Twelve Years

I can't count the number of times I was told how fast time flies for a parent. I heard it many times. Each time I was focused on the moment and didn't care to consider beyond it. No doubt I was rushing around to keep up with my schedule or worrying about the ups and downs of life. And I was remembering how long it took for me to graduate high school and finish college. Perspective is certainly dependent upon age. In 2003 it certainly didn't seem like time was quickly passing, as a tiny baby boy was in my arms. 

Now here we are - 12 years later. Twelve. If I hadn't been there for every moment of it, I simply would refuse to believe it.

Twelve years ago at this very hour - 11 p.m., I was just arriving at the hospital in Northwest Arkansas. The arrival of my one-week-past-due baby boy came without any fear or fire drills. The signs that he was coming came very calmly while I was in the restroom peacefully at home. I could not have planned it any better. In my estimation it would have happened at an embarrassing moment. While I was at work perhaps or in the car. There was certainly no need for the plastic shower curtain I had been sleeping on top of, strategically placed underneath my bed sheets. Thankfully. I was terrified that I would be speeding to a medical facility in extreme pain, panic and terror. Fueled by dramatic television portrayals of how it happens, I had convinced myself of the worst possible scenarios when I imagined the day. Thank goodness that was not the case.

No, in fact, it couldn't have been a calmer arrival. I called my doctor to ask if I should come in. My water had broken but nothing felt any different. Nothing was really happening. I wondered - and even asked - if I could just sleep at home and come in when it was closer to time. The medical professional told me it was best to come in. So I did. 

I calmly got there. Checked in. Got to a room, still calm, and still not sure it was even time to be there. I spent the night of January 13, 2003 in the hospital room where I would meet my baby boy the next day. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Too nervous to sleep. With the help of some medical and pharmaceutical support, I became a mom the next morning. 

It blows my mind that earning the title of "mom" requires no qualifications or prerequisites. Sure, you have doctors and nurses who make a few fast suggestions before they send you off on your way to figure out how to care for a child back at home. But when it really comes down to it, you're on your own. I have learned every single day. And I continue to learn. I am in no way perfect, but I trust that I am perfect for my son. I believe that God's plan is a perfect one. I trust that He knows exactly what He is doing. I've been a single mother for all but those first 5 months of my son's life. That didn't feel perfect when I was living it. That certainly wasn't how I pictured things. Though painful, it was absolutely the plan. Better things were coming. A happiness that I hadn't even considered was possible. And it was coming, years down the road. And I would be a better mom if I was on my own. In fact, I am.

Now I can see that I trained for this role my entire life. God gave my son one of the bossiest and most independent moms in the entire world. One who could handle the path. Shakily at first, but eventually with confidence and certainty. I was made for this. Was it easy? No way. I definitely could not have done it without the support of my family that first year. But I did it.

I often have said out loud that every year of motherhood is better than the previous one. First you have a baby. That's cool. But then all these awesome milestones start to happen. Then words. And sentences. And questions. And conversations. And before you know it there's school. And activities. And martial arts. And band. As we approach the teenage years I hope the trend continues. May I always find more joy and appreciation year after year. 

Just as I felt 12 years ago, I don't feel prepared to raise a teenager.  But I am certainly up for the challenge of figuring it out. Bring. It. On.

I get six more years to figure out how to prepare a young man to be his best self in this great big world. Only six more years before college, career and hopefully adventures and a wonderful life of his own. But the world isn't easy, or fair. I pray that I'll be guided to make the right decisions along the way as I help him be the very best grown-up that I possibly can.

Happy birthday to my sweet, sweet T. I love your laugh, your blue eyes, your quick-witted sense of humor and tendencies to start random collections. Your appreciation of music, movies, television and technology makes my heart smile. I love how you value family. I love your ability to adapt and see the possibilities ahead. I love you, baby boy of mine. Happy 12th birthday. 

Love, 

Mom