From This Day Forth Ye Shall Be Worried

It was 5:45 on a sultry summer afternoon. I was tired. I was also about to give birth to my first child. My mind had already given birth to countless worries that late August day. The same voice I heard in my mind then is the voice that fills my mind now - eighteen years later.

Advising him to turn his life to the left, I wonder, should I have advised him to go right instead. When I advise by offering only encouragement and no direction, am I failing him or forcing him to rely on his own guidance system? When I try to give him the gust of wind needed to confidently spread his wings, am I providing enough to lift him, or too much; inadvertently causing him to tumble onto the ground.

My son, who was quite unaware of it at the time, profoundly changed my life that 24^th day of August – not only did I receive a child, but also, the deep well of never ending thoughts only a mother could create. Worries that ensured his survival, worries that often, didn’t even make sense. But all of these thoughts flowed like a natural spring, coming from a place buried deep within.

All was not sunshine and roses that day eighteen years ago. Let’s just say, natural birth is a form of torture like no other. Enough said.

It only took a millisecond after they handed him to me before I realized – I didn’t have a clue what to do. The voice in my mind screamed with doubt while my hands trembled as I tried repeatedly to swaddle him like a burrito with his blanket. All I wanted to do was take him home; a place with no eyes watching my every movement, no strangers pointing out all that I was doing wrong.

Before long, I found my rhythm. I was able to softly jiggle him as I walked; a movement that trial and error had shown was his favorite. I learned how to hold him snugly, using my left hip bone as a quasi ledge – a shelf that allowed me to have full movement of the right side of my body, to do everything that needed to be done.

Sitting here, feeling melancholy, I am learning to hold him in an entirely new way. Our road has not been an easy one. We have bonded in a way that only those who have walked our walk would know. There are many, I’m sure, that would still love to point out all that I’m doing wrong. But I’m proud of the person I’ve helped create. Not all mothers feel what I feel. Not all mothers would surrender their lives to protect their child - I would. I’m in the group of: don’t mess with my cub. I’m a mama bear and I’m not ashamed to admit it. We may not be the biggest group, but our membership is eternal.

I’m excited to watch the next eighteen years play out, and the next eighteen after that. And with every new chapter that sits before us, I’m sure the voice in my head will still whisper with worry. But that’s the kind of mother I am. Happy Birthday Son.

Sane.