Dear Kian,
2/11/11
Ten years ago you made me a mother, again. TEN. Hard for me to believe because, in so many ways, it was yesterday. That snowy and dark winter morning. It was our fourth trip to the hospital. Yes, you kept us guessing and on our toes from the very start. But this time it was real. You arrived in a hurry, pink and screaming. 6 pounds 11 ounces. Immediately, I could tell. You looked nothing like your brother. Tiny, in comparison and brightly blued-eyed. The pictures are proof. How else do we record our moments, our magic? How else do we stop time and mark our memories?
Thanks goodness for pictures.
It seems like you have always been one of my very favorite companions, the person who accompanies me more then almost anyone else, providing commentary from morning to night. Singing. Giggling. And joking. You seem both infinitely older than last year and utterly the same. You grow ever more liminal, shifting between the ages you have been and will be. But it makes perfect sense. That you are ten. Because you are so big. So witty. Your intuition intrigues me. Your determination sustains me. And your songs make me chuckle. Highs, lows, intensity, tenderness, discord, harmony, all woven together in a unique concerto that has become the sound track of our lives.
You mean so much.
I know the days of holding hands and tucking you in are numbered. I know that someday soon I will definitively be mom, not mommy. But today. Today I look back– at your first day and first smiles and first steps. Today I am reminded that as you enter into double-digits, I will always have pictures. Many, many pictures. And words. And stories. Thank goodness. And so I sit here, celebrating the present moment in my PJs, imagining a future when you care to read these very words, words I write so you know how much and how impossibly I love you.
Happy Birthday, Kiwi
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