Thursday, September 8, 2016

About a Boy



Do you have a second? I want to tell you about a boy. 

A boy who has completely swept me off of my feet and stolen my heart. A boy who always treats me right and makes me laugh so hard I have to pee. He is patient and he is kind. He puts other people's needs before his own. He is intelligent. Articulate. The perfect gentleman. And I am so madly in love with this boy.

He recently celebrated his 10th birthday. 

That's right. My first-born is finally double-digits. But, a decade ago, I wasn't so smitten. The transition to motherhood was difficult for me, to say the least. The baby blues. Postpartum depression. I'm not sure what to call it. But I do know how I felt... 

Trapped.

Even though I had always wanted to be a mother. Even though we had struggled with infertility for years. Even though I had a miscarriage before I got pregnant with him. Even though he had been longed for and prayed for. Even though he was the answer to all of my prayers.

It didn't help that I caught a terrible respiratory infection while I was in labor and delivery. So, when my husband brought the two of us home from the hospital, he had to spend more time taking care of me than our new baby. I have never been that sick. I'm talking deathly ill

Plus, breastfeeding sucked. Literally. 

I wanted to be good at it. I really did. I had big, big plans--that fell through. It wasn't the latching on. We had that part down pat. It was just that no amount of lactation consultations could make milk appear where there was none to be had. So, that was a big source of my frustration. I felt like a failure. I cried every day for a month. 

And so did my baby boy. 

Every single time I tried to sneak out of bed to take a shower, it seemed. And to top it all off, my boobs were engorged and my belly was wobbly and horribly stretched out of shape. Battle scars or tiger stripes, call them what you will. I called them depressing--at least I did back then. But my belly wasn't the only part of me that was stretching. 

Becoming a mommy squeezes all the selfishness right out of you. 

Before baby, I only had to worry about me, myself, and I (and my husband, of course). Then, all of sudden, I had to give myself over--body and soul--to the needs of a tiny human who was completely and utterly dependent upon me. I felt like a wrung out rag.

But then he smiled at me. 

Then I heard him coo and laugh. Then he grabbed onto my my finger with that chubby little dimpled fist, and I was hooked. I didn't know what the heck I was doing, but I was hooked.

And every day after that, it just got better and better. 

Every year after that was my favorite year. Every age he has been has been my favorite age. And now, he's 10 and he's looking at me with those big baby blues, and I am still hooked and I am smitten. I am so madly in love. He is mine and I am his. Forever and always.

Thanks for listening. I just had to tell you about a boy.










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