Right now, I am kickin’ it in my bedroom while YaYa is downstairs doing his homework with the help of a friend from school. He’s never been much for asking for help so I am impressed that he finally asked for it. I just hope that it’s not too late.
As for my help: Tonight, the best way I can help him is the stay out of the way.
Someone posted the link to a commencement speech given to Berkeley graduates this past weekend. It was honest, well crafted, and powerful but it struck a nerve with me. The speaker, COO of FB, used the her own life experience of surviving her husband’s death. With year 1 behind her, she described the profound sadness, shock, anger, etcetera of the year after his death and spelled out her Lessons Learned for the graduates. Her message was right on: Life will not always be good. The bad will come but your response will largely determine the degree of devastation the bad stuff will have on you. Everything she wrote/said was right on.
And yet…
Being a mother has been the most rewarding (and challenging) part of my life. This, of course, includes being step-momma to my wonderful DD. Nothing compares. It’s joy, it’s worry, it’s hope, it’s all kinds of LOVE. And far more than just that.
I remember when I laid eyes on BoBo, my firstborn, for the very first time. My heart and spirit felt an enormous rush of goodness. LOVE, like I had no idea even existed overtook me. The 47 hours of labor (and 3 hours of pushing) that I had just endured was forgotten… for that moment anyway. It certainly was worth it.
Unlike the other babies his age, BoBo seemed to defy all odds and test all limits. He kept me on my toes as he crawled towards every ledge, and later climbed to the highest of peaks. I had my hands full keeping this little love safe. He was ALL BOY for sure!
Six and a half years later, I gave birth to another son. The labor was completely different. Trusting that something was amiss, I requested induction. It turns out, I was 110% right. THICK, OLD muconium meant my baby was in distress. My OB initiated a rigorous plan of doubling the infusion rate of the Pitocin each 30 minutes until YaYa’s delivery. Just like his older brother, YaYa was beautifully perfect. After giving us a little scare on Day 1 by turning an unwelcomed shade of blue, he spent a week in the NICU/Level II Nursery for IV antibiotics. It was a joyous moment when we finally got to take him home. Just minutes after he received his last dose of antibiotics, via injection due to his IV going bad, BoBo and I wheeled little YaYa out of the hospital screaming at the top of his lungs. His lusty cry insured those lungs of his remained free of lingering infection.
Our little family was complete and my heart was overflowing with love.
Life continued. DD finished college and was soon showing up on our TVs every afternoon. BoBo applied his ALL BOY energy to every sport he could think of, while YaYa and I gave our support on the sidelines. Of course, young YaYa had to try all the sports his brother did. Football was the only one that I held back from him. I later caved, sure that he would hate it, and let him play on a Pop Warner team. He was the only one of my sons to helmet up at such a young age. And, as you may know, he proved me wrong; football is the only sport he plays today.
Yes, I left out A LOT of life.
Through all of the years, Mother’s Day arrived in varied manner. After the days of Tom making breakfast while the kids insisted I stay in bed until they came upstairs carrying the “surprise”, the day unfolded with more of a true surprise. I sometimes wondered if the day was forgotten until they would emerge from their rooms with some little token of love.
Mother’s Day Gifts from Mother’s Days Past
Each of these gifts, I hold near and dear to my heart. But to be perfectly honest, what I want most is for my boys to grow up healthy and happy. I think that this is what most mom’s want most. Until then, I would definitely enjoy spending time with them. No gift required; just their love and presence. Mother’s Day, in my humble opinion, is for LOVE — in whatever form. If all I get this year is a coupon for 10,000 “ponytails,” you won’t hear me complaining. I’d love nothing more.
