A (private) Letter to my First Born Child on his Sixth Birthday. PDF Print E-mail
Written by OHmommy   
Thursday, 24 July 2008 19:00
Dearest Jay,

Today you turn six. Yesterday you were practicing how to display six on both hands. After cautiously researching all possibilities you determined the sixth finger needed to be your thumb.

Thumbs up, for six.

Yesterday, I repeatedly asked you to stop growing in which you giggled and replied that if you do not grow up then who will build me a roller coaster and pool on our front lawn. I do not necessarily need those in front of the house; however, these items represent happiness to you. Not a day goes by without your grand engineering plans for them. You want to be an engineer, a dentist, and even perhaps a hunter. Whatever you may become I know you heart will always be true. You have a heart of gold, dearest Jay.

Your love for our family is extraordinary. Fifi adores your gentle nature and enormous smile. Your voice naturally rises a number of octaves when speaking to her, "Tortellini, Fettuccine, My Fifi-ini." Lola, however loud and domineering, is able to listen to your schemes and together you execute them with perfection. She is your parrot, repeating your words of wisdom. You are your father's only son and together you explore the man's world of hardware stores, fishing creeks, and the biking roads. You look forward to building Legos with him in our dining room which you have baptised the "Lego room." You are my first born and forever have earned a special place in my heart. You made me a mother. Last month you asked me to stop singing to you at night time, only to realize my frown. I am still singing to you, per your request, every night. You heart is full of compassion and love.

You can dance. Sort of. Santa gave you a radio and shortly after you got your first library card. We frequent the library in search of boy band CDs. You are still so innocent, sweet, and untainted when you break out your moves. It is a good thing that we did not attend any weddings this year.

Every single night after you say your prayers in English and in Chicago, you thank God for the same thing. "Thank you God for the... Best. Day. Ever!" I have stopped asking you to pick just one thing to focus on being thankful for, because I realize that you are right. Even after the most boring and most un-eventful day you smile and thank him for the best day ever. Everyday with you is.... the best day ever.

You are sensitive and slowly learning how to deal with your emotions. "I stubbed my toe, really bad. And. I didn't EVEN cry!" Everyday I remind you about the strong men in your life you idolize and how they use words and not tears. Your father, grandfathers, Uncle Mike, Billy, and Phil are people that you adore. "That killed. But, I didn't EVEN cry."

"Peace" and "Awesome" and "Dude" are part of your everyday vocabulary now. When you utter those words you begin to strut like your father did when he was courting me.

Making friends for you comes naturally. On our trip to Chicago, you adopted Izabela, as your "best friend in Chicago." The last time we went to the pool, you adopted a boy two years your senior as your "best friend at the pool." With each friendship you make, I build your confidence up by telling you how friendly you are to other children. You have already started to stress over the fact that you do not speak Polish and making friends in Poland will prove difficult, on our vacation. "No one will understand me speaking." I convinced you that they will be amazed with your monkey bar skills and that friendships are built on strength anyways.

Haircuts can only take place on a Saturday morning. That is when Barber Joe treats the customers to free donuts. This year, you became a fast food connoisseur. At school you earned Pizza Hut coupons, you learned about the latest Burger King toys from commercials, and to keep baby Fifi awake on long rides home we have had our fair shares of McDonald's ice creams turned blizzards.

Sweet sweet Jay. I was a young 25 when I held you for the first time and cradled you in my arms. For months I would not allow anyone to hold you, you were mine. You slept curled up, on my chest, an hour each day for nearly a year. For that hour, the outside world did not exist. The phones were turned off, we had no cell phones or high speed Internet then, that hour belonged to us. I tried hard to synchronize my breathing to yours and inhaled your delicious baby scent. That hour belonged to us. I was never able to reproduce that special time with the girls. You are special to me. You made me a mother and forever we are bound.

Most of the time I have no idea what I am doing. For that I apologize to you, my first born. I have no time to read parenting books or research how to raise a son. I am trying to do the best that I can and offer you my love, confidence, and compassion. And I know that I am doing an acceptable job when you approach me in the morning, in your Power Rangers PJs and with smelly breath, whispering.... "Sweet little mousie Mama, your handsome guy is awake for the day."

And no matter how long my night was I turn to you and whisper back, "Good morning, this is the best day ever."

Thumbs up, for six. I can't wait to see how the next year unfolds.

Your mama
Last Updated on Monday, 20 July 2009 22:56

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Pauline Karwowski.

Is a self proclaimed globe trotting, minivan driving, SAHM stiletto ho.

Happily married mother to 3 Cleveland natives: Jay the son, Lola the daughter, and Fifi the banshee.

Now in Chicago, IL.

The content on this blog is the opinion of the blogger.


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