Spaghetti and Meatballs as you had requested.
You didn't eat one bite of-course. You sure did miss out.
I tried to console you. I tried to kiss your tears away as you battered your 3 year old fists against me. I tried time outs and scolding you. I tried to be here, there and everywhere as the food cooked on two elements and in the oven. You cried, bath! You cried and cried. You cried for Daaaaddyyyyy. You cried at my feet as I blended tomato sauce before it burned and flipped meatballs before they blackened and drained noodles before they turned to mush. And at times I just had to let you cry while insane guilty thoughts grabbed at my mind with gnarled hands knowing what a sensitive little boy you are. I became convinced I was giving you abandonment issues for sure.
And still you cried.
Then John arrived and I threw my hands in the air with a "Thank God!" and "I just can't deal with this anymore. I can't. I'm done." Quite possibly there were stronger words used that may or may not have sounded like I was thisclose to losing my shit. It was not my first time and won't be my last. But eventually a bath was drawn and justlikethat emotions and frustrations subsided. I sat in the doorway of the bathroom watching you play in your bath. Your delicious little bum crested out of the water while you lay on your still Buddha-like tummy. You blew bubbles in the water and peeked over the tub at me with your beautiful blue eyes and long dark lashes finally tear free. You smiled, you talked, you acted silly. My little Scorpio water baby. You were back to yourself. Water was all you needed.
But I don't want to dwell on a bad day on the eve of such an incredibly special day celebrating you. No. Because today? This does not define who you are. It does not define who I am as a Mother either. So let's go back 3 years shall we and dwell on one of the most beautiful days of my life.
The day I met you, sweet love....
The day dawned early for me as I'd been up all night tossing and turning with uncomfortable contractions. The phone rang around 7 am. It was your Gaga, my Mother with her always intuitive nature. I was 5 days over my due date with you. It was time for you to be born. She must have known that. During one of my stronger contractions on the phone with her I had to breathe through them. She ordered me to get to a hospital if my contractions were 10 minutes apart. They were coming at 7 and 8. It was time. A flurry of activity mounted. Calling your Papa and Nana to make the trek from London to take care of Adrian. Getting your big brother to the neighbours house in the meanwhile. Making sure I had everything in my hospital bag. It was exactly the opposite of how your brother began and for that I was ever so grateful. It was spontaneous, exciting. And yes, painful. But the best pain one could ever experience.
The highway was free and clear as we made our way to the city and hospital where your brother was born a half an hour away.
We got there in 18 minutes. 8:30 am we were checked in.
As I sat in the hospital bed alone with my thoughts while your Dad parked the truck and I awaited my lovely doctor who delivered your brother, I began to cry. The emotions of becoming of Mother times two just took over me and the tears dripped down my face and over my nose onto my belly where you protested your appearance.
The thing is, as a new Mother I had no idea the way a child would and could open parts of my heart and soul I didn't know yet existed. But now. Now I already knew that huge love. And that's where this was coming from. That love was multiplying at an incredibly fast rate. I was about to meet you. I didn't know what your name was going to be, if you were a boy or a girl. I didn't know your weight, your length or the colour of your hair and eyes. I didn't know a thing about you besides the fact that your movements were soft and rolling and never uncomfortable...but I loved you already. Oh did I love you baby boy.
There was nothing dramatic (thank God) about your birth. We came into the hospital at 8:30 am and you came into this world at 1:36 pm on Friday, November 6th. A robust and even 9 lbs. It was just what I didn't expect being that my first labour was a horrific 38 hours including 3 hours of pushing. But enough of that. This is about you Finley. And you, thank you thank you! You were so very easy.
That amazing and enthusiastic declaration of, "It's a BOY!" as the sobs lifted from the depths of my belly and escaped my throat was truly one of the most transcendent moments of my life. Though we had names picked out for you like Henry, Chase, Asher and Zander it was all too clear to me that you were my Finley. My beautiful Finley Alexander. Your face red and smushed yet oh so perfect, your screams loud and unending yet oh so healthy. I held you to my breast and kissed your head a thousand times over, breathing in every bit of your scent. So in love. So over the moon excited to have finally met you. My baby boy. My sweet, sensitive, silly, smart, soft spoken little love.
Happy Birthday to you my beautiful Finley. Finnegan. Fin. Finny. Finny-boo. Finner. Finner McGinner.
Your Daddy, Adrian and I love you Big Much! Always and Forever.
|I love this picture. John caught such a perfect, natural moment.|
|"Friday's Child is Loving and Giving". |
I agree with that. xo