My One-Year-Old Boys

When my cowboy turned one, we had a party. He swam with his daddy. He ate a little green birthday cake.
He was
walking,
talking,
skinny,
social,
sleeping through the night,
napping alone,
spending the night at Grammie's,
riding horses,
and,
most important,
happy and loved.

My wild thing turned one, and we had a party. He threw up on me multiple times and went to urgent care. He played balls with his daddy. He destroyed a little green birthday cake (though the color was coincidence).
He is
crawling,
cruising,
talking,
social,
shy when mommy's not around,
nursing through the night,
napping with mommy,
chubby,
exploratory,
and,
most important,
happy and loved.

My wild thing is not my cowboy. They are different and alike. They are both occupying my heart. They are loved. I read a quote the other day that had the dsfinition of a mother. It said she will hold you in her heart until her last breath. I read it as, "...until your last breath." And thought it was a vast underestimation. She will remember you so far beyond that. It made me sad because I know things about mothering that many don't. I know that this birthday, this day, is worth remembering. You could have thousands of todays together or this one could be the last.

Run-down Mama

I'm a garbage disposal lately. You want to nurse and don't want food. Since you've been sick it's nurse, nurse, nurse. I keep offering you food, but you only take a few bites then refuse. My body is struggling to keep up with the demands. Food and sleep is what I want. Lots of sleep.

I'm incoherent and unresponsive lately. Daddy asks if I'm doing alright; if I'm depressed. "Just tired," I say and stare at the tv, computer, or you playing. I'm more than tired though. I'm exhausted to the core. You, my wild thing, require so much of me. I'm being pulled in different directions. School, work (insignificant as it is), future plans, you, daddy, and everyone else. It's all good. It just gets so big in my head.

This time. These struggles. It will pass. I'd rather be mommy, than not have you with me. Not having you would be worse. I know this because, when I lost my cowboy, I've had emptiness. I was lost. I was without purpose. Having you is better. Having both of you, my sons, would be sweet, fulfilled exhaustion. Not harder or easier; just more right.

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Ow! That hurts," I say, "That hurts mommy. Biting makes me sad."

You smile and laugh. It feels good to bite, especially when you're teething. And you get a reaction from me.

I want to cry or scream. I don't.  Sometimes I get loud. A few times, I've thumped your little cheek. We both hate that. It hurts my heart when I'm startled and react that way.

Most of the time I repeat the same thing over again. I hope you learn to understand before you bite off a piece of me. You are so small and don't get my facial expressions or words. You're starting to. Now when you hit or fall or bite, you say, "Ow!" You're learning the words. Understanding will come later.

Please let me have patience and not overreact. I don't want to hurt you. Not in anger. Not in reflex. This phase will end before long. We'll get through it together.

In Weakness

Fevers and sickness make a needy baby. Work and school and remodeling and prepping for a first birthday party make a tired, indecisive mommy. When I feel this way, I walk in circles wearing or holding my needy baby and getting nothing done. Ugh! I hate this version of me, who gets so weak and useless. I don't always know why it happens. I can just tell that I'm not myself. It's exhausting to try figuring it out amidst my busy life. It's even worse when other people, who know me, are around because I'm the one who normally has it together. I don't know how I became the organized and in control woman. I do feel her slipping away since I've become a mommy again. So many emotions were locked up tight and controlling my life was how I functioned. That is not how things have worked for the last year. I've given up all control of my emotions and my schedule in order to meet the needs of my wild thing. It works for us and he is happy. It doesn't always work for the woman I knew myself to be.

In my befuddled, needy baby state my family came alongside me to help finish projects and get the party ready. It was beautiful (the party and the effort). This is what my family used to be like. We have been broken for a long time. Losing my cowboy didn't just break me, but my whole family. People changed and relationships were damaged. We still loved, but grieved and healed alone.

First Birthdays

I keep reading
that first steps
and first birthdays
turn a baby
into a toddler.
My one-year-old
is still a baby;
my baby.
He cuddles,
crawls,
cruises,
climbs stairs,
nurses,
eats people food,
laughs,
cries.
He loves
balls,
animals,
outside,
Bubble Guppies,
mama,
daddy.
He's had
two haircuts,
seven teeth,
and one birthday.
I don't care
if he's thirty
and thriving.
He's always,
in part,
my baby.

Big, Sweet Baby

Lie down with me,
sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.

Mama,
I'd rather
headstand,
flip flop,
crawl around,
dive bomb,
somersault,
sit up,
do the splits,
and stand up
while I nurse.

I know, but
it's time to sleep.
So, lie down with me,
my big, sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.
I'll stroke you gently
and shush you softly.
As you sleep
right by my side.

Stuck

Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be totally and completely stuck? To be competely reliant on someone else? How scary is it to trust that someone else will meet your needs?

I do whatever I can to make sure that I can meet my own needs. I try not to be reliant on anyone. That's part of why not working has been so difficult for me to handle (more on that later).

Yesterday I had a glimpse of what it feels like to be needy and trust that someone will come through. It was just a small thing, but left me feeling completely vulnerable. I was getting ready to leave for my midterm exam when I realized that I didn't have my wild thing's carseat. Our only carseat. Allen was at work 30+ miles away. I dialed him several times and began to break down.

I had no idea what to do. I don't really know our neighbors and don't have anyone close enough to rescue me. Feeling that alone and vulnerable was very scary.

Magically, he saw my call and called me back. I was nearly in tears when I answered and told him he had the seat. He left work immediately, but I continued to fret that he wouldn't make it in time and I would be out of luck. (My teacher has a hard line no no make-ups policy, unless you're dead and can prove it.) I spoke to the neighbor with a little guy. Then I got us ready and waited.

Allen came through at exactly the right minute. The neighbor remembered that she had an infant carseat tucked away in the garage. She brought it over. I was saved, though I know it seems silly. You would think that the situation would make me more likely to trust in others' ability to help out. On the contrary, I want to make sure that it never happens again. Lol. It makes me fear the moment I truly need something and am alone.

Vulnerabilities are scary.