I think I have taken 212 steps back. I knew your birthday would be a force to contend with; needless to say, it far surpassed my expectations. Yesterday and today, however… well, I guess it could all be nicely summarized by saying, “the other shoe has dropped”.
Despite the fact it felt like someone cut my eyes open and rubbed lemons on them, and my head ached from an entire day & night of a “hard-cry” hangover, I got out of bed yesterday morning. I did so because I had every intention to resume going through the motions of life without you. (I continue to do this, hoping that if you are watching, I just may make you proud every so often.) I repeated the mantra I said over & over throughout those first several weeks I returned to work. “Your pain is nothing compared to his. Your pain is nothing compared to his.” As I silently chanted my battle-cry, I used all my insides to put one foot infront of the other and make my way to your room. I simultaneously concentrated on containing the tears pressing against the back of my eyes, and holding down the vomit rising from my tummy up to my throat. I made it to your changing table to say good-morning…but somehow I ended up across the room in our glider. In an instant, I came undone. I couldn’t breathe, much less move. I truly didn’t feel this panic attack coming – which scared me a bit. As you know, at this point, it is somewhat of a challenge to rattle Momma. I tried all my well-versed tricks to regain some semblance of control, but it was too late. Ultimately, I gave in…and unleashed a primal shit show.
I’m still not sure how, or when, I finally managed to bring myself around. Maybe a text message came in from Daddy – inadvertently providing a sense of saftey? Or, perhaps Lucas came into your room to stand by my side? (Although, he never comes in when Momma or Daddy are in your room. It is the strangest, yet most endearing, phenomena. He knows exactly what has happened; he misses you too. Lucas visits your room on his own, and even sleeps in front of your changing table every so often.) By the time I was semi-functional again, I realized I simply would not be able to get myself to work on time. So I called in ‘sick’ again…this time, for a half day. I wonder if they’d consider adding the option of calling in ‘broken-hearted’ to my queue? Those good and kind kids of Momma’s were so relieved to see me. When they saw I had returned for the afternoon, a few of my most ‘belove-lies’ charged into my room and pounced on top of me and hugged me but good. One of my favorite, sassiest, girls planted a kiss right on top of my head. They knew why I was gone; better yet, they knew not to talk about it. It makes me sad to know they worry about me. I love them all so dearly. You would too, Paxton…and they’d have protected you to the end’s of this earth. Momma’s crazy-daisy kids: thank goodness for each of them.
Today is the day we brought you home from the hospital last year. I remember thinking, “There will never be another Valentine’s Day that can top this one.” Little did I know how very true that statement would prove. I keep picturing you in the beautiful outfit Nana made for your “coming home” extravaganza. Given we all operated under the guise that you would be born early, Nana made each part of your outfit smaller than those she had made for your cousins. Nonetheless, you still were drowing in it. Daddy was so irritated that I had you wear it anyway; I couldn’t be swayed – you were just too dang cute in it. Your toes barely passed where your knees should have hit – and I had to cuff the sleeves on your sweater, not once, but twice. My favorite part, however, was the way the hat kept falling down – nearly covering your sweet little face. Oh, Diddy-Diddy, how did this all happen?
It’s not that I shouldn’t be missing your itty-bitty newborn days; every mom misses those days. After all, they are the very moments we have patiently, yet anxiously anticipated for the previous 9 months. Sweeter yet, they afford the unique opportunity to fall in love 100 times a day, with the same little person. The sleep deprivation, hormone fluctuation, and punch-drunk love state, result in a blissful blur of some of life’s finest moments…which, in hindsight, slip away before you’ve even had a chance to realize they were real. Yes, I should be missing those days. I should be missing those days as I watch you across the room and marvel at how you’ve transformed before my eyes into a one-year old baby, with plump cheeks and locks of blonde hair. I should be missing those days as I gently clean the lint and baby food out from the crevices of your chubby fingers, which match your Michelan-baby body so perfectly that it looks like someone screwed your hands onto the ends of your arms. I should be missing those days as I shriek in excitement because you just took two, maybe three, steps on your own before teetering over right onto your dupa. I should not be missing your itty-bitty newborn days, along with everything else about you. I know I say it all the time, but I just want you back. It is that simple: I want you back.
For some reason, earlier today I recalled one of the songs I sang to you on our first night at home together. We were tucked away in Momma & Daddy’s room as the lyrics started to stream from my mouth…seemingly on instinct. I had never sung them out loud before that moment. I can still feel how very petite and fragile you felt in my arms. I can still feel my cheek brush along yours – which was so soft that it felt like it was made of clouds. Truth be told, I still remember every nook and every cranny of you, sweet boy. My memories of you are so detailed and so plentiful that I have to remind myself more often than I should, that no matter how intricate and abundant my visions remain, I will never be able to reach out and scoop you up into my arms – where you belong.
Alas, in honor of our first night at home together, and the very best Valentine’s Day there ever will be…here is your lullaby tonight, Paxton.
Stay with me sweet boy.