Ten years ago, on December 1st, I ambled into the hospital toward midnight, having begun labor at 7:30 pm. This is what I looked like on the way out of our place. A neighbor thought to grab a camera and memorialize the moment.
This is what emerged from me on December 2nd, towards midnight.
H.o.p.’s two days old there.
Not long after I’d discovered I was pregnant, I’d made the resolution to not try to have any expectations, so that I would prepare to accept my child just as he or she may be. Then about a month or a couple of weeks before H.o.p. was born, I dreamt that I was meeting him for the first time. It was a wonderfully happy meeting, as one might imagine…and in the dream he had a full head of dark hair and blue eyes. The dream was one of those very real dreams, and when I woke up I realized that because Marty and I had both had light blond hair as children, I’d been unconsciously expecting H.o.p. to have light hair. I was surprised to be as surprised as I was that H.o.p. might have dark hair and was rather glad to have had the dream so that I could realign those expectations. Because I can’t say that I didn’t expect anything–one can’t fully extinguish expectations.
So, I now expected H.o.p. to have a full head of dark hair, while trying not to expect.
The birth, which I’d hoped would be natural, wasn’t uneventful. H.o.p. was stuck behind my misaligned pelvic bones. I remember a blur of activity as they rushed to set up the room for a forceps delivery.
H.o.p. was pretty much born wailing. They placed him on my chest. He immediately stopped crying.
Yesterday, H.o.p. pulled out his baby book, asked for the story about his birth, wanted to know if there was blood and gook all over the place, and asked to see the scab of his belly button.
His nickname, H.o.p., stands for His Own Person. I gave him that nickname not only because he’s always been decidedly “His Own Person”, but to daily serve as a meditation for me.
This past week, out of the blue, H.o.p. also asked me if I was an alien from an exoplanet. Without hesitation, I said, “Yes.” He looked at me a moment then said, “No, really, are you an alien from an exoplanet?” I said, “Yes. Why do you ask?” Again, he looked at me a moment, then giggled and said, “Nah. You’re like me. You’re a spirit wearing a body.”
He may be His Own Person but it goes without saying that if I’m an alien from an exoplanet, then he’s at least 1/2 alien himself. There’s some parental baggage you just can’t shed. Which H.o.p. may have realized, this week, and decided it would be best to start–for sake of His Own Person and that parental baggage which can’t be shed–to get to work remaking me in the image of something with which he might easily live and not be too embarrassed by.
H.o.p., happy birthday. For the time being, you may have decided I’m not an extraterrestrial, but as you grow and continue to cultivate your own world and independent spirit, you may have occasion to conclude otherwise. Just know that a not too unhealthy amount of embarrassment is character building. And that differences are a good thing and teach…well…tolerance and acceptance.
Much of this, I learned from you.
I mean that. In a good way. Even on my dimmest days, I’m a better person because of you.
I love you, H.o.p.
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