“Time may change me. But I can’t trace time.”- Changes- S. Pitts & D. Bowie
At dinner today, (Mexican take-out- I don’t cook on Thursdays) Drew asked for “rice” and said “ah- done” when he was finished. He said “nigh nigh” at bedtime and asked for a clean “butt” and crawled up the stairs himself for his bath.
Nineteen months ago, after 39.9 weeks of pregnancy, 15 hours of labor, and 27 months of healing from my C-section, Drew was born. With the help of my amazing husband and doula, I gave birth to this baby, via VBAC, on a rainy November evening. Since then I have nursed, snuggled, played, watched hours of ESPN, listened to music, laughed, cried, marveled, and taken care of him. Now that tiny newborn is 19-months-old.
This morning at breakfast, Ben asked me when I was going to come to his preschool to hear him sing the Hebrew song with the Cantor. He then excused himself from the table, went to the bathroom, and washed his hands afterward. He hugged me good-bye and then told me to have a good day at work.
Almost 4 years ago, on a sunny July afternoon, after 39 weeks of pregnancy, 8 hours of induced labor, and 45 minutes of surgery, Ben was born. It was a transformative experience in many ways. Since then, I have nursed him, snuggled him, played games with him, read to him, cooked, laughed, cried, and taken him to work with me when I can. He’s my little assistant and he’s almost four-years-old.
Today, I gave their baby clothes away.
Last weekend, my mother, who is my biggest supporter, helped me go through the enormous space- bag of infant clothes. When I look at these items, I imagine the boys as newborns- nursing, spitting up, being wriggly and scrunchy, unable to sit or stand, having that newborn smell. Usually, when I look at these clothes, I cry. What happened? Where DID the time go? They’ll never remember those days and I’ll never forget them.
Funny thing- last weekend, I didn’t cry when Mom and I sorted through the clothes. Today I gave them to one of my very best friends for her son (also born by VBAC), who I hope will be as close to my boys as I am to his mother.
My boys are getting bigger. The know how to tell me they need something and how to show me that they missed me while I was at work. They are now wearing clothes that will probably be too stained with paint, mud, butter, etc. to be passed down. These boys sure are messy. Big boys generally are.
Authored by: Rita Sanchez