The 27th of November marks a year of RB.
A year of parenthood.
A year of being pushed to my limits, physically, emotionally, and mentally.
A year of wondering what the fuck I am doing and, yet, I am doing it.
A year of not really knowing who I am, and yet knowing exactly what I am.
The hardest and the most rewarding year of my life.
I've thought about printing off these blogs and putting them into some kind of binder, and eventually giving this to RB. Unfortunately for him, it's one of the closest things he's got to a baby book - and it's mostly focused on me. Is Mommy a narcissist? A question he'll probably ask himself from time to time throughout his life (and I'm sure one he'll put to me now and again).
I'd like to write him a letter each birthday. Let's start with year one.
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RB,
My son. My love and my light. My daily tormentor. Happy birthday, my guy.
You're one today. A whole year, and what a fucking year we've had. I mean, seriously - being a person is hard, but apparently being a baby is very hard. Being a mom is hard too. I thought I'd be a lot better at it, but I also knew in my heart that I probably wouldn't be a natural. I'm not a natural at too many things. I am a creature built from trial and error. You are my great trial, and I have had many errors in our first year together. I'm sure by the time you read this, you will be aware that I'm a person too, despite what you will think for the next few years, and that all people are imperfect. I hope you know I have given this first year my all. Even when I was breathless, crying and lost, I always gave you everything I could.
How would I describe those first months? I'm really not sure I laughed for a few weeks, maybe longer, after you were born. I was entirely unprepared for the journey my mind and body would go through. I wasn't even sure I liked you at first. (Don't stress. I like you a lot now.)
Once I finally (finally) evicted you from my body, some doctor I had never met and would never see again weighed and measured you, laid you on my chest, and suddenly, you were our responsibility. It was on my body to keep you fed. It was on our hands to keep you clean, to keep you warm. You were either asleep and quiet, which was terrifying ("is he breathing? check if he's breathing!!"), or you were awake and screaming (also terrifying, or at least trying).
There was a day where you cried for 17 hours. I am not exaggerating. We did every fucking thing we could think of, son, but you persisted. The ordeal ended with us at the pediatrician's office at midnight. You stopped crying the second we walked in. The doctor said sometimes changes in scenery will shock babies out of their crying spells. Their diagnosis? "Sometimes babies just cry! He may be a little colicky." Once you stopped crying, I started - right in the middle of that doctor's office. I cried a lot of places those first few months. I really wasn't sure how I'd get through it. Somehow, we did.
Those first few weeks, you and I basically lived in a recliner in our bedroom. It was the only way I could get any sleep. You on me, me sitting up straight, nursing, momentarily nodding off, waking up in a panic, seeing you were okay, rinse and repeat.
I remember your first bath at home. It was absolutely horrendous. You hated it. I wasn't sure we'd ever bathe you again after that meltdown. Eventually you came around to bathing and now it's the highlight of your day.
So many diapers. If you weren't eating or sleeping, someone was wiping your ass. Still very similar except now playing is in the mix. Changing your diaper has become an Olympic level sport, if angry alligators competed.
Somewhere in there, you grew a lot, and as a family, we slowly got into the swing of things. People would tell me that we would find ourselves comfortable in a routine and then that routine would suddenly change. Turns out that's true.
You got sick for the first time. You had an ear infection and I didn't realize. You threw up all over me and everything in a three foot radius of us. I hadn't experienced that level of fear before. I was shocked at the amount of stuff that could come out of your tiny body. I think that was the first time you really scared the hell out of me. You've had so many ear infections since, and you've fought (and won against) RSV. You're so tough when you feel sick. You really keep such a positive attitude through it all, even at your lowest.
You got better for the first time. You hated taking your medicine but we made it happen. You've fought everything that's come your way head-on.
You started sleeping through the night (for the most part) and so did I. My body continued to heal. My mind (kind of) followed suite. You continued to grow like a weed. You've been a pretty big dude this whole time. We've been particularly proud of that. It also makes me wary that you'll be bigger than me before you know it. I'll just have to be scarier.
You started smiling. Let me tell you, my guy - that made a world of difference. I think I really struggled at the beginning to know if you loved me or not. I'm hoping by the time you've read this I have fixed this, but in the moment I am writing it, I am a person who needs validation. You in all your tininess, you couldn't validate me, and ironically I needed it from you the most. Were the sacrifices I was making phsyically and emotionally enough? Were they appreciated? Your smile certainly helped me feel like they were. Eventually you started giggling. Talk about a nectar for the soul. Your laugh is honestly probably the greatest thing I've ever heard.
You started eating. You were very unsure about it at first, as were we. Your father was so uncomfortable every time you gagged he'd turn pale. I tried to explain (maybe more convince us both) that was a good thing, your reflex, but it was still terrifying. Now, at a year old, you eat like a rockstar. Literally, like a rockstar. You wear almost every meal. You eat with your hands (I will say you have two perfectly good forks at the end of your arms). You're officially weaned from formula. Pretty wild that you went from a liquid diet to three solid meals a day (plus endless snacks) in such a short time.
You became mobile. It happened so slowly and yet so fast. You took forever to roll over, finally doing so at eight months during a nap when no one was looking. Next thing we knew you were crawling. You were satisfied with that for a minute, at least until you figured out you could pull up on things, and then you were steady cruising. Just a few days ago you took your first steps. You were so proud of yourself, and your dad and I were just beside ourselves. You did it in front of your MoMo, CiCi, Pawpaw, GiGi and Pop-pop. Pretty incredible timing, honey, honestly. You're so proud every time you walk.
We've had some fun this year. You loved splashing in the pool and almost every single bath time. You're quite the giggle monster and the perfect amount of ticklish. You got a big bouncy ball for your birthday and we all think it's funny to gently bounce it off your head.
We've done some tough stuff this year. You were born in Florida and now you live in Texas. So far as you know, it's always been this way. It hasn't, though. We've worked really hard to have you live where you could be closer to everyone who loves you. And, man, you have quite the fan club.
We have some big stuff ahead of us in the next few months. You're getting tubes in your ears. You've got a hernia you're getting repaired. You've got a baby brother coming. All the while, you'll keep learning about the world and all it's magic.
Life is a crazy ride. You certainly make it a lot more fun. As you grow, you'll notice the only thing that stays the same is everything changes. Well, almost everything. Here are a few things you can always count on to never change:
Your father and I. To put it lightly, we love you and will do everything in our power to protect you while setting you up for success. Sometimes you won't get it. Just know what we do, we do for you.
Yourself. You have such a beautiful, budding personality. You are positive, loving, happy-go-lucky. You are so well put together when you feel down. Try to allow yourself to be who you are meant to be. At times you might want to fight it. Know that who you are is always enough.
Your family. Those that love you would (will) move mountains for you. They look at you as though you hung the moon. The way they tell it, you did. They may be crazy at times, but you can always look to them when you need a safe place to fall to.
It's hard for me to fathom that it's been a year since you joined us earthside. It feels so much shorter, and also so much longer. I am so proud to be your mom. I have realized, since you were born, that I don't know as much as I once thought I did, but I do know this: I was meant to be your mother. Even when I am at my wits end, I was meant for you, and you for me.
Thank you for the most beautifully challenging year of my life. I look forward to seeing more of who you are.
I love you
Always and forever
Together or apart
Mom
PS - I hope your obsession with your dad never changes. You're his biggest fan and he's yours too. Your relationship is beautiful, special, and all your own. He's learned a lot from you too, and he'll tell you about his journey one day. Always know that every move he makes, he makes with you in mind.
Your future is of the utmost importance to us, and we're balancing that with just enjoying your present.
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