If you ask Doug if he’s a good golfer, he’ll blush & tell you he’s not that great. (hint: he’s lying)
Golf is almost religion for him, the greens his home away from home where the weight of the world falls off his shoulders. For years, he & my father-in-law bonded over wooden tees & flags until they are the memories he thinks of most. When we drive by a course, a little grin lights up his face & I know he’s thinking of the days when it will be him & Harrison.
How’s your week going? I miss y’all. I feel like I’ve been so out of the loop this week. Anything cool happening?
This kid, he bear-hug loves his momma.
& his momma loves him back.
I came alive as Harrison’s mother over the past few months. The doubts & lack of confidence & inability to focus simply shed away & I’m not sure whether it was from the sunshine in the backyard or being the boss of my own day or his incredible tiny grin. But I came alive in the happiest & most fulfilling way possible, all the way down to my toes until motherhood felt like a calling to my soul. Driving through town with the windows down & groceries in the backseat, I’d flick my eyes to the rearview mirror & catch Harry’s smile & I would think to myself YES.
Yes, motherhood.
Yes, incredible joy & worthwhile sacrifice & overwhelming love.
Yes, I’ve finally got it.
I’ve always been a little off-beat but I think the oddest thing is that the longer I’m with Harrison, the more I mother, the less tired & overwhelmed I feel. Two hours can bring me to my knees but three months home can be a balm to the soul where we’ve figured our quirks & my patience surprises me with its ability to simply roll with the tide, even when there’s a gallon of milk on my floor. To where he’s the beat of my heart & being without him feels like I might as well leave my right arm with him, too. Here, take my kidney too.
Only three months & already I feel lost without his little arms wrapped around my legs but the penchant is still there to count everything & it’s a private joke that only I know when I lift the second half of my sandwich & think “two” & I smile. My new boss must think I’m strange & maybe I am, but I’m a momma above all, even with my fingers flying above a keyboard.
Our boy.
He doesn’t talk the way other kids his age do.
I’ve known it for over a year, watching him & practicing & my heart hurting the way he seems to struggle. The way he doesn’t quite form the words & I know that part of him being so quiet is the perfectionist trait he inherited from his momma, not wanting to try unless he knows he can succeed. The way my heart burst one thousand times when he put two words together on his own in January, saying “Bye-bye, moon!” when we went inside & I nearly cried. How many times I’ve cried, out of pure joy when he says a word clearly & in frustration when he is screaming & I’m begging him to please, please use a word or show Momma, but no screaming. How once & twice a week for the past six months, I’ve sat on the floor in speech therapy, taking mental notes for ways to play with him, read to him, teach him to use language.
I don’t understand it because language has always come easily for me, from talking to reading & writing. I may not always know what to say, but I always have something to say. It is so different with my boy, who sits quietly while we race monster trucks & bake wooden cookies.
I know this is a “common” thing, especially for young boys. I hear stories of kids that open their mouths for the first time with full sentences when they are four & stories of apraxia with years of therapy. There are people that tell me to wait it out, that he’ll speak someday. There are others that warn me against waiting too long, that push for a diagnosis. We are doing what feels right for our son. All other opinions are just unwelcome noise.
He is my baby & I am his momma & I love the parts of him that are hard for me to grasp.
“Look, Harrison! A caterpillar! See how fuzzy it is?” I squat down to his level by the back porch. It’s a gorgeous spring day & we’re playing in the backyard, waiting for Gram to come over.
“Oooooh!” he says. I wonder if he’ll tell me the caterpillar is gross or run away, but he stands brave next to me. I scoop up the fuzzy little bug, letting it crawl over my fingers.
“Hold out your finger,” I whisper & I show him to hold his hand flat & I let the caterpillar roll over to his tiny fingers.
He sits with the caterpillar crawling up his arm & I run inside for a tupperware. I’m not that great at “teaching moments” or “home preschooling,” but I totally do bugs after being raised with two boys. I show him the bucket & ask him to find the best sticks for the caterpillar to crawl over & to find the best grass.
”What do you want to name him?” I ask. “Herman? Bob? Maxwell?” He shakes his head to each suggestion. I obviously suck at naming bugs. “Ummm….Joe?”
“Yeah! Cool!”
Boy mom win!
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