Cheeky Sweetie

When I found out I was pregnant with him, I was just 16, myself.

Just a child.  A child who thought she could handle anything the big bad world threw at her. Oh, what I’d give for that fierce courage now.  Life itself has become my Jabberwock, and some days I bring its head home and others it’s my own head I’ve lost.

At first I thought I would give my baby up for adoption.  I was only 16.  I had such dreams…I was a straight A student who barely cracked a book.  But I changed in the months I carried him, and after receiving my family’s blessing and offer for help, I chose to keep him.

I went in for a 38 weeks checkup and when my doctor checked me for dilation, he said he was certain that my baby was either breech, or reaching out to say hello.  Within twenty minutes I was in the high risk OB’s office next door while he took a look with his ultrasound machine.  They conferred in whispers I couldn’t then understand, but later learned was about how short the cord was, and it appeared to be laying in a  way that suggested it was looped around his neck…all major complications in a breech birth that could be life-threatening to both the baby, and the mother.

I was sent home with orders to not eat after midnight like I was a Gremlin, and to be back at the hospital in twelve hours for a c-section.

So I did, and then, in a moment that both lasted for eons and flashed by in a twinkling, I became a mother.

He gave me that.  I gave him life, and he gave me the most beautiful reason to live.

Memories.  Of trying to write a term paper or study for finals while jumping up every five minutes to redirect him from something he shouldn’t be doing.  Of being overcome with terror when he pulled his 18 month old hand out of mine and tumbled down the stairs, and the relief when he was dancing and playing in the ER waiting room soon after.  Of martial arts lessons, and BMX bike parts carpeting the garage in our last house, and his reaction to seeing his baby sister for the first time.  Of first day of kindergarten and elementary school graduation and spending a week in the hospital  with him when he had Rotovirus.

It’s been a wild ride.  Some tough times in the recent years, and I know there will still be situations that make me wonder if he’s learned anything at all that I’ve been trying to teach him.  But he’s different now.  He thinks more about the consequences of his actions.  He puts more thought into what he says and does.  He tries to make me proud, and he finds satisfaction in himself when he does the right thing.

He still comes to me..about anything.  I was so afraid we would lose that after he was sentenced to the program last year.  But, if anything, it’s brought us closer.  He knows I will fight for him…even if it’s him I have to fight.  And while on the surface, that’s the typical annoying parent thing to do, I can see in his eyes that a part of him appreciates that I got his back, no matter what.  If he slips, I’ll help him get back up.

I’m proud of the young man he is today.  He’s come a long way; he used to be someone who deserved to hear the nasty truth of who he was choosing to be.  But not anymore.  There is no nasty truth.  He’s not that boy anymore.

Happy birthday, Christian.  Thank you for all the richness and joy you have brought to my life, and for teaching me some of the toughest and most important lessons I will ever learn.  I’m proud to be your mom.