On Beginnings and Endings -- Peanut Turns One

One year ago, at just about this time, a child was born.  It was serene and sacred, a quiet scene, a beautiful and blissful welcoming. (You can read the story here.)

While pregnant with Peanut, I experienced the normal number of garden-variety aches and discomforts.  I had at least my fair share of anxiety.

But, in retrospect his pregnancy felt much like a deep breath, his birth a sigh.

When I first looked in his eyes I felt 31 years' urgent ache melt away.  Here was my friend, the gentle joyful spirit who had trusted me enough to wait for me to be his mother.  Until that moment I had no idea how much I'd missed him.

Now, the newborn boy whose peach fuzz head fit in the palm of my hand is one year old. 

His eyes are bright with joy and laughter. His voice tinkles and coos and squeals, playing on his throat and teeth and tongue the music of our language. Soon his words will roll into the world, announcing the thoughts that make him unique in all the universe. As he learns to walk, his feet march out the rhythm of his fierce desire for independence. He longs to step into the wide world and do what he came here to do.

Never have I mourned the passing of a baby year as I am grieving the end of this child's first year.

Oh, how I will miss him! 

Tangled up in his growing is the passage of my mother-self.  I don't yet feel the settling peace and certainty that we are done having children.  I also don't feel the yearning for a missing child, the surety that there is at least one more spirit waiting to join us. And so I know that this may be the end, that I may never again know the intimacy of being the mother of a baby.

Tonight I kissed his forehead as I put him to bed, knowing that the baby I nursed to sleep tonight will wake up tomorrow as a one year old.

The pain and joy and power of it all was far too much to keep to myself, so I had to pour it out here.


My baby, likely my very last sweet baby, is ONE YEAR OLD. 

{Awed pause here.}

He was born on a wisp of heaven and his birth restored my faith in birth.

Now, each day he restores my faith. 

He teaches and teaches and teaches me hope. Life is good -- all of it -- the beginnings and the endings and the just-keeping-ons.

With each joyful, toddling step he is reminding me. Life is meant to be lived with face turned forward, arms raised high, heart open to welcome the joy that waits ahead of us, even as it holds safe the treasure of the joys that lay behind.