Binya-Binya

Happy Birthday to you.

Today you are 12. Hard for me to fathom that a dozen years have come and gone. Surely they have slipped right through my fingers like fine sand. Each moment has becoming one more in a string of moments speeding by, before I had the inclination to pay attention. I wish..... that I had paid closer attention to these tangible examples of an intangible concept. That I could go back, remember each and every moment where you have made me smile and brought joy to my heart. That I could somehow list them and describe each one of them to you. For they are many, and unfortunately, my memory is just not that good. But what comes to mind today is the very first moment you brought this joy: the moment I first held you.

You were the gift I didn't even know I wanted until I had you. Your Dad and I were very young, still trying to figure out what we wanted in this life and not even quite sure who we were. I'll never forget the day we found out that we two would become three. The nurse had that look when she came back into the room, and even though I had tried to convince myself that these symptoms were merely the flu, I just knew right then: it was real. Ready or not you were coming. She talked on and on about what, I am not sure, because I could no longer hear what she was saying. I was lost in a daze in my own head asking myself: What now? How will I? What if? It isn't exactly what we hope to write down in that special place in the baby book where it asks "How did you first find out about your pregnancy?" So many emotions were swimming around in my head, but mostly I was afraid.

Of course, I had nine whole months to get used to the idea that I was going to have a baby and be a Mom. I tried to plan, to prepare myself: I read books, took classes, and of course I thought about it all the time. But as with anything one has never done before, it is never quite how you think it is going to be. I labored hard with you. 23 hours in fact. I can remember how much it hurt, and how I wished the contractions would be fewer and shorter, but also knowing it was a necessary pain, I just wanted to get through it because I knew it would culminate in your arrival. I passed the hours, the time between contractions, thinking of what it would be like to finally have you here, to hold you, and talk to you. I visualized what you would look like: How big you would be, your nose, your mouth, your 10 little fingers and 10 little toes. I even worried you would have a head full of thick, dark, curly hair just like your Dad. (Actually, in my mind, it looked more like Elvis) These minor worries kept the nurses amused and my mind off the pain for a little while. When they finally said I could push, I was glad it wouldn't be much longer before I would see you. And with every push I prayed that it would be my last, and this would be done. Again and again, bearing down, I believed through sheer force I would bring you into this world. But after laboring for so long, the doctors became concerned because I was not progressing. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't seem to push you out. They gave me my options: I could try a little longer or I could have a C-Section. As if somehow I was in control of this process. "Whatever we need to do." I said, "Just get her here." Nothing I did was working, because the truth is, I was so not in control. But I was afraid.

A lot of the complications I read/learned about were now happening. No one could take this from me, no one could do this for me. I had no choice. I just kept telling myself, whatever I need to do to have you in my arms, I would do. I never knew I would have to be this brave. They prepped me and moved me into another room for surgery. It went relatively quick because what I didn't fully comprehend was, you were struggling and they were worried. I didn't let myself think about the surgery, so when they draped me, I looked away and closed my eyes, hoping this part would go quick. Up until this point I had never had surgery, never been under anesthesia, never been cut into. And I was afraid.

You didn't cry right away when they pulled your little, wrinkled, curled body from me. The longest few minutes were waiting for the doctor to finish suctioning your lungs. The previous 23 hours were a blink of an eye compared to this. And then finally you cried. That sound... I couldn't even comprehend before that moment how my heart would feel hearing your tiny, yet intense noise fill the room. And then I cried. Oh how I longed for you in that moment. When they placed you on my chest - wrapped in a blanket with a small knit cap over your misshapen head (you seriously could have won a part in the Coneheads movie), your arms and legs tightly drawn to your chest, I gently pulled your hat off (whew, no hair) and kissed your head. In that moment I was forever changed. My heart was unable to contain this feeling, tears streaming down my face. You were real. You were here. And what I could never have imagined before now was just how beautiful you would be to me. I was yours and you were mine. How will I ever be everything I need to be for you? Again, I was afraid.

How could I know what this would feel like? How can I tell you now what this felt like then? To all at once be so utterly amazed and terrified. Never before and never again would it feel just like this. Overwhelming and incredible. See, you were the first for everything. I had no idea what to expect. Up until that moment, I didn't understand that what you get in life is rarely what you envision:

actually, it is so much more.

I truly understood the power of an unknown future. You, nestled there on my chest making little baby noises, surely mesmerized by the beating of my heart which you had grown accustomed to inside of me, were the most amazing thing I could never have planned for. You were so delicate, everything so soft and tiny. My mind could never have dreamed you up, let alone, this perfection. And this feeling in my chest. I was unprepared for this joy. And I'm glad I didn't know what it would be like, because for the first time, in that moment I learned no matter what my hopes and fears were, that I couldn't possibly imagine or plan for all that lay before me on this journey. And I have come to understand that the unknown is so much better than what we foresee.

Through the years of being your mother I have had many more moments like this. Where I have come to understand things that I never understood before. Where you have brought me pride and joy through just being your Mother. Because just like I couldn't predict then what it would be like to be a Mother, I certainly couldn't have predicted how you would grow into what you have become. How I am still amazed that the tiny little baby wrapped in that blanket asleep on my chest now stands almost as tall as me. How did it all happen so fast? I wish I could put some memories of you in a bottle and keep them there, forever. Taking them out, on occasion, reliving each of the moments again and again. So that when I am afraid, like I am today that soon you will be grown and no longer my little girl, I can remember all that you have given me, all that you have taught me, all the joy that I could never have conceived, just by you being born to me as my first and only daughter.
I love you Binya-Binya. My wish for you is that you come to understand the possibilities of the future and all that lay before you. Don't be too afraid of the things to come. Don't try too hard to have everything planned and figured out. Because even when you believe you are in control, you aren't, so relax and let go a little. Believe that life will be infinitely better than even you can imagine. And I hope that you can enjoy the moments for what they are: gifts you didn't know you wanted until you had them.

Love, Your Mom