Baby Boy

My son turned twenty yesterday. He is considerably taller than I am. He has bigger hands than mine now. His voice is low and holds more of a dad tone than a son tone. He is a man in just about every way, especially the way he loves his mother.

I remember the day, and following weeks after, he was born like it was yesterday. It is the double edged sword of being mom. The memories are so crisp and clear that it's easy to forget oneself and think your child hasn't really grown up. But then birthdays come and go and they get taller and stronger and one day no longer look up to you like they once did.

Yesterday we celebrated the way he requested, with tacos and cake. I sacrifice my arteries for him once a year. He doesn't particularly like celebrating his birthday, but he does it for me since I am mad about celebrating my kids any way I can. He wished me happy birthday as well. That has sort of become his thing on his birthday, wishing me happy, too. He is kind to me throughout the day checking to see if I am alright. I see him as more man than child because of the way he treats me at 20. We are passed some really ugly teen years and I watch him begin to make sound decisions without my guidance. I remind him to do things only to hear it was done a week ago. He walks up to me bending down to hug me and kisses my cheek. "Mom, I know what I have to do. I promise I am being responsible."

I see it, but I know in my heart I will remind him anyway. I am his mom, and am prone to hanging on to my kids probably far too long.

The day my man-child came into my life was an adventure. I was with Christy who was only 19 months old at the time, watching their father play softball. It was a rare double header day, so I packed for the long haul. I had just gone to the hospital for blood tests for a planned c-section. My son had/has no sense of direction and was attempting to try and come out fanny first. I was supposed to have him the following Friday. During the break between games I noticed I had what I thought was indigestion. I noticed that my indigestion was coming about 10 minutes apart. "False labor", I thought and kissed Danny goodbye and took Christy home. Once home, I was pacing back and forth. Danny's sister had come over to watch Christy, so I could go back to the game and watch Danny play. I called my mom who told me to call the doctor. The contractions were gaining strength and coming 7 minutes apart. Of course, I was told to go to the hospital. Danny's sister packed Christy into the car and headed for the field where Danny was playing left field. We yelled out the window "Dan Foley, you are having a baby!" Danny rushed to the car and told his sister to take me and he would meet us there.

People were cheering as we drove off into the summer night to deliver our son. Christy, quite content in the backseat of her aunts car, gazed out the window. I turned back and smiled at her and she had the biggest grin on her face. Once at the hospital I kissed Christy goodbye and sent her home with her aunt. Dan met me in the foyer and got me a wheel chair. The rest was just prepping me for the c-section.

Little Danny came out perfect and whole and screaming. Once in his father's arms, he became quiet. He closed his eyes and slept as I got packaged up for the recovery room. Danny was always the first to hold the kids after they were born. I always had c-sections and was tied up being put back together.

Yes, I remember it all like it just happened. I remember the peace of the moment when I was propped up in the recovery room and I fed my child for the first time. I remember the way the weight of him felt in my arms and the smell of his newborn head. When I close my eyes it is as if I am still there in that exact moment.

Some nights I creep upstairs quietly and check on my children while they sleep. They all have long legs and brilliant minds and ever expanding hearts. I watch the innocence of them that remains. Morning comes soon enough and I here the herd of elephants upstairs. Great thumping of large feet and heavy steps shake the house. Showers run, stereos blast, TVs drone on, cell phones constantly buzz and computers beep. The sleeping giants are no more.

Throughout the day I watch them when they aren't looking. I see the babies they once were deep inside the faces of the adults they have become. Once in a while they catch me looking. "What's up?" they ask. "Nothing, I was just looking." I say with love. "Cut it out. It's freaking me out!"they retort.

In the quiet of the morning I remember my children with my eyes closed and my mind retelling me every detail of the moment they entered the world until the very moment I am in. My kids have no idea why I am reluctant to let them always be an adult around me. The do not have the vivid memory of their birth. But every mother knows what I am saying. Every mother has the ability to sit with her eyes closed and have exact recall of the moment when her heart loved somebody more than life, that she just met for the first time.