A note for T-man
Dear Trevor,
Thirteen years ago, almost on this very night, I laid in bed wondering, "Will this pregnancy ever *&%$@# end?!?" You see, I was young-- I'd just turned 23 and had graduated from college the summer before. I still thought the sun and the moon and all the stars rose and set and performed their magical dances all around me. It would be another few days before I realized that I wasn't entirely wrong: They were dancing around me, but just because they were waiting for you.
Being so young and self-obsorbed, I had no idea what the passage of time meant. In my mind's eye, my pregnancy would last about a month, maybe two, and after walking out of the womb and requesting a hot meal, you'd be off to kindergarten. There, you would leapfrog to the fourth grade mission project, graduate high school, make a quick pass at college and (finally!) get down to the business of supporting my early retirement-- all by the time I was 28.
On the second day of my pregnancy I realized, forget the Earth-- the only thing that turned that quickly was my stomach. It was a hard truth to face: Time moves at it's own pace. And so I would spend the next nine months fighting my own internal sense of urgency. Every day I longed for it to be the next day, just one day closer to seeing your beautiful face and your tiny hands, smelling your sweet baby smell and kissing your soft, baby-fine hair.
We never learned of your sex before your birth, but it didn't matter. I also knew by that second day that I would have a son. Those next nine months were filled with dreams of you, my blue-eyed, sunshine boy, dreams of us playing on a beach or reading a book... and every morning I would wake to find I was still absurdly pregnant.
In all my life I don't think I ever wanted anything quite so much as I wanted my children. And you, being the first, were the beginning of all the rest of my life. I was antsy for it to begin.
Those long, hot, Central Valley pregnancy days were filled with well wishes from friends and tiresome antecdotes from know-it-alls. "Just wait," they would say. "It's soooo harrrrd. Just wait until that baby can walk/talk/eat/play" and on they would go, as if trying to stamp out the flame of my excitement.
I rolled my eyes at them then, and I roll my eyes at them still. Your birth marked the beginning of the greatest adventure I have ever known, and the adventure just keeps getting better and better with every passing day.
On the eve of your birth I was hot, and tired, and like every pregnant woman before me, absolutely convinced that I was the only woman who had ever, in the history of the human race, been that fat and uncomfortable and so completely physically miserable. And still all I wanted was to see you and hold you and get on with the living of the rest of our lives.
Knowing now what didn't know then, I'm not sure how far off I was in my notion of time. Thirteen years have passed, and I can't believe that the little towheaded boy with the piercing blue eyes is now becoming a musky teenager with a deep voice, dark brown hair and a rapier-like wit. Where is my ruby-lipped infant and his tiny sighs? Where is my monster-slaying five-year old with the plastic sword and green elf hat? What happened to my snaggle-toothed eight-year old? My artistic ten-year old?
You see, in all my urgency for your arrival, I forgot to send out the little wishes for time to slow back down.
You are a treasure, sweet boy. A gift straight from the Universe, the brightest of blessings.
Happy almost 13th birthday.
All my love,
that lady.
Thirteen years ago, almost on this very night, I laid in bed wondering, "Will this pregnancy ever *&%$@# end?!?" You see, I was young-- I'd just turned 23 and had graduated from college the summer before. I still thought the sun and the moon and all the stars rose and set and performed their magical dances all around me. It would be another few days before I realized that I wasn't entirely wrong: They were dancing around me, but just because they were waiting for you.
Being so young and self-obsorbed, I had no idea what the passage of time meant. In my mind's eye, my pregnancy would last about a month, maybe two, and after walking out of the womb and requesting a hot meal, you'd be off to kindergarten. There, you would leapfrog to the fourth grade mission project, graduate high school, make a quick pass at college and (finally!) get down to the business of supporting my early retirement-- all by the time I was 28.
On the second day of my pregnancy I realized, forget the Earth-- the only thing that turned that quickly was my stomach. It was a hard truth to face: Time moves at it's own pace. And so I would spend the next nine months fighting my own internal sense of urgency. Every day I longed for it to be the next day, just one day closer to seeing your beautiful face and your tiny hands, smelling your sweet baby smell and kissing your soft, baby-fine hair.
We never learned of your sex before your birth, but it didn't matter. I also knew by that second day that I would have a son. Those next nine months were filled with dreams of you, my blue-eyed, sunshine boy, dreams of us playing on a beach or reading a book... and every morning I would wake to find I was still absurdly pregnant.
In all my life I don't think I ever wanted anything quite so much as I wanted my children. And you, being the first, were the beginning of all the rest of my life. I was antsy for it to begin.
Those long, hot, Central Valley pregnancy days were filled with well wishes from friends and tiresome antecdotes from know-it-alls. "Just wait," they would say. "It's soooo harrrrd. Just wait until that baby can walk/talk/eat/play" and on they would go, as if trying to stamp out the flame of my excitement.
I rolled my eyes at them then, and I roll my eyes at them still. Your birth marked the beginning of the greatest adventure I have ever known, and the adventure just keeps getting better and better with every passing day.
On the eve of your birth I was hot, and tired, and like every pregnant woman before me, absolutely convinced that I was the only woman who had ever, in the history of the human race, been that fat and uncomfortable and so completely physically miserable. And still all I wanted was to see you and hold you and get on with the living of the rest of our lives.
Knowing now what didn't know then, I'm not sure how far off I was in my notion of time. Thirteen years have passed, and I can't believe that the little towheaded boy with the piercing blue eyes is now becoming a musky teenager with a deep voice, dark brown hair and a rapier-like wit. Where is my ruby-lipped infant and his tiny sighs? Where is my monster-slaying five-year old with the plastic sword and green elf hat? What happened to my snaggle-toothed eight-year old? My artistic ten-year old?
You see, in all my urgency for your arrival, I forgot to send out the little wishes for time to slow back down.
You are a treasure, sweet boy. A gift straight from the Universe, the brightest of blessings.
Happy almost 13th birthday.
All my love,
that lady.
posted by @traciAWESOME
1 Comments:
That was just beautiful and it made me cry. Happy Birthday Trevor. Happy Mother's Day Traci.
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