Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

mothers and sons

The golden (birthday) child

Dear son,

Two years ago today, you pushed your way into our lives hard and fast. And you haven’t slowed down since.

Before you were born, I feared I wouldn’t love you enough, what with your big sister’s big personality. Now, I think sometimes I love you too much. You instinctively call for me and in the process shun help from others. I secretly love it, even when I force someone else to respond to your needs.

 We understand each other in a way I wouldn’t have expected. Our personalities mesh. We don’t need people all the time. We’re content by ourselves. And we don’t want to be left out of anything. I’m looking forward to seeing how this develops in both of our lives.

You’re officially two today, but unofficially, you’ve been 2 in my mind for a long time. You walked before you were 1. You’ve been talking — to keep up with your sister — for practically as long, it seems. Nothing stops you or slows you down — not even the bumps and bruises of life that seem to find you more than they ever found your sister.

You are all boy, and though sometimes, I have no idea what to do with that, I love the differences you’ve brought to our lives. “Boy — a noise with dirt on it.” I saw this definition on a piece of scrapbooking paper. I laughed at the time, thinking it was clever. Now I know it’s true, too.

If there’s a puddle, you jump in it and splash through it. If too many leaves are gathered in one spot, you shuffle through them with a big grin on your face. “Again?” you ask, answering with another run-through before I’ve had a chance to answer. If you’re holding one object, you must find another to hit it against. And sometimes, you just rock out to your own beat.

And the sweetness. You aren’t always noisy or dirty or mischievous. Sometimes, you are so sweet, I want to cry.

“Please I may?” You’ve found the secret to getting your way. It doesn’t matter what you’re asking, when  you ask with these words, my heart screams, “Yes!”

You faithfully give hugs (squeezes), kisses and noses, and your soft “I wuv you” is heart melting.

Some days, I want to skip the next 20 years and see what you become. OK, I don’t really want to skip them, but I want to see how God uses this personality. I joke that you’re going to play football because knocks to the head don’t seem to faze you. Your mother is another story. If you do play football, I will be the mother in the stands who can’t look but who will be there to support you, nonetheless.

A few hundred words can’t adequately capture all of who you are.

Maybe a video will help.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYc8Y9Xi7bQ]

And another picture.

It’s true that we seem to take less pictures of just you than we did of your sister. I confess that we celebrated every milestone in picture with her. I fear the condition of your baby book compared to hers.

But don’t ever believe that we loved you less than her. Yes, she was our first child. But you are our first son. And that is something special, too.

Happy birthday, little man. You won’t stay little, so I’ll say it as long as I can.

The journey to 2 has been a wild ride so far. I’m certain the next year will bring us more wild times, too.

Love,

Mom

The one that got away

A year ago, you stole my heart, and we’d only just met. You were long-awaited, much-anticipated, already loved. We didn’t know for sure if you’d be a girl or a boy; we welcomed the surprise. Your birth was not as smooth as we expected or hoped, but you arrived, safe, healthy and BIG. That last part hasn’t changed. You were off to the races on your growth from Day 1. People speculate that you’ll be a football player because of your size. Some days, like the ones where you knock everything in sight with your head, I wonder, too. Whether you are or aren’t won’t matter. Still, it’s fun sometimes to wonder what you’ll be like as you get older.

But I get ahead of myself. Today, it’s about the first year of your life. We’ll have many years, God willing, to talk about the rest of the years of your life.

It would be impossible for me to pick what I love most about you. Even after a year, I hardly know you. But I also know you better than anyone else. The bond between a mother and child — an indescribable sweetness I never knew existed before you and your sister came into our life. But this smile, it’s up there on the list. People are always saying what a happy baby you are. I can’t disagree with them. Even when you fuss, it’s for a good reason and is usually easily solved. Your face is so expressive. I can’t imagine you have any idea what you’re holding, but it’s colorful and squishy and your sister helped you pull it out of a brightly colored bag, so it must be the best. thing. ever. This smile could pull me out of a blue mood any day and it often has. You are my joy on this earth.

 And you are bound to give me more trouble than I think I can handle. The look says it all. Oh, to be able to read your mind. Wait, I take that back. Soon enough, you’ll be telling me what you think. You have a mischievous streak that I will try to enjoy, even if it causes me extra work, extra strength, extra prayer. I will not cease to pray for you, even if the boy horror stories I hear from other mothers never show themselves in your life. I am not holding my breath.

It seemed only yesterday you were a baby, cuddled in my arms, sleeping soundly in the bassinet in our room. Now, look at you. Walking, trying to say words, following your sister around copying her every action. I fear that I’m going to wake up one morning and you’ll be a man, and I’ll wonder not only where the last year went but where the last 10 years, 15 years, 20 years went. And I’ll hope that I cherished them.

Too often I find myself not enjoying this season of motherhood as much as I think I should. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you and your sister. How could I not. You both are spontaneous and outgoing, two things I am not, and remind me so much of your father. I fell in love with him first, so naturally, when I see him in the two of you, I fall a little deeper in love with you and with him. Too mushy? OK, I’ll get back to what I was saying. Being your mom isn’t easy, but it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Because there are times like this:

When I’m laughing so hard, I can’t catch my breath. Your father has that effect on me. He can make the toughest times light. I can see, based on his influence with your sister, that I may find myself outnumbered in the silliness, outgoingness department. C’est la vie.

So, it’s your birthday. One year. You’re already outpacing your sister’s growth and development, which means I will be on my toes. A lot. You’ll be keeping me there. I can see the twinkle in your eye as you reach for your cake. Let me have it, mom.

Boy, did we.

Dig in to life, son. It’ll be messy, at times, but you’ll find a sweet reward in the end. I love you and can’t wait to see what the next year brings.

Mom