Tonight I read this post, and of course it made me think of Gabe.
He was just a few months old the first time I realized that someday, he would not be "mine". Meaning - now, as a baby/child, he is "mine". I pick him up when I want, I hug him when I want, I snuggle him when I want. I give him eskimo nose kisses at night, and cuddle him next to me when he wakes up too early and I bring him back to our bed in an effort to convince him that it's still time to be asleep. I have no reservations in my expressions of love for him, verbal or physical - he is "mine".
But someday, he will not be. He will want space and separation and independence. It makes me ache to think about not having him be "mine" in the same way he is now.
The first time I lamented this realization to my mom, she reminded me that this does not happen overnight. The heartbreak I am imagining is not something that comes upon you suddenly so that it leaves a deep wound like the one I fear. Rather, you watch your child grow and take incremental steps into an identity and personhood so that it makes sense that one day you no longer give them eskimo nose kisses before bed.
So - when I read blog posts like the one I read tonight, and I think about Gabe and start crying that someday, all too soon, he will not be "mine", I try to remember what my mom said and remember the sentiment in the post that the joys and sweetness of my son's childhood are to be cherished now rather than dwelling on the sadness of looking ahead to the time when they will be a memory.
And - when I see my parents & Bret's parents with Gabe, I think to myself: someday, I hope, Gabe will have children. And I will once again get to have something that is, though more removed, "mine". I will get to pick those children up when I want, hug them when I want, snuggle them when I want. And it will be that much sweeter because it is a remembered joy and because I will get to see Gabe as a parent, doing the same thing.
Last Spring we got a random message on our voicemail: someone from near Eatonville (2 hrs away from us) had a child's rocking chair that she was wondering if belonged to Bret and if he wanted it back. I listened to the message and then said something to Bret along the lines of "some lady just left us a message saying she has a rocking chair with your name on the bottom of it, how weird is that?" and Bret responded with "oh yeah, I remember that chair".
HUH??
Turns out that Bret had the little rocking chair from when he was a kid, but then his family had a house fire and moved and the chair turned into one of those "what ever happened to that?" items.
So I called the lady back and said yes, she had the right person and yes, we'd love to have the chair! She didn't remember how she'd gotten it, but there's a plaque glued to the bottom with Bret's name on it and she'd been looking in the yellow pages and online trying to find the right person to give it back to. Pretty cool of her!
...this is the part of the story where time passes...and I think I lose the lady's phone number but then I find it, pretty much exactly where I thought I'd put it but under some other stuff...and we call the lady back and it's no problem, the chair is right where she had it before, just waiting for us to come get it whenever we have time...only at this point a year has gone by and we decide that we should just make the drive to go get the chair rather than wait until we're "in the area", because obviously we are never just going to be conveniently passing by...
So now we have the chair and it's pretty beat up but I love that it's something from Bret's childhood that we have now for our kids. And even better - there is a long history associated with this chair. The plaque on the bottom says:
"This chair originally given to Margaret Murphy Countryman by her family (1877-1955). Subsequently by Gertrude Murphy List to Geraldine List Adams. In August of 1975, given to Bret Totten, a great great nephew of Mrs. Countryman."
Geraldine Adams is Bret's maternal grandmother. Such a fun piece of history to have back in our family...I think it's so cool that the Eatonville woman held on to this chair and kept trying to find out who it belonged to!
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| Gabe in Daddy's chair |
Yes, this post is a day after Mother's Day. But last year, my mom didn't read my Mother's Day post until the day after, so my timing this year is just another way to honor her*.
Now that Gabe is almost 19 months old, my understanding of motherhood has increased to a whopping 1.98%**. In fact, I think I can actually round it to 2% since I'm pregnant, and have that added understanding! With this dramatic increase of knowledge (last year my understanding was only calculating to .7%) comes some new thank you's for my mom:
Thank you for every minute of sleep you gave up for me after I started sleeping through the night but then would randomly wake up and it was even harder for you to get up because you were out of practice since I wasn't a newborn anymore. Thank you for every step you helped me take and for the steps you let me take on my own while you held your breath, worried I would fall but knowing that you needed to let me try on my own. Thank you for your patience when I wouldn't eat my vegetables, liked something one day but not the next, and threw food/cups/spoons/bowls on the floor again and again and again. Thank you for every time I'm sure you wanted to yell "STOP THROWING YOUR FOOD ON THE FLOOR" and instead calmly said "Don't throw your food, please". Thank you for every time you pushed through pregnancy-induced tiredness or discomfort to pay attention to what I needed from you. Thank you for taking me outside and making a simple walk into a great adventure. Thank you for always giving me hugs and cuddles. Thank you for every simple task you wanted to get done that turned into a lengthy one because you let me be independent and walk instead of carrying me, or do something myself instead of doing it for me. Thank you for reading with me and helping me learn words. Thank you for praising my accomplishments and providing correction when I needed to learn boundaries. Thank you for enduring my "terrible twos" with grace, love, patience, and keeping in mind the joy that remains even when a toddler is constantly testing limits.
Mom, thank you as always for watching Gabe for us. I hope I say it enough so that you know how much it means to us - not just because it's a huge financial blessing, but because it's an incredible feeling of relief to be able to so completely trust the person caring for your child. And I hope you also know that I'm not just saying that in an effort to butter you up so that you'll keep watching Gabe and Baby #2 in the future (even though I've never kept that desire a secret - remember what I always say, it's only 6 years of your life! And just think of how boring it would be if you only got to do your own thing every day, instead of having to chase a toddler around!)...for as long as it works out, we are ever grateful for the gift of your time and energy in caring for our child(ren).****
Happy Mother's Day Mom, I love you!
* ok, so that's a total line of bull. I just didn't sit myself down at my computer yesterday to write this post.
** Assuming my lifespan is 75 years, and I had Gabe at 35 years old, I will have 40 years alive with Gabe (hopefully more, but I'm explaining my math in this asterisk footnote, so let's not get off track). That's 480 months, and if we assume the average of 2 kids per person that has kids, that's 960 months***. 19 months out of 960 total months is 1.98%
*** Understood that evenly doubling the months isn't accurate, since that assumes that the 2 kids are born at the same time.
**** Was it presumptious to throw the plural in there? Hmm...
