My darling Nora Jane,
Happy birthday. Happy fifth birthday.
I remember the night before you were born, how excited and scared I was for the whatever the heck was about to happen to just HAPPEN.
I remember sitting on the operating room, awaiting a spinal, and feeling so positively terrified at my imminent c-section and parenthood and whose ridiculous idea was this, anyhow, and NO, I DID NOT THINK I WAS FEELING THIS SO MUCH ANYMORE, I was going to drive home and go back to bed as soon as someone could find me some drawstring pants.
And then (several fuzzy, morphine-enhanced moments later) I remember hearing you cry. And feeling P.J. cry. And seeing- for the very, very first time- your button nose angrily scrunched in an almost mirror image of my pre c-section face. As in- what the heck’s going on? But- also for the very, very first time- I one thousand percent knew what was going on. I was a Mom. I was your Mom. And it was euphoric.
The night before your 5th birthday you asked me to sing “your songs,” the one which’ve lulled to you to sleep- and which I’ve murmured in my sleep- to you since that very first night of your life. You Are My Sunshine, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Rockabye Baby, and Brahms Lullaby (a.k.a. Doot doot doooooot). The quartet of songs that I’d hum as you dozed between your father and me in bed (which, as every manual told me, I SHOULD NOT BE DOING), and the same songs I’d impatiently sing on repeat, getting faster and faster between the verses as I paced with you around your nursery, knowing- just knowing- that The Office was starting in, like, forty-five seconds.
Now they’re the same songs that you request when you’re feeling like being a Little Little again, when you want to hold my hand and look up at me with the same serious, empathetic eyes with which you’ve gazed at me since the first time I held you.
People say that this age- five- sneaks up on them. Suddenly they have a person where before they had just an infant. But honestly, Nora, I know for a fact you’ve been around for five years. We’ve had five really full, really fun years so far. I hope we have one hundred and five more.
Because, regardless of your age, I already know for a fact that you’re one of the best people I’ll ever meet. By a lot.
Because…for real.
So, thanks for being my nap buddy, NJ. Thanks for being my solemn crayon-wielding office mate. Thanks for dancing to Spotify playlists with me like we’re being judged by panelists. (Which, if you count Susannah, Jasper, and the cats- we totally are.)
And thanks for being the pink-hatted little bean who laid against my shoulder that first night in the hospital. The very first time you squinted your unfocused eyes up at me, you rested your velvety cheek against my chest and stared up, as if to say- I hope you know what the heck you’re doing.
Truth time: I have no idea. But we’re doing okay, yeah?
I love you to Pluto (and back).
Love, Mom
Speak Your Mind