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8 months.

April 26, 2011

Dear Judah,


Son, that is the tense, muffled scream of mother of an 8 month old boy.  And it’s shrieked with all of the love in my heart.

That may have been more dramatic than necessary.  But you don’t know what kind of week this has been.  It’s not even really worth going into.  But let me just say that today you capped it off with a big, juicy, red, long-stemmed, cherry.

Let me preface this by saying that this is one of those stories I almost hate to write because I’d rather you grow up with as few memories of my failure as possible.  I’d much more prefer you to only remember warm baked cookies and sage advice and beautiful hand made birthday presents.  Alas, I still find myself documenting such monumental failures perhaps only to prove to your father that I do not only choose to write when I find witty enough ammunition against him to make myself laugh.

It all started this morning.

I laid you in your crib for a nap and watched you quietly close your eyes and doze into a deep angelic slumber.  Or so I thought.  However, it wasn’t but 3 minutes later that I heard the shrill screams of a child who had defied the laws of human nature and climbed the walls of his bed, flipping over the side and landing acrobatically on his back.

The next few hours are somewhat a blur in my memory.  All I can truly manage to remember is holding you tightly to my chest while rocking back and forth on my knees, followed by me frantically stripping you of all clothing in search of internal bleeding or protruding bones.  Followed by me calling your father and muttering only 6 words.

“You were right.  I was wrong”.

You see son.  As a wife there are times when women will say those 6 words between clenched teeth.  Sarcastically.  To end a bitter battle they know in the end is not worth fighting.  And in most cases, when said with a tone of sarcasm, those 6 words actually mean “If you continue this conversation with one more word, I may actually explode into a million pieces you will never be able to clean up without my help.”

However in this instance, I spoke those 6 words almost as an apology.  Because I let my husband’s first born son fall from a high distance onto the cold earth below AFTER he had just finished telling me that he felt it necessary to put safety precautions in place to avoid such a disaster.  And I rejected his advice.  And chose instead to put you in harms way.  And I felt like he needed the victory.  Also, I should mention that there exists not one person in our zip code who has not heard that story this evening.  Because for the first time in a long time, he was right.  And I was wrong.  So let’s shout it from the roof top ladies and gentlemen.

I have made light of this situation a million times today.  Laughing about how crazy strong you are.  About how miraculous it was that you weren’t injured.  About how right your dad is.  But the truth is, I spent a significant amount of time totally freaking out.  I even wrote to a friend I knew I could trust to lament over how I’m one inch away from creating a classifieds listing for you in search of a suitable mother.  But as usual she totally talked me down and told me about all the high places she saw her kids fall off of while they were growing up and how they are totally not broken, yet.

Then she said something like “your job is to teach him to fall down 7 times and get up 8…”

It made me think of you growing up and how many times I will have to watch you fall from high places.  And I’m starting to wonder how I’ll ever do that without panic as a primary reaction.  How will I teach you to get up with more grace than you fall?  I wish falling down weren’t such a big part of life.  I see so many who don’t seem to experience that at all and I’m hopeful that you can become the man you need to be without it.  But honestly, it’s not likely.  Because as we have read in Romans…we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope

And what is life if absent of hope?

Hope is a gift.  Not one to be squandered.  One that is easy to ignore and take for granted.  But it’s not for everyone.  It’s special and beautiful.  So if you fall from 99 high places.  And you feel like the hope needed to get up one more time may be extinguished, remember that the falls make you stronger.  Not calloused.  Stronger.

And only the strongest of us choose to hold on to hope.

With all the love in heaven and earth,
Your sassy momma

2 Comments leave one →
  1. April 26, 2011 10:10 am

    ” And I’m starting to wonder how I’ll ever do that without panic as a primary reaction. ”

    you will learn to not have the panicked reaction because it’s amazing to watch them pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and realize that life goes on…because they are so resilient and brave and strong and wonderfully adaptable…because of you…and it’s a proud moment…

    love you!

  2. April 26, 2011 1:02 pm

    glad he’s ok!

    and, just to commiserate…when bennett was about 5 months old (i think, at least, because my memory is fuzzy due to gestation and caring for children x 3), he was sick with croup for the first time and really miserable. i laid him on my bed, and then left the room to be able to talk to the nurse to schedule an appointment for him, because he was crying and i couldn’t hear her talking. and then he rolled off my bed. mother of the year!!!

    thankfully, he was ok, but i felt HORRIBLE.

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