Just the two of us...

I hope you all had a Happy Thanksgiving, a successful Black Friday, if that’s your thing, and have forgiven yourself for eating that extra piece of pie.  I wonder though, is it really an extra piece of pie if it’s Thanksgiving? Bellies filled with pumpkin pie paired with a dollop of whipped cream, family gathered around the table and a nap IS Thanksgiving. This year, however, I’m convinced it wasn’t just the tryptophan that did me in. Not only was my belly full from turkey and pie, my heart was full too, filled to the brim with love paired with laughter, snuggles and dancing.


Yes, mama bears, you read that right. Dancing.  Before the turkey and pie, before we even made it out of the house, I was celebrating with something else that IS Thanksgiving- the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.  As the lone female in the house, there are just some things the rest of my pack doesn’t join me for. Craft fairs, art festivals, Target runs-I’m on my own.  It’s better this way. All of my fellow boy moms know EXACTLY what I’m talking about. So for the last few years, the parade is something I’ve watched in between commercials of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Paw Patrol while the boys are doing whatever they do in their boys club. So imagine my surprise when my littlest cub ran over to the TV, started shaking his booty and stepped to the beat of Ashanti singing “Let it Snow.”  Ya’ll know I had to join him.  And while we danced, I knew I wasn’t just given company.  I knew the Universe had gifted me with a tiny Thanksgiving miracle.


You see, Daniel is ALL boy. He loves to rough house, run, climb, throw himself off of furniture. Basically he ‘s a mini mad man who already understands what it means when his dad says “get Connor.” He’s also Daddy’s boy.  He prefers to snuggle and nap with my husband, so much so, that when he was still breastfeeding, he’d pop off the breast, pat his dad on the back to let him know he was done and then he’d leave my arms to get all cozied up in the arms of my husband.  As the lone female in the house, I somehow had already become the one to provide the sustenance and snacks but not be part of the fun of boys club.  It wasn’t better this way. It certainly didn’t feel better this way.

Daniel’s first day of life was probably the hardest day of my life thus far.  I was barely coherent at the time of delivery. It took everything I had left to hold him to my chest during skin to skin. I was worried that my arms weren’t strong enough in that moment to hold him and told myself to hold on tighter. I remember thinking that I needed to look like I had it together because I was a mom. How do you look like you have it together after 9 hours of induced, unmedicated labor due to  HELLP syndrome and  your head is  rolling back ,constantly hitting the bed while you’re holding your baby, reminding you that you’re supposed to be enjoying that so-called “magic hour” and not feeling like death?  You don’t.  And I didn’t.  So my husband stepped up and stepped in, doing most of the caretaking of Daniel that day. He would bring him to me to nurse, because I was tied to the bed with IV’s in both arms, and then would take him back and keep him safe in the sanctity of the dad nook.  They forged an undeniable bond that day but I couldn’t help thinking that Daniel had imprinted on the wrong parent.  


Over the course of Daniel’s first year and beyond, their connection challenged my beliefs about motherhood and the bond between a mother and her child.  Who was I to this tiny being? Was I just the woman who nursed him and then handed him off to someone else? Was it possible for me to be a good mom if it wasn’t me meeting every one of his needs? What would happen when he weaned from nursing? I didn’t want to be just some person.  I wanted to be HIS person just as I was for my oldest.  The feelings of confusion, rejection, guilt and shame pushed the hopeful part of me into the dark corners of my heart and soul. I found myself wondering what I had done for him that made me deserving of his love. One day I actually put words to this and asked my husband if he thought Daniel knew I was his mother.  


But, as they say, the Universe delivers when we are open and ready to receive.  When I finally began recovering from Postpartum Depression and my inner light came back on, Daniel was there, waiting.  I truly believe that my little buddy knew his mama needed some time to heal, some time to silence the unhelpful and unrealistic thoughts, and some time to see that I WAS his person. I wasn’t some lady who brought the boys their snacks and went back to the kitchen.  I was his good enough mother and had been all along.  Because even though he would leave my arms, and then my lap, and now my side, he always came back.  What I initially felt as rejection was, in reality, a reflection. It was a reflection of the hard work and heart work I was putting into our relationship. Even with only good enough mothering, he knew I would never leave, making it safe for him to explore his world and come back when he needs a kiss, a snuggle or a quick squeeze and then he’s off again, into the wild world of other people, our playroom or whatever cabinet he can reach his chubby hands into.  And then he comes back. He always comes back and I’m always there. 


And so, on Thanksgiving morning when Daniel toddled into the living room and started living his best life, bumping and moving, shrieking with laughter, I stopped folding laundry, turned the volume up and danced with him, grateful to the Universe for this gift of connection between just the two of us before I had to share him for the day and the reminder that he knows exactly who I am-his anything goes, loving, always there for him dance partner and good enough mother.