Exactly one year ago today, as I slept somewhat fitfully, T came tearing out of the bathroom, fumbling for a light. In her hand she clutched a positive pregnancy stick, and tears welled in her eyes as she sought to accept that finally, yes finally, our dreams were coming true. It was possibly the best day of my life other than the one on which our son was born.
One year later, my wife is resting peacefully (at last) after a long, frustrating night trying to get our almost four-month-old to sleep. What a difference a year makes. How different we both are, and while some things remain frustratingly the same in our lives, having him here has made our lives so much more full and has challenged us in some profound ways, challenged us as individuals and as a couple. Our emerging family is painfully beautiful to me. Hard fought for and hard won, we exist because we willed it so, and even when hope seemed out of reach, we never gave up. A year that gave and then took away a marriage ten years in the making also gave us our son. I don’t know what that means except that despite the storm outside, we managed to have the best year of our almost twelve-year relationship.
We loved her pregnancy, those days spent dreaming, planning, and gestating. I watched in awe as she grew our son, watched the way she stroked her belly, already in love with the baby and the changes he would bring. I remember how much fun she had at milestone events like her brother’s wedding, not caring a bit that she couldn’t drink (and later on at another wedding, couldn’t dance). The showers, the clothes she kept growing out of, the necessary trips to the pool; everyday was a gift, and we treated it as such.
Then BG was born, and those dreamy days turned to shock as we realized that they actually let us bring him home. That one still floors me sometimes. Honestly, I knew T would be a fantastic mom. She’s always had this nurturing thing down: the voice, the touch, the patience. I, however, didn’t have the faintest idea what kind of mom I was going to be, but I hoped like hell I’d have some talent for it. I’ve spent the past four months attempting, through trial and error, to determine who I am as a mother. Oh, there are days I’m so confused or frustrated, but mostly I’m humbled by it all, at how hard it is, at how I never get tired of being this little baby’s Mamma. I’ve been so silent on this blog, Dear Readers, because I simply don’t know how to put words to this experience, this process of becoming something so important to someone so precious. I am so busy doing it, that I rarely reflect on what it has meant, but today seems a perfect opportunity for such reflection.
This year has been not only the best of my relationship with T, but the best of my life. It brought me my son, and in many ways, it brought me home to myself.
Happy New Year Everyone.