You were born in the afternoon

Dear Naveen,

Last night after dinner, I was taking a quick facebook break, when you walked up to me and for no reason whatsoever slapped me on the forehead. Surprised, I told you that it hurt and hitting wasn’t nice. You climbed onto my lap, stood until you reached the top of my head, kissed my hair and then peeked back down at my face, one hand still patting my head.

“Feel better Mama?” You asked. (It sounded more like “Fee-oh bettoe Mama?” but I knew what you meant.)

“No,” I said, “I need another kiss.”

I realized that this little exchange of ours was just the right metaphor for how you’ve changed my life. Your advent yanked me out of the romantic lull of motherhood I'd been lingering in, forced me to stretch in ways I didn’t know I could. I’ve become a juggler, an arbiter, a referee, and often the middleman (literally because you and your brother constantly fight to snuggle beside me and oh what a lovely problem that is to have!)

I have become a better mom because of you. You've taught me to ask for help, to accept good-enough some days and most importantly to ease up and chill out.  These days I can watch you pick hardened Cheerios out of the carpet and eat them without saying a word. 


And speaking of the things you do, I'm lamenting your ever rapidly developing language skills. Your Dad and I quite enjoy your version of words. I know he still refers to potato chips as "pips" even though you don't. And I can't remember the last time I picked you up and didn't ask you if you'd like to "come utts". I know you'll likely role your eyes when you read this someday but it's these specks of your almost two-year old self that I'll treasure most.

A few weeks ago the cover of Time pictured a young woman breastfeeding her three year-old son. He wasn’t nestled on her lap but standing on a chair to reach her breast.  I cringed when I saw it, not because I thought it was wrong, but because I knew what people would say.

I’d never dreamed that (what they’re now calling) “extended” breastfeeding could be so controversial and yet a few nights ago on Piers Morgan a female comedian stated simply that it was wrong to breastfeed for so long, that women who do, are raising weak children. It hurt my heart to hear such a definitive stance from a woman and mother, and one so public.

I thought about you and me, how you turn two tomorrow; how every morning and every evening we spend time so intimate, so soothing, so ours. I know this will need to stop soon, I’m feeling ready and I think you could be too. But I want you to know how it was for me.  

When you are a grown man taking care of your own babies, appreciating maybe for the first time what your Dad and I experienced raising you, I want you to know this:  I loved every bloody minute of it. Even when you were sleeping for only forty minute stretches; even when only I could meet your demanding needs. I loved watching you unfold, discovering who you were in all of your quirky glory - your intense love for Mickey Mouse and rapture with vacuum cleaners included.

I want you to know that I did love it all and was lucky enough to know how lucky I was. 

Happy birthday my sweetheart!

Love forever, 

Mom


P.S. I promise to stop asking you where random things are just so I can watch you tilt your head and answer, "I no-know way it is, Mama, I no-know."


Promise.

 This morning before heading out the door...seriously, I don't think I can handle you getting any cuter.

I should note, we don't even have the Disney channel. I don't know how they do it over there at Disney headquarters, but there must be some sort of airwaves infiltrating our atmosphere, because you are CRAZY about Mickey.

We celebrated with Gramma and Grampa.

And we celebrated with Mimi and Papa.