I laid beside you in your bed tonight, staring up at the yellow and blue and green stars that flickered and danced through your ceiling fan and across the expanse of your little 10X15 vaulted sky. You rested your head against the space where my neck and my body meet, and in those few moments there was no way humanly possible for me to hold you tightly enough.
I know that you are seven now, and i remember what seven means. Your biggest brother was seven when I started this old blog, back before I had any idea there would ever be a you. Your biggest brother, well, he seemed enormous at seven, most certainly seasoned enough to stand with my midwife between my knees and help you come into this world. I looked at him and saw a dude, a manling, a thing becoming, and I look at you seven years later and I see the itsy bitsy tiny helpless little gelfling they carted away to the NICU because if there is one thing in this life you will do right, it is make the grandest of entrances.
The day? night? incomprehendable expanse of time from when you left my body until you entered my arms? after you were born, I held you much like I did tonight - in your bed, buried under blankets, staring into the dark. We laid beside each other for hours - 10, if the nurses tell me correctly, and we didn't have much to say to one another. You nursed until you couldn't muster enough strength to continue, and I stared at you though the thickest haze of exhaustion that only comes from doing something truly other-worldly, like falling though the air or surfing inside of salt water tubes or creating the most exquiste human being to ever grace the earth, and I kept staring into your then-blue eyes without blinking once, until I had little choice but to declare you the wildest thing of all.
That night you were 24 hours old, and tonight you somewhere around 61,416 hours old. The best thing about you is that tonight, my mind was just as blown as it was that first night we hung out all night watching Law & Order reruns and eating really atrocious Jello cups. You have changed everything I ever thought I knew about anything. You've changed the way I see my life, the way I see the lives of others. You've changed me at the core of the person I thought I was, and I will never be able to thank you enough for that.
But I know what seven means. I know that you need me to start easing up on my grip. I know you need me to hold you just as tightly, just maybe sometimes not, like, in front of your friends or stuff? I know that you're about to start pushing off of me and rowing into the seas of your own life, and so you're going to have to forgive me for a little while while I lay in your bed more often than you think I need to and stare at the ceiling with you. It's really not that you're the only person in this house with a not-Ikea mattress (thought that is true and totally a bonus), it's that I can still smell you brand new in my arms. I can still feel you warm on my neck. I haven't quite figured out how to see you as gigantic, a womanlingthing, a lady becoming, and I am almost, but not quite, possibly ready to start talking about that.
Under fake stars.
Under a ridiculous amount of blankets.
In our own little world.
For as long as you will let this magic keep happening.
Happy 7th birthday, my angel. There is nothing I love more than being your mom.