Wednesday, February 2, 2011

What I meant to say on January 13th, 2011

Sorry this is so late. We have been busy adapting to life with 2 working parents. More on that later. Here is an extension of the letter I wrote Kingston for his birthday. I wrote after I wasn't so emotional about him turning 1.

One whole year ago I was about to become your mother. I didn’t know it yet. One year ago, I was barely out of teenagedom, just married, lying in bed in our dream home, hand on belly, watching late night TV, feeling the beginning of the contractions that would be The Real Thing, that would make our couple into a threesome. I was so calm. I was so ready to meet you.

And you came, quickly after all that waiting, practically jumping into the world. Oh my God, the love; my heart could hardly take it. I remember, even now, holding you that first night. The world was asleep, and it was just you and I cuddling in the hospital bed. I touched every inch of your face; trying so hard to memorize the tiny creases, bumps, lines, those big blue eyes, your shivering dreamy sighs, that baby smell of powder and milk. I didn’t feel like you were made for me. I felt like I was made for you. I felt that everything I’d done up to that moment was preparation for this, the most important job, the greatest honor, the most supreme joy I could experience.

The first time I saw you, after you were born, I was expecting this overwhelming rush of love and this moment where I would realize that my baby was the most beautiful baby in the world. That didn’t happen. I fell in love with you, don’t get me wrong, but I fell in love with you despite the fact that your nose was too big on you, and despite the fact that you looked like a very pink, wrinkly tiny old man with long wispy dark hair. I spent hours gazing at your little feet (which could then fit across the palm of my hand) and stroking your tiny little fingers, tightly drawn into fists. I was infatuated with your blue, blue eyes and little rosebud mouth.
We knew you were going to be a boy; but there’s such music in that word now: son. My little man, My bestest little boyfriend.

You amplified life for me. I loved your daddy more. I loved eating more. I liked looking at the sky with you, sleeping in late, reading books, going to the park, swimming lessons, story time, music group and our mommy and Kingston dates. You have always been so patient with me. Patient and understanding. There was such a passion and ferociousness that I didn’t expect. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Kingston. I hope you know that. I hope you always know that– at the end of the day, I’m always there for you. I will always support you. I will always protect you. Always.

You have gone above and beyond any expectations I ever had. Kingston, you are so freaking awesome. You are, honestly, one of my favorite people to hang out with. We like the same shows. We think the same things are funny. You follow along with my conversations and shake your head “no” at just the right moment. You walk away from me when you think I am being too dramatic. This is who you are, at one:
You are so smart: It is amazing to watch you try to engineer a step stool so you can reach daddy’s xbox. I think that is your Grandpa coming out in you.

You are persistent: When you decide that you want into a kitchen cupboard, or want a specific toy there is no stopping or distracting you. I love that about you, probably because I think it is myself in you.

You are independent: You don’t like to be still, you don’t like to be snuggled. You like to feed yourself and walk with no hands helping you. With your independence comes a streak of stubbornness. We have said since the day we brought you home that “you know exactly what you want, if only everyone else could figure it out”. I think that is your angel grandma coming out in you.

You are so strong. Strong in a physical sense and in emotional sense. You are always on the move conquering new feats and amazing us everyday. It makes you so happy and proud of yourself when you climb the stairs, or chase daddy into the kitchen. When you hurt yourself you aren’t too dramatic, just a little hug is all you need and off you go. Imagine the look on face when at your 9 month needles and you laughed at the doctor instead of crying. So brave.

You love to laugh and be in good company: You laugh is contagious and so whole-hearted. I love when you laugh so hard that you get hiccups, which makes you laugh even harder. You seem to love life. You love people. You would share anything with the people who mean the most to you. I think that is your Grandma’s influence.

You love women. You like little girls, big girls, moms, daughters. You are a not-so-perfect gentleman but ohh so charming. When we are out at restaurants you watch each waitress walk by and flash that charming smile and they can’t help but stop to gush over you. I think you get that from Uncle Tim.

You know just the right moments to smile, or give a hug, or burst into laughter. You get me every time. You have this way that just melts my heart. You get that from daddy.

You are mine. Your daddy loves you, dearly, and soon I know you will be best buddies and go on trips and leave me, and soon it will be cool to do Boy Things and not Dorky Mom Things, and that will be okay too. But for now: it’s you and me. It was you and me for this past year, it’s you and me now. We are inseparable. I think about how much we’ve both grown in the last year, and it overwhelms me. You’ve turned me into a much better person, and you’ve shown me what real love is.

You’ve made me into a better person, and for that, I’m a better mother. I love you more than you’ll ever know, and I cant imagine my life without you.
One year ago, I didn’t even know how lucky I was going to get.