Just a warning here, here comes the long and blubbering post I mentioned last week. Let me just apologize in advance. :)
A few days after my last baby was born, I called my mother in tears. The reason? The crazy, crazy reason? Because I just didn't know how I could be done having babies. She helped whip my blubbering self into shape with some mothering-ly kind tough love. For now, she said, you have a baby. Don't waste the time you do have with your baby worrying about not having any more babies. Lol. She was so right, of course. Since that day, I have tried, not always perfectly, to soak up each and every day with him and with the other kids as well. But somehow, at the same time, I subconsciously felt that I could hold on to them, that I could somehow grip their childhoods so tightly that I could keep them selfishly mine and little forever. But it doesn't work. And that's not all bad-- for example, my little boy is at the delightful stage of dawning new words and phrases each day. Like today, when we had to get some little girls to a potty pronto, and I scooped him up, and absentmindedly noted to him that we had to find the potty, when he replied matter-of factly (in the cutest little lilting voice): "I tink I tan [can]?!"
Without realizing it, as his birthday started to approach, I started slipping back into the anxious me that worries that somehow if I let go of that beautiful period of babyhood, I will have lost something. Somehow if I can just....hold on, then my babies were really real, they really did make me cry every time one of them was born, I nursed them to sleep and then stroked their little angel cheeks and their little wispy hair and we smiled at each other in a secret way that I knew was just meant for me. Then maybe I won't forget little tiny bodies curled up on mine, our breathing and our everything in sync, then maybe I won't forget first words and first steps and kissing away ouchies and sweeping up someone whose most comfortable, unafraid place is my arms. That's where we were meant to be, together. To kiss little cheeks and drink in little baby scent on soft folded necks to tiny squeaking giggles. To be the first to see those little blinking eyes in a morning as we both remember we have each other! Ha! So lucky. That I can just wonder at the little miracle that I made! I made (ok, with a little help!)! Somehow I feel if I can just hold on, I won't forget, just how lovely and special and life-changing and sweet it's all been. Having my heart outside my body. How I never thought I wouldn't really matter anymore, when there is someone so special to love, but it's true. Never the same.
When my grandpa died, there were some parts of me that took it hard. The ones that grieved for things lost. But there was another part, a cathartic part. The part that surprised me. Something just felt right. I struggled to wrap my head around it, but my heart felt it, it felt right. He lived a good life. His grandsons carried his body in strength of grief to his final resting place dug out of fresh brown dirt while new generations jumped off headstones or were calmed by strong mothers with long flowing skirts that blew with a gentle strength into a blue beyond. The one that lets old things die, new things grow, and the middle things contribute to the creation of new life.
Do we need to be afraid of endings? And are they really endings? I looked around to all of the people with heads bowed in respect to my grandfather, and I saw his children, his grandchildren, his great grandchildren, all with literal physical parts of themselves that carry him on with them. And his legacy that will live on in their minds and hearts and will carry forth to new ones that will never quite know where an idea or an inspiration came from, only to know that it became a part of them before they even noticed the ingredients that made up their individual selves. I saw in the beauty of the children playing, the renewal, the spring after the winter. And I saw that life isn't just full of endings and beginnings, it is full of circles that never really end or begin. The real tragedies in life are the ones that get complacent and stale, not the ones, no matter how short, that have purpose. Even those dearest of ones who have gone to a better world so so early, they left behind a part of themselves that is sweet and just as real. An inspiration to live worthy of being with them again in addition to leaving behind something that literally becomes a part of those who loved them, to go on influencing people for good long after their physical presence is gone.
I do feel rather silly, for being sad about saying goodbye to babies when there are so many people out there who struggle to have children. I have five healthy ones. Some days I feel guilty for the ease, the plenty that I have been given. Sometimes it doesn't seem fair. Yet on other days, I hold my children that much closer, I love them, I appreciate them, and I do it for the childless, aching arms, because I know what is what they'd want, and what they'd do.
As I prepared for little boys birthday, some of my fears started to melt away. Because age 2 is such a magical birthday age-- when the magic of birthdays really starts to dawn-- it can be so delightful! (even though he is in a "no" stage and told us "no" in an angry voice-- "no birt-day!" --when we told him "its your birthday!" ha.) I anticipated his birthday with so much excitement because I could hardly contain my excitement for his excitement.
There are still going to be some ups and downs, as I try to figure out how to wean my very attached child (yes, he would nurse all day if I let him!). And realize that letting go is okay. That progression is good, and it is not an ending. Um, didn't I call my mother to sob about being done having babies? As I still call my mom when times are tough or happy or anything inbetween. I still need my own mom, no matter how tough or independent I try to appear. So motherhood doesn't end either, as we grow right along with our little ones.
I am so thankful I have been able to take part in this circle of life, to give of myself in ways that make my children stronger and happier without knowing quite how or why. Life with its cycles of sowing and harvest, its chain of renewal, its sweeps from old to new and back again, that is what it is all about. The only thing to really be afraid of is stagnation, a stalling of progress around the chain from its forward movement around the circle that binds us.
Haley Gibby sang my favorite version of the Billy Joel song Goodnight My Angel, you can listen to it here. I had it originally playing on this birth announcement for Emerson here (don't know why the photos but not the songs are working now).
Goodnight my angel time to close your eyes
And save these questions for another day.
I think I know what you've been asking me,
I think you know what I've been trying to say.
I promised I would never leave you
Then you should always know
I never will be far away.
Goodnight my angel now its time to sleep,
And still so many things I want to say.
Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an emerald bay.
And like a boat out on the ocean
I'm rocking you to sleep
The water's dark and deep
Inside this mother's heart
You'll always be a part of me.
Goodnight my angel now it's time to dream
And dream how wonderful your life will be
Some day your child may cry and if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart there will always be a part
Of me.
(I found these old photos of the day we blessed our little Ava. )
