| A letter to my son on his seventh birthday. |
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| Written by OHmommy | |
| Thursday, 30 July 2009 00:00 | |
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Dearest Jay, An entire year has passed since the last birthday letter I wrote you and although it was a big year of changes for you... starting school, riding a bike, losing teeth and learning to read. One thing remains the same. I desperately feel like I need to apologize to you, just like the year before. My sweet first-born child you made me a mother when I honestly had no idea what I was doing. It was with you that I dipped my toes into motherhood always testing the water unsure if I was harming you or helping. Your smiles help me stay afloat and your tears break my heart. Today feeling very sentimental, after flipping through seven years of photographs, I snuggled next to you on the couch. I forced your hand covered in Sponge Bob tattoos over my shoulders, cupped your growing feet in my hands and observed you while you were in a TV coma. "What? What are you doing Mom?" I selfishly wanted to tell you to stop growing because as soon as I think I figured out how to parent you, I find myself gasping for more air again. "I love you dude." I whispered. "Awe, Mom. I love you too but Ben 10 is on." I've spent my life as a mother shielding you from harm. As a toddler, I fed you home-made organic snacks at the pool while glaring at the free spirited children splashing in a distances sending them telepathic warnings to keep their obnoxious splashes far away from you. As a preschooler, I moved you three times around in schools convinced that the seasoned teachers had no idea how to handle such a special treasure. I even held you back from attending kindergarten, your birthday so close to the cut-off, because of your sensitive soul which I knew was not ready to handle a tougher crowd of second borns, middle children, and/or the last of six. "You make me cry, Mama." My heart folds, each time I hear you whimper those words. How can a mother make her child cry? But I do. Or at least you tell me I do, as we sit together after dinner practicing mathematics and before camp as I prep you in the proper ways of handling a bully. I choose my words carefully and tip toe around you because my inexperience in motherhood created a sensitive soul. Your infamous last words before a flow of tears, I'm convinced, are meticulous planned to arouse an emotion from me... a cry for, a need for, some alone time with me. Oh. How I wish I could stop the world. And cradle you on my chest as I did for the first two years of your life when it was just the two of us. What would you be today, if you were all mine all the time? You are the happiest when outside on our beloved hikes exploring nature. Which are cut short by a screaming wild banshee. You are the proudest when playing a board game with me. Which are cut short by a uber competitive middle child. Time slips away. And now you are seven.  Click to enlarge six years of birthday photos.
Ps. I am also sorry that this letter is 5 days late. |
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| Last Updated on Thursday, 30 July 2009 07:40 |
