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the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning
12.07.06 (9:32 pm)   [edit]
I'm watching "Walk the Line" and planning Jacob's 7th birthday party, while Benjamin's first birthday creeps up on me. One week from tomorrow, my little baby will turn one. And as hard as hell as it is to have an infant -- and boy, can it be hard, especially when that infant has two older brothers -- I'm having a pretty tough time.

Every morning, I walk past the Prentice women's hospital on my way to work next door, and every single time, I remember the three times I waddled in, heavily pregnant, and tiptoed out, delicately bruised and intensely focused on the new life we tucked into a new car seat. Every time, I remind myself how the first time I was in so much pain, and the second time took so long, and the third time there was no hot water in my room. I remember going from being just a woman to being a mother; being responsible for the life of a whole other being.

Almost every night, I rock the baby in the darkness of the living room. The other two boys are asleep (or close to it) on the other end of the apartment, and the world closes in on me and that tiny person. Benjamin gazes at me with his beatific smile, his sparkling blue eyes. He bats his long eyelashes and clutches my finger; shakes his head against my shoulder and eventually turns and wraps his whole body around my arm. I feel him surrendering to his sleepiness every night, and his peace turns into mine.

The first baby is the experiment. He's the learning curve; the discovery. He's how you learn what true love is. He's unconditional and testing and exasperating. He forces you to learn.

The second baby is the company. He's the one just for fun, the one to round out your numbers. He gets less attention but needs less help. At least, that's what we tell ourselves. He's the clown, the playful one. He's the one that lets you appreciate the early days, months, years -- the ones we lost to learning how to parent. He's the one where you relax the rules and let yourself make mistakes.

The third one is the surprise. He isn't anyone's twin or anyone's opposite. His isn't his father's junior or his mother's son -- he's intensely, uniquely himself but a blend of everyone. He's the self-sufficient one; the last one in line, the hand-me-down kid, the one who's never had anything to himself. He's the team player but the center of the world. He's my baby, and he's growing up.

And I can say forever that he will always be my baby, but there will come a day -- probably many, when I will read these words and remember rocking him in the dark, brushing that silken hair off his forehead in the flickering light from the TV, and wonder where my baby went.
 


posted by: surrogate (reply)
post date: 12.08.06 (1:18 pm)

What will the fourth one be?... or maybe the sixth?





posted by: FinalyFree (reply)
post date: 12.09.06 (7:55 am)

I truly miss my 'babies'



posted by: seochris (reply)
post date: 12.12.06 (2:22 am)

Cud u publish ur babies snaps plz



posted by: almsthvn (reply)
post date: 12.15.06 (8:28 pm)

Happy Birthday, Benjamunch!

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