Dear Child,
I’ve been a mom for quite a while now and honestly, it’s hard to remember a time when I didn’t have kids. If I’m not currently doing something for one of you, then you can bet you are on my mind, as I think about what you are doing that day, what you have coming up, what you need, or when I’ll speak to you next. Being a mom is as natural to me as breathing. It’s who I am and what I do.
But it wasn’t always that way.
In less than a month, you’ll be celebrating your 23rd birthday and I’ll be remembering back to the day you were born, back to the time when I first became a mom, and I had no idea what I was doing.
When I found out I was pregnant, I devoured every book I could get my hands on (please remember there was no internet available to me back then, this was a lot harder than it would be today). I was determined to learn everything I could and to do everything right by you. I studied for nine months, the last three of which I didn’t even work. I just prepared.
I was ready.
Or so I thought.
When this tiny little bundle, wrapped up so sweetly, was placed in my arms I felt an enormous amount of pride. For nine months I had done everything I could to ensure you had the very best start in life. You were finally here now, and you were perfect. With your sweet little round head and dark eyes and hair, you were all mine.
I already knew I would love and protect you forever.
And then you cried. And cried again. And cried some more.
I spent two days in the hospital, struggling to find ways to get you to stop crying.
You were a little happier during the day, but the nights, when I really didn’t want to disturb anyone else, you cried. At one point, the nurses asked if I would like them to take you to the nursery and by that time, I was desperate for a few hours of sleep. I hated to say yes, but I did.
They brought you back to me in twenty minutes. They couldn’t get you to stop crying either.
Your dad seemed to have a knack for calming you down. He would pace the room, gently rocking you, and you would settle. I sat, tied to my hospital bed by an IV line, feeling utterly defeated.
When it was time to bring you home, I was nervous. On one hand, I was happy because we lived out in the country and I wouldn’t have to worry about your crying disturbing anyone else, but I still hadn’t figured out what to do with you.
Finally disconnected from my IV and able to get out of bed, I got myself ready as your dad held you. Once we were all packed up, he handed you to me so he could go bring the truck to the front door of the hospital. It was the longest five minutes of my life. You weren’t crying yet, but you looked like you may start at any second. And I wouldn’t know what to do. I prayed that you would stay quiet until your dad got back. Thankfully, you did.
We brought you home on a Sunday morning and the next Saturday your dad moved into the hunting camp for a week of deer hunting, as was his yearly tradition.
I’d never dreaded hunting season more.
During your first week, I looked forward to when your dad would get home from work each day. I loved taking care of you, but I wasn’t confident in my parenting skills. I liked him being home so the full responsibility was not on me. Now we were facing a whole week of just you and me, twenty-four hours a day. And there was no way to reach him at the camp. I was literally on my own, at twenty-one years old, with a week-old baby and I’d never felt so unsure.
But the time alone together turned out to be a blessing. Knowing there was no one coming to relieve me meant I had to figure out what to do. And I did. Within a couple of days, we had a new schedule and we were thriving together. You still cried sometimes, but I was able to soothe you quickly.
I remember laying on my bed one evening, propped up against some pillows, with my knees bent and you laying on my legs. You weren’t crying. You were just laying there, very still, and you were staring at me.
I was scared to death that something was wrong. I checked to make sure you were breathing. I checked to make sure your sleepers weren’t too tight. I lifted you up and then set you back down again. And you continued to just look at me. And then I relaxed and sat there, looking back at you.
It was like you were looking at me for the first time, and realizing that I was the one who was going to help you navigate this world forever, that I would be the one who would always be there for you, no matter what, and that whenever things went wrong, you could count on me to help you pick up the pieces.
It was in that moment that I knew we’d be okay.
I leaned forward and kissed your soft little cheeks.
You were my whole world.
Your dad got home a week later sometime, but I wasn’t watching the calendar anymore.
We had figured each other out and we were doing great.
That week alone had given me the time I needed to learn to take care of you, all by myself. It gave me confidence.
If only I’d known all that crying was preparing your lungs so you could fill our house with beautiful melodies soon.
Hmmmm….I might have still given you that soother anyway. You were really, really loud. 😀
It’s funny to think that when I looked at that tiny little bundle in my arms, I thought I could never love you more than I did at that moment, but as you’ve grown, so has my love for you.
23 years…
Love Mom
xoxo
