Happy 19th Birthday ! My Dear Peter Today I reflect on the many days and nights of our 19 years of life together. Moments those were just ours to share. Moments when we’ve laughed, so hard, and moments where we’ve looked across the room at one another, in response to a comment, an occurrence, something on television, and without saying a word, we’ve shared so many thoughts. We’ve fought one another with anger and tears. We’ve held hands and cried when life was sad. I’ve bandaged you up and sat you down. I’ve dragged you along and chased after you. I’ve wanted you to hurry up and fall asleep and then, I would just sit there by your bedside, stroking your forehead, brushing your hair back, watching time pass too quickly as your face turned from tender infant to messy toddler to schoolboy and adolescent to this, the young man whose razor stubble is thick and hides the softness of your chin. I was thinking today, about the many things I’ve given up in trade for the honor of having spent these past nineteen years as your Mama. Once upon a time I was chiseled in curves and unbending in strength. I traded it for the heaviness of pregnancy and the postnatal beauty of nursing and softness. I used to stay up late at night, going wherever I wanted, traveled all over the world, catching rides and wandering. I’d drink if I wanted to. I’d eat when hungry, and sometimes, not at all. I traded that for nights spent rocking you to sleep, nights of feedings and worrying. I traded it for healthy dinners and giant breakfasts. I traded pizza and pop for begging a little person to eat broccoli. I traded in my right to eat the last cookie. And well, eventually, I traded my nights of freedom for nights of homework. Nights with you while we worked science projects and late assignments and awful night I remember crying because I couldn’t figure out your math. I traded my nights of sleep for listening to hear the sound of your car pulling in the garage, the text tone that signals your nightly “coming home now” or “Goodnight, Mama, I’m staying at ____ house tonight”. I traded having a glass of wine (yes, you’re right, a shot of rum or what ever) on a weekend evening with the promise, “It doesn’t matter what time it is, or where you are, just call me and I’ll come pick you up”. I used to have the longest, laziest baths. I’d close a door and lock it to read a book while soaking in fragrant bubbles, using my toes to turn on the tap and reheat the water every so often. But then, I traded that for the sound of your little beautiful voice at the door, “mama, can I come in there?” and the “But Mom, I have to pee!” I traded it for things like when we’d haul in your titanic boat and added blue food coloring to the water and play “beach” in the bathroom. I traded it for your razors left in the bathroom and a clump of wet towels left after your marathon of teenaged showers with all the friends you had sleep over. For years, I traded in literature for Mama! To instead read “Do You Love Me? “Arthur” books and the” Sandman “book. For years, I listened to kiddie songs and sing-alongs and traded in my music for rhymes and silliness. Then, one day, you came back from school with a backpack full of Shakespeare and loud music blasting. Then I realized I just wanted to tuck you into bed with I’ll Love You Forever and sing you Baby Mine. I used to not really think too much about the impact of my choices on others. But then, in one fell swoop, I traded “ah, whatever” for the guilt-o-matic gene of motherhood. I used to figure, “it’ll all work out” but traded that for lying in bed at night rethinking arguments we may have had, the impact of my choice of lunch snacks, whether or not I’d scarred you forever by saying “yes” or “no” or whether or not I could keep my promise to you that all your days and dreams would be safe and sweet. I traded selfishness for selflessness and spent many nights in these nineteen years trying to find the balance between giving and being. I traded “me in” for motherhood. Once upon a time, I did what I wanted, without much of an audience. I traded that for eyes that see me, inside and out. For a million times asked “why” and “how come?” and “who says I’ve got to?” I traded countless minutes of my life for answering “I don’t have to explain why. I’m your Mother” only to spend the next fifteen minutes answering six more “why” choruses. Once upon a time, the world passed me by without my seeing too much of it. I was in a rush. I was doing stuff. I traded that for days spend identifying bugs and spiders. I traded shopping expeditions for adventures in forests and building sandcastles, for zoo trips and raising geese, chickens and turkeys. I traded painting my nails for painting pictures, pushing trucks, playing cars. I traded sleeping late and hangovers for a thousand days of the Titanic and games of building blocks and playing with trains! Or waking up at 1AM to lie on the deck with you to look at the stars and the moon! (I also traded being right and being the wisest person in your world with hearing “your argument is invalid” and being lawyered by my own son!) I used to have this shell… this… distance between myself and the world. Not a mask or a hidden place, but it’s as if there was a heart I lived with and then, one day, you came along and I traded it for this heart of softness that makes me cry over nothing more than the way the sun looks as it falls upon your face while you’re running through a field. And a fierceness, a strength that fills me with the certainty that if ever, someone messed with you, they’d hope that Liam Neeson of Taken fame would come for them, instead of me! I don’t have a lot of money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career as a Mom. Skills that allow me to do whatever I needed to protect my children, to give them what they needed, skills that make me a nightmare for anyone who would attempt to get between me and my children. To provide to love to always be there for you! I never knew that seeing another person bleed could cut your heart. I never knew that saying “no “could feel so wretched. I never knew I could be someone’s lifeline and that I’d have to learn to let go. I never knew I could laugh so hard, cry so deeply, love so fiercely and feel so proud. I never knew that I’d trade in so little and get so much in return. I never knew that my investment would find me so, so rich in return. I never knew that even with all my failures, even with all the junk we’ve been through and the special brand of bizarre-woman that I am, I’d be on the receiving end of such grace and such joy, such trust and wonder and acceptance. I never knew how amazingly full my heart could be just watching another human sit in the seat beside me as we drive along country roads, listening to music holding hands. I never knew that the sight of you giving your valedictorian speech could cause my heart to burst out of my eyes in tears, or stop my breath in my throat and cause life to stand still. I never knew that I could be forgiven so much, respected so much, loved or believed in so much. I never knew that I was capable of such a depth of love. And hope. And certainty. The thought that I am only 19-years into this investment, that I have so many, many more days to spend wearing the honor that is being your Mom are the most amazing gift of grace and joy I have ever known. I’m proud of you, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about the man you have grown to be. You’ll trade moments of your life for experiences and for others, as well. You’ll be wise about it, measuring out what you want and what you need, what you hope for and what’s worth the exchange. And one day, you will trade in many of these same things as I have—sleep and time, self and selfishness—my hope, my prayer, my certainty, is that what you receive in return will be as amazing, as wondrous and humbling as what has been given to me in return for my feeble investment. I will love you always forever Mama
Posted on: Mon, 03 Feb 2014 12:43:45 +0000
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