Pain and Preciousness

Dear Brock –

I’ve been wanting to write, but haven’t gotten around to it for quite a while again.

Every day, you do or say beautiful things, funny things, sweet things, challenging things. So many new things that I want to document, but I know that recording them all would take at least as much time as it takes to actually live each event, and so I have to let these amazing moments go floating away from me. It saddens me to no end… I keep wondering which of these moments will ultimately stand out for future recollection. Or which ones I might recall only when I see them again in your own child.

Today was a rough day for me. “Happy New Year” right? For some reason, I woke up feeling fine, mentally, but upon getting downstairs to play with you and seeing a mess that had been staying and building for roughly a month, I broke down. Full-on panic attack… Nowhere to put things; no more space; more and more “stuff” feeling like it was closing in on me. And compounded by wanting to be actively playing with you, but suffering terrible back pain – a remnant of the car accident a year ago.

I hyperventilated. I cried. Not pretty, and a downright horrible way to wake your dad up to begin a new day, a new year.

In the midst of it, though, you were mostly charming throughout the day. Hard, with lots of energy, demands, requests and constant talking (none of which are a big deal — or bad — on a day when I feel ok). But still charming… more cuddly than usual, too.

By the time the day was over, I was tired. Your dad was working on a project for me, to help me clear off more counter space in the kitchen. So I took you up to bed (you’ve been sleeping in your converted crib for a couple of weeks now, and doing fantastic!). While changing your clothes for sleeping, you started to run away from me, exacerbating my back pain as I tried to reach and twist to get your pajamas on. I finally just laid down on the floor and cried a little. And then your wonderful little spirit showed up…

You said, “Mommy, what’s wrong?” I apologized and said my back just hurt really badly today but I would be fine. “Do you need a toy? Make you feel better!”… You scurried off the bed to find something suitable. “I build you a castle, mommy. Make you feel better! I build you a castle.” You stacked couch pillows on top of each other – your “castle.” You’ve been doing this for just the past few days. I thanked you and told you that a big hug would really help me, too – and you gave me such a sweet one.

Next up, more help: “Read a book together, mommy! Make you feel better.” You chose your little toddler Bible. “This book make you feel better.” You sat on my lap and let me read a couple of the one-page stories out of it. Then finally, just a few pages of Goodnight Moon, and you were happy to crawl back into bed, satisfied that I was indeed better, I guess.

You’re amazing. I feel bad that you had to console me, but you’re such a precious one. I can hardly believe how insightful you are. I imagine this is relatively normal in terms of your stages of development… but I like to think you’re just extra-special. 🙂 The perfect little spirit to come and be part of my life.

Thank you. I’m sorry I’m such a pain sometimes.

I love you.

-Mom