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My son is three. New facets of his personality
emerge daily...he runs fast. He sings along with me when I sing to him at
bedtime...he knows the words and won't sing the wrong ones. He calls broccoli "baby trees".
He likes his room neat. He smiles like his dad. He's empathetic and kind and he shares better
than most toddlers. He's prone to throw things when he is angry. He's mellow.
He's a miracle.
I spend most days now wondering if I'm doing things right. Am I too structured?
Not structured enough? Am I failing him by working outside the home? Is it
really better for his immune system to be in a school/daycare or is that
another in a long list of rationalizations I'll use to make myself feel better?
I am constantly afraid of failing him...of not giving him the tools he needs to
seize his life and make the world a better place than he found it. My son has the capacity to be heroic...like his dad...like I try to be.
He's afraid of going to sleep at night...I sit in the living room with his Dad,
fighting the urge to go hold his hand until he sleeps because I truly believe
that it's important he be able to comfort himself. I TRULY believe my only
imperative as his Mother is to make him not need me any more. I want him to
WANT me...but not need me. I want to be a source of comfort and joy for him,
but I want him to be able to do it on his own. I want him to not be as afraid
of everything as I am.
I live in constant fear, you see. I am the bravest person on the planet. I'm
afraid of everything and I do all those things anyway. I am even scared that my
fear will rub off on Aidan...all the more reason to fake fearlessness. I refuse
to cripple my children...to make them incapable of existing without me. Every
single night and every single morning I thank God for the time I'm given, the
new day, the day that has passed...and I beg for many more. The longer my
little one is here...the more impending the birth of Archer...the happier I am
and more secure in my marriage...the more terrified I become of having to leave
it all before I'm ready. I want to live to see many more
birthdays...50...60...if I could live to see Aidan with his own grandchildren,
I'll be satisfied. So each night, after my little one has battled with
sleep...I wage my own war.
And it's hard and it's mercilessly beautiful and I
feel blessed to see his sweet face each day. I consider it a privilege to be
able to see any days of his...to be his mother, to be Andy's wife. I wake each
day to the kind morning and if I'm still tired...it's fine...if I'm sore from
growing another baby...it's fine...I love my life too much. And I love this day
especially because it marks three years of his joy and little triumphs and I love
knowing that more are coming.
emerge daily...he runs fast. He sings along with me when I sing to him at
bedtime...he knows the words and won't sing the wrong ones. He calls broccoli "baby trees".
He likes his room neat. He smiles like his dad. He's empathetic and kind and he shares better
than most toddlers. He's prone to throw things when he is angry. He's mellow.
He's a miracle.
I spend most days now wondering if I'm doing things right. Am I too structured?
Not structured enough? Am I failing him by working outside the home? Is it
really better for his immune system to be in a school/daycare or is that
another in a long list of rationalizations I'll use to make myself feel better?
I am constantly afraid of failing him...of not giving him the tools he needs to
seize his life and make the world a better place than he found it. My son has the capacity to be heroic...like his dad...like I try to be.
He's afraid of going to sleep at night...I sit in the living room with his Dad,
fighting the urge to go hold his hand until he sleeps because I truly believe
that it's important he be able to comfort himself. I TRULY believe my only
imperative as his Mother is to make him not need me any more. I want him to
WANT me...but not need me. I want to be a source of comfort and joy for him,
but I want him to be able to do it on his own. I want him to not be as afraid
of everything as I am.
I live in constant fear, you see. I am the bravest person on the planet. I'm
afraid of everything and I do all those things anyway. I am even scared that my
fear will rub off on Aidan...all the more reason to fake fearlessness. I refuse
to cripple my children...to make them incapable of existing without me. Every
single night and every single morning I thank God for the time I'm given, the
new day, the day that has passed...and I beg for many more. The longer my
little one is here...the more impending the birth of Archer...the happier I am
and more secure in my marriage...the more terrified I become of having to leave
it all before I'm ready. I want to live to see many more
birthdays...50...60...if I could live to see Aidan with his own grandchildren,
I'll be satisfied. So each night, after my little one has battled with
sleep...I wage my own war.
And it's hard and it's mercilessly beautiful and I
feel blessed to see his sweet face each day. I consider it a privilege to be
able to see any days of his...to be his mother, to be Andy's wife. I wake each
day to the kind morning and if I'm still tired...it's fine...if I'm sore from
growing another baby...it's fine...I love my life too much. And I love this day
especially because it marks three years of his joy and little triumphs and I love
knowing that more are coming.
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