My “baby” is now a hairy young man

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My son turned 14 yesterday. Whenever he has a birthday, I quietly celebrate my motherhood. I also think about Loïc ’s home birth and see him, small and lying on my chest, just moments after he exited the womb. Here he is, I thought. My son.

Yesterday, we celebrated joyfully with a family dinner. With the exception of his younger sister, the same family members were in our home: my spouse, my father, my father’s wife and me. It was a lovely, sunny end of day, just as it had been on June 10, 2001.

I went to bed early, as I always do. Lying on my bed, I looked out the window at the still-blue sky and the light coming through in much the same way it had on the evening of Loïc ’s birth. Fourteen years ago, I was here, my spouse fast asleep and my son a compact warmth touching me. Something about the light through the window and memories and a knowing how quickly childhood and teenage years go by prompted my tears.

I thought of my own mother, who lives in Montreal and how infrequently we see each other. I thought of Loïc and the intensity of the love I feel for both him and his sister. And, before falling asleep, I expressed gratitude for being a mother and all that it has brought me and taught me.

 

Photo by Motiqua. “Open heart. Catch sunshine”. Creative Commons license from Flickr.

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