{my chunky baby jace at 8 months old}
I always know when he’s tired.
When they’re babies, you start to recognize their cries. You
come to a place where you know what they’re crying about. There’s a different cry
for when he’s hungry, for when he’s poopy, for when he’s in pain, and for when
he’s tired.
When your first baby is
born it feels like a wonderful tornado. Everything is being tossed in the wind
around you and you’re just standing there in the middle of the turbulance, watching it all
swirl and fly about, feeling overwhelmed while also so full
of happiness that you’re just sure your heart is going to burst. At first it’s
hard to figure it out the logistics of it all amidst the wonderful tornado.
But over time you become this machine. You start to recognize his cries and what they mean. You
start to recognize the signs. You start to know what it is they like and how it
is they like it and you feel like you’re the only one who really truly gets
him. His life depends on you and you feel it in the deepest parts of your
soul, that you are the reason he is alive. And also, in the most ironic form,
he’s the reason you are alive. It’s a
paradoxical truth that you never understood until you held him in your arms.
And then they grow.
At first they are so small that their backs fit in your hand
just perfectly. At first they feel so fragile and every move you make is steady
and slow and careful. You hold their heads cautiously to support their tiny
necks. You watch them vigilantly while they sleep to make sure they are always
breathing. You slowly slip their tiny arms into the holes of their tiny onesies.
You can’t stop kissing their little toes and you can’t stop nuzzling your nose
into their necks so that you can inhale the scent of their soft baby skin.
And then they grow.
Within months they grow out of their tiny onesies and their
one chin becomes three. They start to laugh and they start to coo and they hold
their own head up high. You sit on the sidelines as their biggest cheerleader
while they learn to roll over, crawl, and then walk on their own. You chase
them around as they run free. You listen to their first words. You watch in awe
as this wonderful tornado keeps on swirling all around you, and it’s truly one
of the most magical things, watching them grow. You not only get to be the
one who shapes them into the person they will become, but you get to watch it
all happen. You watch them become themselves. It’s beautiful.
He grows, and still, I know when he’s tired.
It’s not the same now as it was when he was a newborn baby
and I could differentiate his cries. Now he is a little boy, growing up so
quickly that some days he leaves me in the dust. He carries on conversations
and he tells me new things and he makes me laugh. All of the time, he makes me
laugh. But I still know when he’s tired. His eyes glaze over a little bit. He
becomes over-dramatic about the little things. He turns extra clingy in a way
that he pretends not to be, but as soon as I open my arms he runs into my
embrace and wants nothing more than to be gripped tightly. He needs a little
more attention and a little more patience and a lot of love when he’s tired.
Last night we went out to dinner with some friends and he
ran wild with his buddies. When we left for home he started showing me the
signs. We got home and came inside and I picked him up. He’s so very big now, and I
never realize how very big he is until I pick him up. Remember when he used to fit on
my hip so perfectly? I wish I had known the last time I held him so easily on
my hip would be the last time.
I knew he was tired. I picked him up and I carried him upstairs. He fought it, telling me he didn’t want to go upstairs, he wanted to play outside. I told him
the sun was going down and it was time to stay inside. He fought it some more.
I took him into his room while he screamed that he didn’t
want to go to bed. With all of the patience I could muster, I took off his high
tops while he kicked and cried. His eyes were filled with tears and he was just oh so tired. I explained that we needed
to put his pajamas on. And he fought it some more.
While he flailed about dramatically and screamed in
frustration I sat in his big cushioned chair next to his bed and pulled him up
into my lap, pressing his cheek against my chest and hugging him tightly. He
stopped fighting. He laid his head against me, slowly letting go of his tension,
whimpering quietly and letting me hold him. I stroked his cheek and ran my
fingers through his hair. I kissed his forehead.
And he promptly fell asleep.
As he fell into a deeper sleep, his breathing got heavier
and his arms went limp. The toy helicopter he held in his hand slipped out of
his fingers. I held him close and tried to remember the last time he fell
asleep in my arms, which triggered in me an overwhelming sense of
nostalgia. The weight of this in its sudden force practically knocked the wind
out of me. At that moment I distinctly remembered the day when he fit in my arms
perfectly, and slept there regularly. And wasn’t that just yesterday? As I
kissed his forehead I thought about the days when it was a smaller forehead,
and as I looked at his long legs folded up awkwardly in my lap I pictured him not long
ago when he was half that size. It was suddenly so very emotional and I found myself getting
all weepy eyed. He grew so fast. They
told me that he would, but I just wasn’t prepared for him to grow that fast.
As I sat there feeling a tad heartbroken, I was a little baffled as to
why I was so emotional about it at all. And I came to the conclusion that it's truly not because
I felt sad. It’s not sad, them growing
up. It’s lovely and joyous and exciting.
But I’m learning that just because something is good, doesn’t mean that it’s easy. It
happens so fast that it’s overwhelming, and although you love to watching them
grow it also makes your heart ache a little bit. It weighs heavy when you
suddenly remember that not long ago they were completely different. It’s breathtaking how quickly it passes by, how quickly they develop
and mature right in front of you. I wouldn’t want to go back in time because it’s
all been so very perfect, and that’s the truth of it. If you gave me the choice I'd stay right where we are now. But I think that it’s okay to
feel somber and even sad when you look back on memories and realize how much
they have grown.
And I suppose the truth is, typically I’m not a hugely sentimental person
when it comes to change. I don’t mind change. I like the busy in life, I grow, I
move on, and I’m okay with it all. In that regards, watching Jace grow up has
been and continues to be exciting and fun. Every step he takes in the path of growing up is
truly exhilarating for me to watch. I’m always there, always encouraging,
always pleased. He’s one of my two proudest accomplishments in this life.
But I’m often completely unprepared for the emotional aspect of
motherhood. I’m going along just fine, loving it and soaking it up and living life
so routinely and then BAM, I’m holding my three and a half year old boy when he
falls asleep in my arms and I’m hit with a forceful reminder that being a
mother is this dreadfully beautiful and emotional roller coaster ride. A ride in
which no matter how sad or hard or heavy it sometimes tends to be, is sincerely the
most amazing and rewarding thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
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