Anyone who knows me, knows that I’m not an extremely emotional person. After years of working in Labor and Delivery, I’ve gotten pretty accustomed to pushing my feelings to the side, so that I can focus on the task at hand. But I think when a young person tragically loses their life, especially a young mother, you can’t help but feel the weight of it. It’s only been a few short days since this tragedy hit my community again. We were only acquaintances in high school, but I know she was very loved by those that knew her best. I think when something so devastating happens to someone your age, with children the same age as your children, it’s only a matter of time until you think about how easily it could’ve been you.
Becoming a mother is scary. I think from the moment you see those two pink lines, along with the joy and excitement, comes this terrifying fear about every minuscule thing that could go wrong. From ultrasounds, to the fear of birth defects, to obliterating your most tender areas during childbirth, the list goes on and on. You make it through pregnancy and BAM! A whole new list! What if they see something on TV that scars them for life? What if he grows up and blames me for every one of his shortcomings and neurosis? What if I’m remembered as the tyrant mother, who never let them do anything fun?
For some reason when I became a mom, from time to time (usually when I would hear of the passing of another young mom), another fear would pop in my head. What if something happens to me, and they’re too young to really remember me? What if they don’t remember how it feels for me to cuddle with them before bed? What if they don’t remember how I sing in the car, or how I smell when I first wake up in the morning? I’m so sorry this isn’t my typical post about weight loss or diet mindset, I just really felt like I needed to express to my beautiful sons what they mean to me. And I didn’t want it to get lost in a notebook, or tucked away in a drawer where they may never find it.
Tonight as I was driving home from baseball practice, I looked in my rearview mirror that is permanently positioned on my son’s face instead of the road. I saw his big blue eyes staring back at me. Even though we’ve looked at each other like this a million times, tonight when I saw those long eyelashes, and those two middle fingers glued in his mouth, I immediately thought, “The hope of you changed my life.”
Like I said before, I’m not a very emotional person, so this really came out of nowhere and smacked me right in the face. I thought about how blessed I am to have two healthy little boys that call me Mommy, and felt that I needed to find a way to tell them how special they are to me, because I may not always be here to tell them.
Phew, get the tissues ready.
You changed my whole world from the moment I even realized I needed you. I ached for you to be mine. Before you were ever conceived, you were the only thing my mind could focus on for months. You came into my life and completely changed it forever. You turned me into a completely new creature, you made me a mother.
I love your fearlessness, your strongwill, and your huge imagination. I love how you’re growing into a big boy, but still sometimes want to be my baby. I love how you know all the words to every Michael Jackson song ever written, and I love when you still want me to snuggle you before bed. I love my life because you’re in it. You impact every day, every thought, and every decision of my life. There will be times when you’re mad at me, and I’m frustrated with you, but I want you to know that I love you with every part of me. I’m so proud to be your mom, and I can’t wait to see what you become.
I haven’t known you for as long, but you’re revealing more of your wonderful personality to me everyday. You were the baby I wasn’t sure I would ever have, but the dream of you changed my whole life. I ached for you, just like I did for Levi. When I was told I couldn’t have you, it flipped my whole world upside down. I became a single mom, and the possibility of you seemed like it was getting dimmer everyday. And then like magic, I met your Daddy. We fell in love, and he wanted you just as much as I did.
I love your big blue eyes, and your sweet little toes. I love the sound of you running through the house yelling, “SHOOT!” I love the way you can’t fall asleep without holding your belly button, and I love how you say, “Ah Boo,” (“Love You”) when I lay you down at night. I love how you make silly faces and how you whisper to make people laugh. Even when you’re screaming in the car like a lunatic, I want you to know that I still see an angel looking at me in the rearview mirror. I’m blessed to be your Mommy, and I’m so happy you’re finally here.
My love for these little boys is beyond description. I grew them inside of me, and I’m forever connected to them. And then God blessed me with a bonus, Carson.
You came into my life as a five year old, well beyond your years. You have your own Mom, that is forever bonded to you and loves you like I love Levi and Tyson. But God saw fit to let me create a life with your Dad and with you and now your little brother. I love that I’m able to be a witness to your life, your Mom and Dad are doing a remarkable job with you. I love how smart and curious you are. I love how you can name every player, in every position, on every NBA team, that ever graced the court. I love how you talk in your sleep and hum in the shower. I love how you always try to do your absolute best at everything you do. And I love how much you love your Dad and your baby brother. I love that I get to be a part of your life, and I know you’re going to do great things.
I know this post had nothing really to do with weight loss, but these little boys are why I get up in the morning. They’re why i’m always striving to do better, and to be better. Everything I am is because of them, including being a swollen faced, sobbing mess right now. I just want them to not have to rely on their memories to know how I feel about each one of them, but to read my words, from my heart, and know how much they are loved.