When Coconut #1 was about a year and a half, Hubby and I decided we were doing so well with her (she hadn’t been to prison, nor was she hooked on drugs) that we wanted to try for a boy. Like we had a say so in it. Anyway, we prayed and God in His sovereignty, wisdom, and at times, humor, blessed us with what we asked for. I should have had some sort of inclination as to the fate that was to befall us as I struggled through my pregnancy, labor and delivery. Towards the middle of my pregnancy we found out that the little turkey was lying sideways instead of head down. If he didn’t turn the right way, a C-section was going to be the only way to get him out. Thankfully at zero hour the midwives worked their magic and got him to turn. Labor and delivery about killed me with contractions stalling out and baby’s heart rate dropping but he finally arrived, perfect, and beautiful, demanding, strong willed, and inconsolable. The first year with him made words like “difficult” seem like gross understatements and improper usage of adjectives.
You don’t realize it until it happens to you that going from 1 kid to 2 is not just adding another kid. It’s exponential. The energy, the diapers, the craziness. Combined with the fact that we had a difficult baby, that first year was intense. But we survived it. I do remember feeling guilty through most of it because frankly, I was miserable. It was all me those first 18 months or so. I was the only one who could get him to stop crying so he spent most of that time attached to my hip. Or my breast if I really want to get honest. It was the only time he was manageable. And then one day when he was almost two I remember walking with him up the sidewalk to our house. I was walking faster then he could handle, and I heard him say, “Wait me, mama!” As I turned toward him he reached up and placed his tiny hand in mine with supreme trust that wherever I led him he would be safe. I felt my heart melt. As he gazed at me from pools of deep brown eyes fanned by the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen, all the previous months of struggle seemed like a distant memory. I felt weak in my knees at the knowledge that I had almost missed THIS. This moment. This memory that sticks out so vividly in my mind.
Months went by and as his freckles deepened and vocabulary expanded I found myself more in love with this foreign, tiny creature so different from my dainty daughter. She loved princess dresses and high heels whereas there seemed to be an electromagnetic pull between him and mud puddles. Whatever toy you handed her became a baby to be put to bed. He, on the other hand, could turn the aforementioned toy into a gun or sword or any weapon for that matter. Boy noises and using “poopy” as an adjective for anything and everything was common place. Streaking naked throughout the house after a bath, yelling, “Super Wee-Wee,” became an Olympic event in our house and I have loved every ridiculous moment! His squeaky, high pitched voice that still, to this day, conjures up images of the Muppet Beaker could make me laugh in the midst of a storm. I realized that this little man child was a gift to me straight from God. And somewhere, along the way, I’ve figured out…
Why God Gave Me a Boy 🙂
~ Because He saw I lacked patience and knew this small man child would give me many opportunities to stretch and grow what patience I possessed.
~ Because he knew my control freak nature and knew this little boy would teach me that love does not control by emotions or force, but by example, gentleness, and a firm but kind hand.
~ Because He knew my past and the men who had come through my life and that I needed to understands some “whys” that came out of that time in my life.
~ That my son’s life also would be shapen, for better or worse, by my influence in him and that there were things I would need to change in myself to ensure he got the best start possible.
~ Because He knew the joy a small, dirty fist clutching weeds offered to me as flowers would bring to my mommy heart.
~ Because He knew the feel of small, warm arms wrapped around my neck would melt my sometimes cold facade.
~ Because He knew that sweet, sleepy breath on my cheek during prayers at night would still my restless gypsy spirit.
~ Because He knew that bugs given as gifts, ouchies healed only by mama’s kisses, and original artwork presented as carefully as a Monet would be more treasured than gold.
~ Because He knew that a tiny hand slipped into mine with a whispered, “don’t worry momma, I’ll take care of you,” would sustain me through the valley of grief more than funeral home flowers.
~ Because He knew that the unbiased love of a little boy exclamations of, “Momma, you so bootiful,” could lift my spirits and make me feel wanted and needed.
~ But most of all because He loves me. His desire is to reveal to me, in a small measure, when I look into the depths of huge brown eyes and find myself drowning in love, in like manner does the Fathers love for me encompass Him.
We celebrated the birth of our Coconut #2 last week. These 6 years that I’ve been given with him so far have been priceless. Worth every second of hard labor, newborn reflux, and no sleep. Happy, happy birthday to my man child who, in my eyes, hung the moon, melts my heart, fills my soul. I am blessed to be your Momma and to have the opportunity to watch you develop into the man that God is growing in you.