Friday, April 22, 2011
Seven Years ago today at 7:19 a.m, my little Dusty was evicted from my belly. After 9 1/2 months, 36 hours of hard labor and enough pitosin to induce triplets, Dusty held on to his Mama with impressive tenacity. They eventually had to pry him from my womb by way of the knife. The cord was wrapped around his baby neck three times. Seems like a life time ago and seems like yesterday.
As I write this he sits at the kitchen table with his 792 piece lego pyramid set. He swore up and down that he would wait for Tony to come home before tackling it, but he could successfully negotiate with terrorists and slowly my seven year old is building the whole thing alone. I am putty in his hands.
This birthday has been tougher than others. I have found myself lately in my studio, sewing away and then bawling over whatever hormonal thought enters my mind. I see that I can't hang on to his babyhood forever and at the same time I am so proud of the person he is becoming. Everyday his personality unfolds. He constantly stumps me with questions.
Does the future exist? If the earth rotates does heaven rotate too? If we can see water why can we see through it?
A couple of weeks ago he lamented that if he bought the hamburger meal at school, he had to pay extra for the pudding. So, I told him we could make pudding and he could bring it with him. We had a wonderful time making the pudding. After supper that night, I gave him some for desert. He ate half of it and told me it was so good he couldn't finish it. He went on and on to Tony, in his over eager way, about Mom's wonderful home made pudding. The next day I gave him some in his lunch and it came back intact at the end of the day. I asked him why he didn't eat it and he said it was too good to eat. At that point it occurred to me what was going on. I asked him if he maybe didn't like the pudding and was afraid of hurting my feelings. He guiltily nodded his head, worried that he might be in trouble for lying. I kissed him and told him that it wouldn't hurt my feelings.
I thought back to all those times when I worried that he might be a cold, heartless psychopath. You know the way one kid can be bleeding, with their head cracked open and the other kid can step over them and ask for ice cream. I wondered at what point compassion developed. I guess it's seven. Maybe earlier for some kids. Dusty might be a late bloomer in this department, but he got there.
Yesterday, birthday week began with a trip to Dusty's class. I stayed up way too late the night before making bunny cupcakes. If I look tired in these photos, that's why. This is Dusty's most incredible of all teachers, Madame Yvette. In her wisdom, she had me come at the end of the day, so that the children's own parents could deal with their manic sugar highs. The celebration and exhaustion continues for another couple of days. Tomorrow we have four boys coming over to tear up the house and overdose on sweets. There is a glass of wine in this picture for me.
So, to my favourite human on earth, Happy Happy Birthday. Thanks for coming into my life.