Happy Birthday Braeden

Today Braeden is eleven. Which means I’ve been a mother for eleven years. It’s something to think about. In some ways I can’t believe he’s eleven already. How could he grow up so fast? On the other hand, I barely remember life without him. It seems like that wasn’t real life.

I didn’t take to motherhood easily. I thought I would. When I was about 14 I remember thinking I was ready to be an adult, ready to be a mother. I wasn’t ready then though, because I wasn’t really ready at 23 either. It was Hard. A big part of why it was hard was because of post partum depression, which I didn’t realize at the time. I thought…and I think Adam thought--though he was kind enough not to tell me…that I was just a really terrible mother. The only thing that overshadowed my anxiety about being Braeden’s mother though, was how much I loved him. I would sit for hours and stare into his navy blue but soon to be brown eyes. I would contemplate things like where he’d just been and what he would be someday.

And I wondered why I didn’t get anything done. Maybe it was all the sitting and staring into his eyes.

I didn’t appreciate it then but I look back with such fondness at what Braeden and I have been through. He was with me when I flew to Connecticut for the first time. The uncertainty of it all may have engulfed me if I hadn’t had him to be in charge of. He was with me when I got lost every time I left our Connecticut apartment those first few weeks. He was with me on perfect autumn walks in crunchy leaves on Prospect Street. He was with me when Emma arrived. He called her Be Emma (be for baby) and loved her.

He’s been with me for every move we’ve made except for the one when I was pregnant with him, but I guess he was there then too. He decorated boxes with crayons while I packed them and he offered me his blanket when I sat on the floor and cried when we moved to California and our incompetent and crooked movers had broken lamps and dishes.

I wonder how many times Braeden and I have driven around together on errands. How many stories have I read to him? I wonder how many times he’s made me laugh or helped me or understood me when no one else did. I wonder how many times I’ve been too hard on him, angry with him when I was really angry with myself. I wonder how many times he’s forgiven me.

Nothing makes me feel more loved or undeserving than the three children I’ve been given. I think of all the mistakes and missteps I’ve made. All the times I wasn’t kind enough or patient enough or let them down.

So I pause at this eleven year anniversary of motherhood. I want to be a better mother. I want to appreciate these three souls that have filled my life with so much wonder and laughter and tears and anxiety and plain hard work. I want to do better by them.

Happy Birthday Braeden. Thank you for making me a mother. Thank you for understanding when I’m not so very good at it. And thank you being the wonderful kind of boy that makes me think maybe I did one or two things right.