of school because I thought it was pointless & expensive & redundant. I spent a lot of money that I didn’t have, and acquired a lot of stupid things I didn’t need. I went to church when I felt like it (which was not a lot) and when I did, I didn’t emotionally or spiritually connect to what I was hearing.

I don’t miss it.

I may despise the spontaneity and aimlessness and wandering of being young, but I definitely enjoy just being right now. Being focused. Being present. Being in the moment, soaking in whatever wonderful thing I’m witnessing my family doing.

Like watching my son smile at my husband. He’s learned to do that now. It’s amazing to see, and I’m so thankful my twenty-four year old self can appreciate the beauty behind it.

Even if I had to endure a lot of “spontaneous” credit card debt to get here.

Grateful.

look at that smile

"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a man, my son!”

This Kipling poem never rang truer than when I found out I was having a son.