To My Oldest on her Birthday

My first baby is 12 years old today.

I feel her birthday in a way I don’t feel my other two’s birthdays. By the time the other two came along I knew I’d could survive motherhood. More importantly, I knew I loved motherhood.

The first 4 months of her life were the slowest of mine. Cognitively I understood what was expected of me as the mom–Do everything and then do it again. And again. Repeat for eternity. And I understood her role as a baby–Be completely helpless. Just lay there. Don’t lift a finger. But the reality of these two worlds coming together had me questioning the basic premise of this agreement over and over again.

So, I have to take care of her, like, ALL THE TIME?
She’s just gonna wake up when she wakes up huh?
No one had to “put her to bed” in my womb, why is it so hard to get her to sleep now?

That last one was a killer for me. Some babies come pre-disposed to sleep. They drift off easy and frequently. I got one of those sleep-resistant babies who slept like a twitchy barracuda for reeeeaaaally short periods of time. But just like the tape deck in my ’93 Volkswagen Fox I drove in college that I figured out had to be tapped on the side ever-so-slightly and then the tape had to be ejected twice before it would play, I eventually figured out the crazy tape-deck-tap-and-eject scenario we had to jump through to get our baby to sleep. (They were surprisingly similar–sing I am a Child of God while bouncing her on your knee at least two times, then pat gently on the bum as she drifted off to sleep.) 

Also, she was just a grump. Cutest grump ever, but still. She could freeze water with that stare. Mostly though, it wasn’t her, it was me. Or more accurately it was postpartum depression. I didn’t get on any medication, although I should have, and so we slowly worked it out together. It would be 8 months before that fog lifted and motherhood finally felt like how it often looked in the magazines. Still hard but finally joyful.

When PSP was a toddler and I had found my rhythm I remember my mother-in-law asking, “Don’t you love your kids so much more than your parents?” My husband and I both agreed, yes we love our daughter more than our parents. My mother-in-law agreed too. I thought about that for a long time. Universally it seems that parents are much more willing to forgive children, than children are willing to forgive kids. There seems to be a love for your children that no matter what they do, no matter how big they screw up, the parents are usually right there with open arms. It doesn’t seem to work that way as much in reverse. Maybe because when parents “screw up” big time it usually affects the children directly, where as with kids the effect is more likely to be indirect… but I don’t know. Kids can cost their parents a lot in money, heartache, worry, sleepless nights. So what is it?

I tend to think it has little to do with the so-called natural love parents feel for their children. I mean, I know that’s there and it exists, but what I think is “natural” is also part of a great design. You love those you serve is an oft-repeated sentiment and I can’t think of a more applicable application than parenthood. For me that was absolutely what that grumpy baby PSP taught me. As the shock of round-the-clock care lessened, the workload did not. I napped her by walking her in the baby Bjorn for up to 2 hours at a time. After that I spent at least 20-30 minutes at a time putting her down for a nap (or my husband–he did his share too.) The day in and day out caring, nurturing, rocking, cleaning, and cooing shackled that little baby’s heart to mine. No one would have done the things I was willing to do for her and we grew in trust and love.

And now she’s 12 and she is amazing. She is smart and inquisitive in a way that I am not. She fundamentally understands things in the world that I did not grasp until I was much older. She can be incredibly mature and yet delightfully goofy. I never have to nag her about her homework or really anything school related and she is often a favorite among her teachers. She is a wonderful big sister who thinks up fun games and dance move. And while I am and will always be her mom, there is also a fun underlying friendship developing between us that I treasure. We joke around together and we talk about the serious stuff. She is so special. And yes, she absolutely still has a little kick to her. She has my genes afterall. And besides, I like my girls with a heavy helping of sass.

12 years ago I birthed her, but she also birthed the mother in me. I will probably always get the credit for raising her, but in many ways we have raised each other.

Happy Birthday PSP.
You are my favorite child. 😉