Ode to Mimi....

My family has been watching the series "Life" on the Discovery Channel. The more I have watched, the more I can relate to those animals whose lives and behaviors have been captured so beautifully on film. No matter the species, the theme of motherhood is universal.

I was moved to tears watching the strawberry poison dart frog, the size of a postage stamp, carry each one of her tadpoles one by one up a one hundred foot tree to safety.

I was mesmerized by the octopus, who after laying her eggs, settled in to protect them for the rest of her life. Keeping a constant vigil on her babies, she eventually starves to death.

Perhaps I most identified with the young elephant who had just given birth. When her baby became stuck in a mud pit, she tried unsuccessfully to save him. Just when it seemed that all hope was lost, her mother became frustrated and knocked the young mother out of the way with her trunk. Then she effortlessly rescued her grandchild from the treacherous mud pit.

With the exception of a brief rebellious period, I have always been close to my mother. Our bond became stronger when I became a mother myself. She has been a hands-on grandmother (lovingly called "Mimi" by my boys) since day one. When I went into labor with my first child and realized what horrible, excruciating, agony I was about to endure, I attempted to get into the bathtub, as suggested in our prenatal classes. Unable to even lift my leg over the side of the tub, I laid down on the bathroom floor. I yelled to my husband through clenched teeth, "CALL MY MOTHER!!"

I still have the memory of her, walking down my hallway, swinging her metaphorical trunk, knocking Michael out of the way to pick me up off of the floor.  I remember her calling out, "Okay Michael, if you are going to take her to the hospital, she's going to need some clothes!!"

Now that I am up to my neck in the mud pit of parenthood, my mom isn't trying to pull me out. She doesn't need to... I am happy here. Instead, like the devoted octopus, she has opted to jump in with us. There have been times when she has shown up at our door with the milk and bread that we so desperately needed, overdrawing her own bank account in the process. She was by my side when my boys and I were diagnosed with Noonan Syndrome a year and a half ago. She has traveled with me to Johns Hopkins appointments for the boys more times than I can count. She held my hair when I threw up as my husband drove us home from my hernia surgery a few months ago. And, she'll be there tomorrow, when I call to tell her I have made another blog entry. (She was my first follower.)

I consider myself very fortunate. I am fortunate just to still have my mom, but I am most fortunate to appreciate her and to already value the time I spend with her. Although I can't imagine life without her, I know that day may come. So I attempt to incorporate the lessons that she has taught me into the way that I parent my boys.

As I struggle to carry my boys safely up the tree of life, I know that my mom is behind me to give me a nudge when I slip. And knowing that she is there makes the climb so much easier to make.

Unbroken vows....

Today was not one of the boys' better days. Nothing was easy. They didn't want to get dressed for Easter Mass. Henry decided to go on a hunger strike... ALL DAY.  Jackson threw tantrum after tantrum. The two of them fought from the time they woke up this morning.  It was not a picture perfect Easter Sunday.

Bedtime turned out to be the biggest struggle of all.  When they were finally asleep, I crawled onto the couch, still grouchy over the day's events.  I kept thinking,
"What have we done wrong, to cause this behavior?"
"They aren't getting any Easter candy tomorrow."
"I need to come up with better punishments."

My mind was racing.

When Henry cried out about an hour later, I became even more aggravated.  I went into the boys' room, and picked him up to move him, so to not wake up Jack. But he stopped crying as soon as I lifted him. I stood as he lay on my shoulder and I swayed gently until he settled.  I laid him on his bed and he opened his eyes just slightly and said, "'Nugs??"

('''Nugs" is short for "snuggles" - how could I resist?)

I climbed into bed with Henry and he wrapped his chubby arms around my neck and I rubbed his back until he fell asleep. As I lay there, listening to the sound of his breathing while his damp curls tickled my nose, all of the anger and tension that I had been feeling went away.  I had scolded Henry at least one hundred times today.  But he wasn't upset; he didn't hold a grudge... he just needed my love.

It made me think of marriage vows.  You take the same vows when you become a parent, only they are stronger.  You don't stand in front of witnesses and proclaim them.  You don't use rings to symbolize them.  And you don't sign a license to prove them.  Those silent parental vows come from the depths of your soul.  You can't break them, because they only exist in your heart. It is a biological, emotional, and spiritual connection that is there for life.

I got up from Henry's bed and looked at Jackson, who was sleeping peacefully.  I felt guilty, because he did not get any "nugs" before bedtime - just a threat of no TV tomorrow.  So, I went to the edge of his bed, kissed his cheek, and whispered in his ear:

"Jackson Corbin, Mommy loves you. I love you for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

And sleeping soundly, he smiled.

Happy Easter, everyone!!

And then came Henry...

My first child, Jackson, was the "perfect" baby.   He was an excellent sleeper, he breezed through teething, and follows instructions as well as an adult.   We never even had to childproof our home.

And then came Henry. 

 Henry was born almost six weeks premature.  His lungs were not fully developed, so he had to be sent to the NICU, immediately after birth.  In recovery from an emergency c-section, I could not see him right away.   My mom was able to take a peek at him, while the nurses took his vitals.   Henry used what use he had of his lungs to scream angrily each time a nurse touched him. "He'll be fine," my mom assured me, "He's mean... he's definitely a survivor."

She was right.  Eight days later, Henry came home from the NICU, as good as new... and just as mean.  It was as if he held a grudge against everyone for the extended hospital stay.  He did not like having company and he preferred to sleep either in my arms or right next to me in our bed.  He hated baths and it was a chore just to get him to laugh.

Henry began walking at fourteen months and my life and my house will never be the same.  He pulls leaves off of my plants, has torn two tablecloths, and has broken six of my dishes.   He eats crayons, dirt, and the occasional rubber band.  Now, at two years old, Henry has developed a more pleasant disposition, but we have dubbed him, "Houdini."   He can escape any gate, break childproofed locks, and can scale our furniture with the agility of a monkey.   There is never a moment's peace, unless he's napping. My husband has accused me of having a secret rendezvous with the Tasmanian Devil, resulting in Henry's conception.

You would think that after having a "perfect" child the first time around, I would be overwhelmed to have such an active little boy. Yes, I am overwhelmed.  I am overwhelmed with joy to have this little monster, who leaves banana hand prints on my clothes, gives me snotty kisses, and giggles sweetly as I rock him to sleep.

When Jackson was eight weeks old, he began sleeping through the night. When Henry was eight weeks old, we discovered that he has a congenital heart defect, pulmonary valvular stenosis. We take him to a pediatric cardiologist at Johns Hopkins every six months. We await the appointment at which they tell us that it is time for surgery. As Henry grows, the pressure in his heart will become too much for his pulmonary valve to handle.  When that day comes, he will need to receive a replacement valve. Since he is so young, it is difficult to tell how many surgeries he will have to have or if they will be successful. It may mean limited activities or sports. Although his heart condition may not be life threatening, other factors with Henry's health make his future uncertain.   We will know that his heart is beginning to not function properly when his activity and energy levels start to decline.

So, when I exercise patience as he jumps on the couch or throws a rock and breaks a window, don't judge me. And when he runs from me, holding an important piece of my mail or flushes my favorite bracelet down the toilet, don't accuse him of being a "bad boy." His daily antics only prove to me that his little heart is beating as it should and reminds me of how precious life is.

Henry has filled my world with adventure, taught me patience, and has given me an appreciation of every breath my children take. Yes, Jackson, my first born, was an angel.  But then came Henry, who made our family complete.