On Your First Birthday

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They came through you but not from you and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
Khalil Gibran

We made it, my warrior child. We made it through a pregnancy, that I thought was never going to end, a deployment, homecoming, first cereals, late night diaper changes, doctor visits, an ER trip, rolling off the couch, the bed, an airplane ride…

We've packed a lot of life into a year, you and I. It didn't occur to me to leave you at home, or to stay home with you, but rather, it seemed natural to tuck you in a sling, or a wrap, and take you with me on every adventure I found myself in. And you, my sweet child, you took the world in, watched it all, and enjoyed yourself. Never once did you complain. You did poop all over me in public once, but I didn't take that as a complaint.

From the first time you lifted your head up off my shoulder, to the first time you took those wobbly, stumbling steps towards me, you've been growing, changing, hurtling through life at what feels like light speed. Is it ok if I ask you to slow down, if I hold you tighter every so often, and ask you to stop for a minute, put the toy down, and lay your head on my shoulder for just a few more minutes?

It is so strange to look at you, to see myself in you. I did not plan on you, I wasn't expecting you. There is a vast difference between wanting a child, planning for a child, and then having that child, and you taught me that, with the first breath you took. I wanted a baby, I wanted a child, I was not expecting to have my world upended the first time I saw you, covered in goop, calmly looking up at me. It was a sign that you didn't cry, did not come out screaming, but rather looked around serenely, relaxed, and settled in. It's how you've always been. But everything changed, every single atom of my existence, changed completely when the doctor laid you down on my stomach, and you looked up at me. Life has never been the same.

So many people told me I was carrying you. Truthfully, it was the opposite way around. You were gently but inexorably carrying me, pushing me to eat when I wanted to stay in bed, reminding me with a flutter, a kick, a punch, that I needed to go the doctor. I took those trembling steps of independence because you were pushing me onto my feet, when I would have fallen. During the dark nights, when I was lonely and scared… a punch from you, the sound of your heartbeat echoing in my ears, was a reminder that I was not alone, you were here, you always would be.

When I faced the toughest battle in my life, when I went home to say goodbye to my sister, when I knew the sickness that would take her was winning, I had you with me. Giggling, smiling, crawling and then standing, into everything, you were there, once again pushing me to my feet. When the day came that I had to leave, to come back to my life, you didn't fuss, barely whimpered, when we headed back on the long journey home. And on the morning the phone call came, the one I dreaded so much, you were there to snuggle with me, to remind me of the good in life still. Even as I grieved, you pushed and pulled me to my feet, got me back into life.

I have no idea where the next year will take us, what adventures will find ourselves in, what challenges we will face. But I do know that we will always be a family, no matters where we may roam. And you will always, no matter how big you get, be my baby. Mommy loves you, my little warrior child.

~Mommy