My baby was a breech baby. That means that he never turned head down; he'd always had his legs down and head up. His umbilical cord was looped around his neck, and that had stopped him from being able to turn. But that for sure didn't stop him from trying. Oh no. My gutsy little boy still tried multiple times, every single night. I could feel him turning, turning, turning... Until he reached my belly button. And that was probably when the cord got tight around his neck because I could feel him squirming with all his might, before giving up and returning to what was comfortable for him before he could hurt himself. That gave me a glimpse into what kind of child he would be: tenacious, spirited, and wise.
Now that he's born, I know I was right. He's a spirited little boy who cries lustily when kept too long from his milk. He's not afraid to show he's displeased, kicking his two little legs with gusto and showing me what I call his Sad Kitty Face.
When breastfeeding was tough those first weeks, not only did I not give up; my little boy didn't either. His mouth was so tiny, and he'd had to force it wide open to latch on for his milk. He could have tired of it and rejected the breast, but my son didn't. He kept at it, and because he didn't give up, I couldn't either, in spite of the pain. I've yet to see how he's wise since he's been born, but I am certain he will show me how wise he is, just like how he was in my womb when he knew when to stop trying.
So back to sharing my sweet baby with the rest of the world.
I still struggle with it everyday. I am torn between being thankful that he is so loved by family and friends, and that so many people want to cuddle and carry him; and the primal, instinctive need to have him by my side 24/7. I want to snuggle with him all day and never let him go. I want to kiss his chipmunk cheeks and stroke his downy hair. I want to keep telling him that I love him - and with each day, I am ever more certain that I can never, ever tell my baby that I love him, too many times.
So, I get a little protective over my baby when others want to carry and cuddle him. Okay, more than a little protective. I admit, I border on territorial akin to a lioness. I rein in my instinct to say "No! You can coo at him from there." and let [insert well-meaning family member] carry him. And I am so torn.
It's not about trying to make my baby love me and no one else. I just want to be there for and with him at every moment of his life. He's spent 9 months in my womb and only 9 weeks in this world, surely he would want his mother with him all the time too? In the larger scheme of things, he's still a tiny little baby and I do so want to see to his every need. I want to be there when he first opens his eyes in the morning until he closes them for the night's sweet sleep. I want to laugh with him when his little heart overflows with baby joy and hold him tight when he's upset with the confusing world. I want to be with him when he does his first roll, when he first lifts his head high and upright, when he utters his first consonant coos, when he says his first word (I can only hope it will be "mama" or "dada"), when he starts to crawl, when he takes his first steps. I just want to be his mother.
I know, of course, that he is his own little person and not my property. That he has to be socialised to form relationships with other important people in his life. That he is not mine to hide and hold and that he is free to choose whom he wants to be with. One day, I will have to let him go. Further, and further, he will go. First to school, then to the army, then to college; he will have friends of his own whom he would rather spend time with, he will fall in love and find his own soul mate whom he will have his own children with.
But for now, he is my sweet baby and a selfish part of me wants to preserve these achingly joyful days for all eternity. For just for a little while more, I want to not have to share my little man with the rest of the world and keep him safe in my arms. One day, I will have to let him go. One day, my arms will be empty when my baby no longer calls them home. One day, all my children will have their own lives and I will spend my days in a comfy rocking chair reading books, watching DVDs, and playing my favourite video games with my husband, the love of my life. When I look back on these days, I will ache with loss but more importantly, of love reaching out through the trellis of time, and yearn with all my heart to stroke my firstborn's soft cheek all over again, breathe in his delicious baby scent, and snuggled close in my arms at 3AM in the morning.
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