On My Son's First Birthday
Updated: Jan 25, 2022
One year of Grayson Luke. One year of baby cuddles. One year of walks with my buddy in almost any weather, from snow to drizzle to pouring rain (oops!) to humidity to blue skies and sunshine. One year of holiday firsts. One year of diaper changes (please see: wrestling a squirmy baby) with Mrs. Doe. One year of less sleep and more coffee than I've ever been used to. One year of sleep changes from snuggling in mommy and daddy's bed every night to starting off in the crib to sleeping like a big boy all on his own. One year of short naps. One year of traveling and being "a little white whale on the go" - twelve states for this globetrotter! One year of meeting grandmas, grandpas, Great Grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, and other family and friends. One year that included dipping chunky toes in the Atlantic and the Pacific. One year of being a star eater and even trying Indian food and octopus! One year of being a champion nurser and loving his mama milk. One year of the brightest, best smile.
What a year it has been - both harder and easier than we were told or could have imagined. We started the year off getting used to each other and learning each other's rhythms. We saw a few snows and ice storms. Then winter gently melted into the blessed early Virginia spring and I went on my first postpartum run just as the blossoms around Fountain Lake were in glorious bloom. From then on Gray and I were running buddies. Morning nap was always in the stroller. Later, when naps were more for the crib running was our mid-morning activity. Puffs, rice teethers, and podcasts were often included, as was stopping at the Byrd Park lakes to look at the ducks and geese. We built strength together, mama and son, out in the sun or wind, drizzle or humidity.
As spring melted away into the humid Virginia summer we started going to Kickers and Flying Squirrels games. We were sticky with sweat and in search of shade and grateful for our stroller fan for Gray. We visited my parents and flew in the tiniest plane any of us had ever been on - eight people, including the pilot! We went to the Outer Banks and Gray got his naps in on the beach.
As fall approached we anticipated our biggest trip with Gray yet - to California. On the West Coast we enjoyed being with family in sunny San Diego and then went on our own adventure in the desert. We hiked in Joshua Tree National Park, shielding Gray from the burning desert sun while admiring the twisting Joshua trees and cactuses. In the evenings we went to an Old West saloon for dinner before putting Gray to bed and marveling at the expanse of stars from the now dark and cool desert. Back in Virginia, we visited Gray's first pumpkin patch, dressed him up as a jaguar for Halloween, and tried to prevent him from eating the beautiful fall leaves. We cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner with Gray by our side - my homemade cranberries were his favorite.
As winter approached and the weather turned colder we dove into Christmas activities with a little one. We picked out and decorated our tree (and said goodnight to it each evening), saw Santa, went on a self-guided Tacky Lights tour, and rode the choo-choo train at the mall. We traveled to Massachusetts to be with family for Christmas. Gray loved seeing everyone and tried his hardest to keep up with his older cousins. We came back home to a terrible sleep regression, but managed to enjoy a bit of New Year's Eve by playing Monopoly and putting together a charcuterie board. New Year's Day was so warm we were at the park without coats or gloves, but the very next day we got our first snow! Christmas break was extended by two days and we savored the last festiveness of the season. As I walked around Fountain Lake like I've done hundreds (thousands?) of times before just as the sun was beginning to set on that first RVA snow of 2022, contrasting blue shadows with golden light and delicately tracing all the bare tree branches with white, I thought of a brief poem I wrote shortly after Gray was born:
First snow on no sleep
January's last days spread icy palms wide
As we welcomed you home
Swaddled in clothes that ill fit you
Unlike the way your body molded to my womb
Tiny hands stretching, flailing
Eyes wide, assessing what we would do next.
Between those lines, I see the wonder and joy of his little presence, but I also see-and still feel-the grief and pain of the way his birth unfolded. A year later, in many ways I am only just beginning to heal from that trauma. If you would like to read the whole story, I'll link it here. I had envisioned the birthing experience to be something like running a marathon-grueling and brutal, but the outcome of which was ultimately up to me. With enough grit, determination, and preparation, I could succeed at it. Instead, I've realized a marathon is really not an apt analogy for birth at all; I'm really not sure what else I could compare it to. I have, however, realized that in labor there is much more waiting, much more mystery, much less control, and a whole hell of a lot more room for anxiety than in any hard thing I have done before. With counseling, journaling, prayer, and a supportive and understanding husband, I hope to continue to make good progress grappling with this trauma and dealing with my root problems of anxiety and need for control.
It's strange and beautiful, too, how the little babe who was the reason for the most grueling 30 hours of my life and the worst birthday I've ever had is also the greatest healer of all that went not right. His smile, laugh, and capacity for learning and growing are a balm to my soul like nothing else. So is my breastfeeding journey with him. As awry as his birth went, breastfeeding has been completely opposite. While it wasn't easy, especially the first few months, and is a major time commitment, the bond we've developed and the strength I feel knowing my body alone nourished him for the first six months of his life outside the womb is akin to (or even better) than the feeling I imagine I'd have if I had had a peaceful non-interventionist birth experience. Now that I have reached the one year mark (my initial goal) and we are still going strong, I feel the greatest sense of strength and accomplishment I've probably ever felt, 120-page Master's Thesis or marathon notwithstanding.
Giving birth to this baby boy one year ago and feeding, rocking, cuddling, teaching, worrying over, laughing and adventuring with, and raising him has given me strength of a different kind. It's primarily the strength of empathy-a quieter and deeper strength than the physical or mental grit I imagined gaining or demonstrating. I usually don't have that much of a problem accessing empathy-except when it comes to empathy for myself. I'm still not quite sure how to balance working hard and preparing and striving for success with being able to let go when I need to and trust. It's definitely a work in progress, but I'm at least aware that many things do not have to be all or nothing. In fact, there is plenty of room for Gray.
Happy birthday, my boy. <3
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