One.

birthday cupcake

so much magic in my third child.

my little rubber band; expanding me, catapulting my spirit in divine light and shadow-play,  and always, always bringing me back.

his eyes are two little question marks, assessing and calculating and figuring things out.

my son, my body is still your main source of nourishment.   it seems fitting that i sustain you for your first year of life.   it took quite a while to gestate and bring you earthside.  and so, it should take awhile for us to begin the first of our many separations to come.

but, always connected.  breath, blood, extended arms, stories clinging to plasma and circulating back and forth.

you shriek.  alot.  this is your preferred method of communication.

soon, the tiny feet that work to steady you will be moving one in front of the other.  and new vantage points will be yours for the taking.

what i’ve learned from you in your first year:

  • i can survive being a human pacifier {you don’t like binkys like your sisters did}
  • anger is sometimes best if breathed out through the nose instead of the mouth
  • learning about life by sitting on a hip or being worn in a carrier or held in arms is unparalleled
  • that by watching me bake almost every day your first “real” word would be: HOT
  • not only is love boundless, it breaks boundaries
  • you guide me to slow down
  • being a mother to a son is a sort of precious that cannot be put into words
  • not to struggle
  • how a baby can totally nurse in downward dog pose
  • that you can “encourage” little baby curls by wetting the hair and winding it around your fingertip {sometimes you get the “mama salon”}
  • boys really ARE “different” than girls.  and that it’s totally okay.
  • it takes the fire department about 3 minutes to get to our house {more on that later}
  • you are infinite gift upon infinite gift in my already blessed life.

thank you for choosing us, lyric.  thank you for coming here.  thank you for participating in life with a fervor as deep as my favorite chocolate.    the way you weave your love and playfulness throughout our lives keeps us laughing and loving and running in to scoop you up the moment you awaken from a nap.

we simply cannot get enough.

one year was good to us. so, so good.

the night before your birthday, as the house slumbered under the desert moon, your sisters each half-awoke and made their way into our room to sleep.  upon a nest of blankets and pillows they dreamed.  my heart inflated to its edges knowing that our entire family was cozy in one room, as the hours crept closer to the time you began your journey of birth last year.

on your birthday, we woke up about 15 minutes after your birth date time.  but, the way i figure, we were snuggling into bed together at that time last year and that seemed fitting since i was waking up with your smiling face next to me this year.

we sang happy birthday to you a few times and you clapped your hands and laughed.

i cried when i read this, our dear friend jeanette’s beautiful account of your intense, fast, operatic entry into the world.   lyric, she gifted us with this.  can you believe words can be so powerful? {bonus:  when you have a best friend who is both an incredible photographer and a brilliant wordsmith, you get one helluva birth story & photo combo}

we invited the same circle of friends over who celebrated with us the evening you were born.   you ate your first cupcake.  it was supposed to be red velvet but mama  poured what appeared to be red food coloring in the batter.

it was yellow.

the batter looked EXACTLY like your foamy, fluffy breastmilk poop.  greenish yellowish.   i thought this was hilarious serendipity on your first birthday.  we certainly have had our share of poopy diapers.   but it tasted yummy so we had our “yellow velvet” cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.

and, once again, last night we all slept in the same room to close out the milestone of your one full revolution around the sun.    the morning after your birthday, you awoke first and chattered to rouse your sisters.   kaia climbed on the bed with you, and in a slow whisper said, in the same bittersweet tone she’s heard from me:

“One. Years. Old”

**************************

mama isn’t ready to call you a “one year old”.   if time didn’t exist (does it exist?) and someone told me to quickly estimate how many suns have risen and set since you were born, i’d think a moment and honestly guess roughly 180.   six months.     certainly no more than that.

but love has a way of rushing in and sweeping us up into its swollen, brilliant, crystal blue current.

i am along for the ride of my life.  and you, my lyric, are beside me.

holy. holy. holy.

wholly. wholly. wholly.

ours.

i love you, son.

happy day you were escorted by you daddy from womb to my arms.   never will that memory fade.

this moment...

yours from dawn till dusk and every moon-rise,

mama

********************

a song, strummed and sung to you by a dear friend the night you were born…

Forever Young – Bob Dylan

May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong

…And may your song always be sung {you are my song}

…May you stay forever young

*********

and a video montage.  ignore the glaring error of his year of birth. ha – mom brain.

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3 thoughts on “One.

  1. “being a mother to a son is a sort of precious that cannot be put into words” — ditto. What a beautiful story, what a beautiful montage, what a beautiful you. Happy BIRTH Day to you both! xo

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