Growing Up

It is still hard to believe I have a son, a son who is turning two years old this month. I have always thought about someday having a family of my own, but I never actually visualized these early years. I was never interested in children growing up, aside from my then peers. I'm still not entirely comfortable with kids, but I have learned a few skills that, in a pinch, make me a perfectly competent babysitter. I can change a diaper, I can figure out what food is appropriate to feed a kid at that age, and I can tell when a baby is so tired that nothing will fix it except time.

I remember my son's shaky entrance to this world--everyone was concerned how he would do since he was seven weeks early. Everybody released a collective sigh as my little one let out his first cry. They cleaned him up, wrapped him up, and I saw the little creature that had been living inside me for so long. It was a strange moment. I didn't know what to feel or even how I felt, but it didn't take me long to want to see him again. He was so tiny, and I wanted to know more about him.


He was sent to the NICU, while various tests were performed and he was poked and prodded and placed in an incubator. The real test was having to leave him at the hospital a day later; I was absolutely overcome with emotion, a rare sensation for such a logical me. He stayed in the hospital for over two weeks, and I visited as often as I could. It still meant he would be alone for the entire night, with only a nurse to keep watch. 

He looked so small in the incubator, with a feeding tube coming out of his nose and various monitor wires leading off of him. He even had to wear shades of a sort, for all the time he spent under the special jaundice light. But the day soon came when he was declared thriving and perfectly healthy for home life. It was another strange moment, walking out of that little room I had come to know so well in those few weeks for the last time. It was a graduation of sorts.


I remember his first bath, in a little pink plastic tub at the hospital, carefully keeping the umbilical cord stump dry. He was not happy about all the watery nonsense, and I was afraid of dropping him. His subsequent baths were much easier, and now he loves them, will even come running if he hears the water running in the tub.


I have kept a journal, writing down all the major milestones, like his first smile, first laugh, first time sitting up or rolling over. Sometimes I include his favorite foods or something he did that I never knew babies did at all.


I also remember the sleep deprivation, and later having him fall asleep on my chest while we rocked away the small hours of the night. My mom's cousin mused one day as we were visiting how special those quiet dark hours were and how much she missed them, and at the time I completely disagreed with her. I remember thinking to myself that I would never miss those times. There was utter elation the first night he slept for a full five hours straight, and a small pit of pain in my chest as I began to realize he was needing me less, that maybe there was truth in what my mom's cousin had said. I never thought I would miss my baby being a baby.

I remember the fear that came once he did sleep through the night, the irrational yet quite normal fear that he would die during the night from SIDs. I would have to get out of bed just to double check he was still breathing and I would rush to his crib first thing in the morning. I still have that vague fear, that for some reason he will be taken back to heaven in the night, having fulfilled his mission here on earth. I still pray that God will let me keep him, just a little while longer, because I love him so. It might seem silly or paranoid, but that is what rests in my heart of hearts.

I am glad for this season in my life, when I am supposed to have children. So many girls get into trouble, pregnant out of wedlock, and end up falling in love with their baby. It is natural and good for mothers to love their children, but that same connection can distort a single mother's view, making it hard for her to see just how much she is depriving that child by not giving it up for adoption to a stable, married couple. I am one of the fortunate ones who had a baby at the right season in life (while married), and I am grateful, despite the challenges that come from having kids before financial stability is achieved.

Children really do change absolutely everything. And as my baby has grown, I think I've grown up, too.