You are 13.

The End.

Seriously, your birthday means I have been a mother for 13 years, that I am a mother of a teenager and that you have made it, alive! That is reason for celebration! Haha. I crack myself up.

13 years ago today I went into labor with my very first baby. I was afraid, excited, full of anticipation. I had no idea what motherhood would be like but I had a few ideas about what kind of Mom I’d be.

First of all, I wouldn’t be one of those weird parents who nurses their kids forever or lets them share a bed with me. I’d nurse for a few months - maybe six months TOPS. I wouldn’t be one of those moms who tolerated nighttime waking, I wouldn’t spoil my kid by holding them all the time. I’d play loud music and you’d just learn to sleep through it. I’d show you whose boss. I’d take approximately six months off work to teach you those important life lessons and then off you’d go to daycare. I knew it all, man!

Your birth was my first wake-up call. It was intense, I was not really prepared. I was young but I was excited. I handled things well but the nurses and doctors did not handle me well - they were awful, disrespectful, ageist.  I was not expecting for our nurse to ask me, as I was wheeled down to the recovery room and you were wheeled off to the nursery, whether your Grandma was going to raise you. It had never occurred to me that I might be considered too young to be your Mother. What I lacked in age, I made up for in passion and determination and complete love and dedication. My awful hospital experience paved the way for beautiful birth experiences with your brothers. You were already teaching me about stength, resiliency, pride in myself and in you.

After that, it was all smooth sailing until you were a few weeks old and got very very sick and I learned one of the most important lessons of Motherhood: to believe in my instincts. I knew something was wrong. You were sleeping too much, your eyes were turning yellow, I could not get you to eat anymore. The first doctor I called told me, over the phone sight unseen that an Asian baby can not be jaundice and not to worry about it. I pressed on. I found a doctor who agreed to see you and he ran some blood work and immediately admitted you to the hospital. You were very very sick.

I was, of course, completely frightened. This tiny little guy who had rocked my world was sick and no one knew what was wrong or how to make it better. That hospital stay was a defining point in our lives for both of us. A nurse took you away for a spinal tap and I paced the halls. Long after you were supposed to be brought back to the room, you finally arrived limp in the arms of a sobbing nurse. I was sure you were dead. I freaked out. She reassured me that you were not dead but that you had been poked and prodded so many times, unsuccessfully, and you had cried so hard and been so traumatized that you passed out from exhaustion and she could not stand to see it. From that point out, your personality was dramatically changed and so was mine.

A few days later we learned that you had viral meningitis and sepsis. I never left your side, not even to shower. I refused to let them feed you anything but my milk. I was a vicious advocate for you, I wrote down everything and spent my nights pouring over books and learning everything I could. At first I was so afraid to even touch you, afraid I would knock out your IV and you’d be tortured all over again. But we got through with the help of some awesome nurses who helped me learn to nurse you around your lines and wires. Eventually we all got to go home but we had served our time and I had been initiated into Motherhood the hard way.

Over the next several months of your first year all my preconceived notions of motherhood were challenged by you, one by one. You nursed non-stop, it was your only comfort. You refused to be put down. You were intense and vulnerable, you slept very little but needed so much sleep. We lived on a busy road and you woke every time a truck would drive by. You hated everyone but me.

I remember once spending an entire night rocking you in the rocking chair, trying to creep to the crib to put you in only to have you wake as soon as your head disconnected from my arm, only to start all over again in the rocking chair. All. Night. Long. You were teaching me lessons but I was a stubborn student. Then you wouldn’t eat solids, you wouldn’t sleep through the night. I tried to let you cry but how could I seriously let you cry after the torture you’d been through in the hospital?

Issue by issue, you taught me how to be a Mom. You taught me to just follow your cues, your lead.

You taught me to listen, that you knew what you needed better than any book and better than any bit of advice anyone had to offer me (and boy they had lots of advice! Someone even told me to put your fat baby self on a diet when you were only six months old! If only they could see you now!). You knew better than I knew. You taught me well.

By the time you were one, the idea of going back to work was out the window. Weaning was a laughable concept. Sleeping through the night was a goal for so far into the future I couldn’t see the light. You still weren’t eating solids, you had joined us in our bed and we all finally slept well. You were thriving, you were attached. But it would be years until I’d consider you “easy”.

You continued to be my teacher throughout your toddler and preschool years. You were one high needs spirited kiddo! You were demanding and loud and quick to bite and hit. You refused to talk to anyone outside our family until you were five. You threw tantrums countlessly throughout the day. You taught me how to discipline gently and positively. Although I tease you a lot about how high maintenance you were as a little one, it was this exact thing that taught me that you can’t just punish a kid into behaving. I’m really proud of how far you’ve come from that angry little kid who felt so out of control to the calm, gentle, smart, nurturing teenager you have grown to become today.

Of course you are still my teacher. You teach me to let go and trust, to share what I know and then let you have your own opinions. You are one of the most trustworthy kids I know - parents feel safe when their kids are off with you. I don’t trust your judgement. You make an excellent friend - always thinking of your friends first. And one of the wisest things you’ve ever said was a few weeks ago when you told me that you count your friends in quality, not quantity. Truly this is a lesson some of us take a lifetime to learn. I’m glad you reminded me becuase this is also how I count my friends.

You are also incredibly smart. The way you learn things so quickly blows my mind. The way you have overcome your learning challenges makes me proud - I’m not sure I would have overcome and worked through such difficulties if I had faced them as a child. I love how creative your mind is and how you have such a gift for seeing things in ways that other people don’t. This makes you a superb photographer and artist and a great writer too. Even though you hate writing it, your poetry is amazing to me. You can bring the visual into words, you have a gift for that.

One of the things that I think is the coolest about you is how little you are motivated by fads, peer pressure and what’s “cool”. You are your own person. You don’t care if your hobbies or interests aren’t shared by everyone else, you find people who share your interests instead of changing yourself to fit in. This will make you incredibly successful when you are an adult - you will be the leader, not the follower.  

You don’t mind hanging around your family, he may not admit it but I know you are Teegan’s best friend and you are the light of Addison’s life.  You are a wonderful big brother…in fact I’ve never been so proud as the day I saw you meet Addison - this day last year! I saw the world come alive in your eyes when you looked at her and she at you.

And I’ll just keep following, with you as my teacher. I’m so lucky to have become a Mother to you, the best teacher I can imagine. I can’t wait to watch you become an adult!

 Happy 13th birthday. And don’t tell your brothers but I love you best!

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 1st, 2007 at 2:00 am and is filed under Holidays & Vacations, Photos & Videos, Things I Love. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.