To My Morrison On Your Third Birthday…
I slipped on my way to the bathroom the day of your second birthday party. You were standing at the window, anxiously awaiting my return with the only part of the celebration that made any sense - the cake. No stranger to the rushed, moms-never-have-time-to-pee, break, I ran as fast as I could. I felt the blood before I saw it. Later that night, as I was collecting the wrapping scraps, crestfallen and strewn across the carpet, I noticed how many were stained with tears. I didn’t go to the doctor, shamefully choosing ignorance as way of protection, but gave birth to your brother exactly nine months later.
The year that existed between those days, your third year, would be shared with him (spoiler: as will all that follow). But, this particular year, with its nine months of swelling and curiosity followed by three months of an impassioned initiation, marked a massive shift in the world as you knew it…as any of us knew it.
In those early days, we were still very much distracted by each other and our routine. You’d feign interest in my new body the same way would your baby doll. For you and your fateful puppy - a duo to be reckoned with - were busy discovering a brighter world one bright and early morning at a time.
Your terrible twos never came. I have no doubt they will as you have a pattern of operating on your own time but, so far, that sweet, inherent intensity continues to dominate your character. Still, you grew more this year than I was prepared for. It began in a world of words that couldn’t get you far and ended on a roller coaster ride of vowels and ‘why’s’ and ‘I love you mommys.’ There were days you felt like a stranger because you had transformed so much overnight, but getting to know the new, older you each day has charmed me to my core.
You’ve lived through another tumultuous year. We were sitting together on the couch the afternoon of January 6th. I didn’t realize how firmly I was holding you until you said “too tight.” Your screams are the loudest when I force white swabs up your nose. We’ve woken up every morning of the past 23 days checking on and praying for the Ukraine. Who knows what’s to come, but what’s clear is we remain thoroughly privileged.
It’s strange you were just as small as your brother once, and even stranger it wasn’t so long ago. You’re helpful and attuned in a way I wasn’t expecting. I have immense pride for the person you are and the person you will grow over and over to become.
I like to take my time writing these letters to you but find myself with so little these days. I have a feeling that may become our new normal, and while I’m certain it will serve as an asset in the future, I feel guilt in the moment. I watch you discovering your brother, reveling in his ‘firsts’, with no regard you were just his size and the firsts were mine. Time may feel restricted, but know my first times belong to you. You’re still my one and only - my one and only first, with so many yet to come. Forever, Mom
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