A Letter to My Son on His First Birthday

Dear Axton,

I'll admit it. I've been putting off thinking about this day for the last month, now. I've pushed it to the back of my mind, and allowed myself to get busy with other things. But now the time is come, your birthday is here and you are a one-year-old. Already I see you turning into a toddler, your baby-ness long behind you.

Looking through all your pictures from the last year, I find myself infinitely grateful for cameras. There is no way I would have remembered that you ever used to look like this, if it wasn't for the photos. There is no way I could ever have realized how much you've changed. I was clueless to how much kids grow up in a year.

I've loved you from day one, in the way only parents can - strong and consuming. I've enjoyed you from day one. But, man did I start really liking you around the 8-month mark. (And it's probably no coincidence that that is also when you started sleeping through the night and I got a bit of my sanity back. It really changes things, sleep). You really started to show off your personality at this time, though. Started to interact and react so much more, and it hit me so hard then just how fun being a parent could really be. How awesome it is to teach you new things, watch how it clicks in your mind, and how you interpret and receive information. I started to realized that I could want another child, someone for you to play with, to call your brother and sister.

Being your mother is, of course, a whole-body experience. It sucks up every ounce of patience, energy, and love from my very core. It affects my every physical sense. Let me explain.

Sight:
I see your two little teefers sticking up in your wide open smile, your nose crinkled in delight.
I see your big round belly making the buttons on your vest pop.
I see a deep dimple sinking into your cheek.
I watch you learn to walk and climb, pulling yourself on top of things, getting braver between letting go and grabbing on.
I watch you interact with others, learning how to be a friend to other people your age and size. I like to sit back and wait and see what happens before I jump in and rescue you (or the other kid, as the case may be).
I've watched my mom become a grandma, my dad become a softy grandpa, my brother an uncle. I watch other people love and grow and change simply because you are now in their life.

Sound:
I hear your sweet babble from the backseat of the car, doodoo's and dada's and mama's and baba's.
I hear your big hearty laugh that sounds too old for your body, and your squealy giggles that sound like a 10-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert (who's Justin Bieber you ask? Oh nevermind. I'm sure you can google it)
I hear loud, whiny cries at my knees, asking to be picked up and snuggled and hugged.
I hear big baby toots that go unnoticed by you, making them even funnier to me.

Smell:
Your hair. Oh, child, your hair. It smells like heaven after a bath, fresh and clean. It smells like dirty little boy, playgrounds and leaves, old milk, cheerios, and summer. Sunshine and barefeet, flowers and rainy days. Your hair smells like all of that, separate, distinct, and all at once.
I smell your warm breath as I snuggle you while you nap, milk and applesauce.
I smell poop! You've pooped in the tub, you've pooped on Dad and I, on the carpet. I've smelled sick, constipated, breastfed, and whole raisins. It's just the business of babies.
I think I will always want a package of baby wipes in my house, just because the smell will bring you back - all of you.

Touch:
I rub my cheek against your wispy blonde hair, so fluffy and soft.
I caress your silky smooth back, and pat your squishy tushy.
I'm wet with your big slobbery kisses and constantly-running nose.
I ache with head bonks, bit nipples, clawing at my arms, the weight of carrying you up the stairs (and your stroller, and bags of groceries on my arms)
I've felt the sting of a fever on your forehead, the sweat of your brow and back.
I melted into a puddle the very first time I felt your little body crawl into my lap and hand me a book to read to you.

 Taste:
Salt. Everything with you is salty.
Your big salty tears linger on my lips as I kiss them away.
I taste fingers shoved in my mouth, covered in dog hair and who knows what else!
Salty boogers smeared all over me.
Raisins and animal crackers shoved into my mouth, evidence that you are learning to "share."

This is what it physically means, what it physically feels like to be your Mommy. It's a completely encompassing experience - using all 5 senses.
But of course, it's more than that. And this last one is even more overpowering than all the other senses combined;  it's what I feel in my heart. The joy, the heartache, the exhaustion, the utter pride, the hopes, the dreams.... The Love.

It's the most real thing I've ever known.

You've taught me so much, and not just the typical things that kids teach a first-time parent. Not just the things that having any kid will teach you, but the things that having Axton as your kid can teach you. Important things like seeing others around me as equals, and not judging them according to their looks. You, son, will smile at anyone. You will make anyone else smile back at you. People I would have, in my rushing and my judging, passed without a second glance. You take the time to brighten others' days, no matter who they are - old, young, pretty, ugly, grungy, fancy, it doesn't make a difference to you - and I've not only learned that it's worth it to take the time to do so, but that that's what Christ would do. That's what is so special about you: I see Christ in you. I catch glimpses of the powerful spirit you were in Heaven before you came to me and I wonder how I got so lucky, so blessed.

I carried you in my belly for nine months. Felt you move and stretch before anyone else ever saw your face. Axton, I may have made you (with a little help from your father), but you....you've re-made me. I'm becoming who I was meant to be by raising you. And it's the highest privilege God could ever have granted me, to be  your mommy.

Happy First Birthday. I am so glad I get so many more birthdays with you!

Love,
Mommy