It's a ONEderful Life

Getting back to normal after the summer always proves difficult. It seems like in the summer months we settle into this laziness where every day may as well be a Saturday and our sense of urgency is nowhere to be found.  What’s for dinner? Who knows.  What are we doing today? No plans, really.  Didn’t get the to-do list done? Who cares-we’ll try tomorrow.  And so when it was time to get back to business with work and school it is all we can do to get our acts together and be up and ready to go on time and without coming apart at the seams.  On top of that my work schedule has changed and I am in early (and out early), leaving Sean to get the kids ready for the day. Throw in a first birthday party and you’d think it would be a recipe for a chaotic, epic disaster- at the very least a mama meltdown, right?  Normally, yes.  

However three weeks ago (I’m late-I get it-I told you we are trying to get our acts together!), for a lady that is usually her worst self right before a party, I was a pretty cool customer. There was no crying, and yelling (well except when my darling husband decided to weed-whack the overgrown garden thirty minutes before the party was starting.... listen, everyone has limits) and everything was ready to go before the first guests arrived.  Carter’s First Birthday Party had arrived and the fact of the matter is the whole world could have been crashing down around me and I don’t think I would have cared.  I was celebrating my sweet rainbow baby’s first birthday; my very own Harry Potter-the boy that lived.  There was nothing that could take away from the happiness that it was bringing me.

I had spent the weeks leading up to it planning all the little details-the ones I’m constantly reminded that the kids wouldn’t notice anyway. I think my hope is when they grown up and sift through the artifacts of our past they will see how much love I put into their celebrations.  That to me, their birthdays were so much more than cake and paper plates; that it was a day for me to try and reciprocate the joy they brought to me and their dad every other day of the year.  And so I glued sticks to frames, and moss to letters and all of the other little things that would turn the backyard into a little woodland party.  

And because I have some of the best family and most talented people to call my friends my big guy had delicious treats, a gorgeous cake and some of the cutest little cookies you ever did see.  

So many of the people that have followed along with Sean and I over the last year, sharing in the joy of becoming parents again after so much heartache; many of the people that have loved watching this baby boy grow over the last year and change our world for the better came to celebrate this happy day with us.  That was the part that meant everything.  These were the same people that stood by us in the darkness and have been there waiting patiently when we found the light again.  

Watching Carter follow around his big friends, and point to all of the things that blow his little mind, seeing him push his cake around but not into trying it, sitting with him and my grandma as she sang the same song to him she has sung to all of her grand and great-grandchildren: these were all of the moments I had felt so robbed of these last three and a half years; the secondary losses.  And so though I tried my damnedest to make this only about Carter, his big brother was never far from my mind, with my heart wishing I had gotten those moments with Jack too.  

There was one point where my sister was taking a photo of us, that this boy touched my face and looked at me square in the eye and all I could think was, ‘thank you.’  I don’t know who it was directed to, Carter- for being everything I needed so badly, Jack- for picking this little guy out for us, Sean-for giving us this beautiful life and hanging on unwaveringly while we made it through the worst of it, or maybe even the universe.  In any case, my heart was full of gratitude and love. 

My life will never feel perfect again, the naivety of that notion died with my first son, but there is a sense of peace in my heart again that has been missing for a long time; and it’s a pretty wonderful feeling. And I’ll take that any day of the year and twice on the day of a party.  

Our Boys

I can remember the day so clearly.  My best friend, Jen, had told me she was going to find out whether she was expecting a little boy or girl and that she’d let me know as soon as she left the doctor. I was at work and checked my phone a dozen times.  I finally texted her a pink heart, a blue heart, and a question mark, unable to wait any longer.  After a bit she texted back a blue heart and then right after that she said, “I hope that you’re okay with it.”  And with that my heart broke a little.  Here she was on one of the most exciting days of her life and she was worried about my feelings; I hated myself a little for that.  I hated that I had let my grief push its way to the forefront of yet another amazing moment and it wasn’t even my moment.  I quickly responded, “OF COURSE it’s okay!” And truly, it was. But I would be lying if I didn’t say it hurt something awful too.   The hurt wasn’t born of jealously-not an ounce of that-but that our beautiful baby boys would never play together; that we would never take a picture of them together and look back at it in wonder that they’d ever been that little, as there is no doubt in my mind that Jen and I will grow old together.  

I love me some Oliver; we all do.  Sean gets such a kick out of him and Kennedy has loved him like her own baby brother from the moment she first held him.  And so I was feeling pretty sad that we didn’t get to make a vacation happen with them the way with did last summer and so I made plans to head to Boston for a day or two with Carter since K would be at gymnastics camp.  

So after Kennedy’s first week of camp we made a visit to Long Island.  It was filled with family, boat rides, and pool days.  It was great and needed but all of it was overshadowed by the fact that my baby boy looked at me, while I was putting on makeup to head to a bridal shower and said, “Mama.”  I swear to God I almost cried ever drop of mascara I’d just applied. To hear that sound come from the mouth of a little boy has been something my heart has been desperate to hear for the last three and a half years.  He is a snuggly, mushy little mama’s boy (which I mean in the most affectionate way) and he soothes my soul in ways I can’t begin to put into words. It was a great long weekend but it took its toll on the little girl and so we skipped camp this week.  

I went back and forth about bringing her with us but decided not to, which she was not thrilled with me about.  The thing is, it would make it a very different visit and I felt like I needed it to be low key and low maintenance, neither of which describes my fiery, wild-haired girl.  She was entertained by her grandparents and did just fine through FaceTime calls and some whining.  The little man and me?  We did just fine too.  

The second we arrived to Jen and I saw Oliver’s little face light up as he shouted over the pouring rain, “Hi Baby!” I was done.  Jen parked the car for me and I made my way up the stairs holding one boy in my arms and the hand of the other as he chatted to me.  The second we walked through the door Oliver directed us to sit on the floor and he talked Carter, showing off all of his bog boy moves.  Carter was enthralled by him, laughing and trying to mimic the sounds and clapping.  Separated by one year and one day, they had not yet met face to face as life just got in the way, but they acted like old friends instantly (except when poor Oliver got close enough for a fistful of hair from the Ultimate Hair-Puller). Watching them, my heart was literally fluttering.  Though in this scenario Oliver was the big boy and Carter the baby, my brain allowed my heart to remind me he would have been sandwiched between my boys in a different life and I smiled to myself thinking of the noise level with three and how they’d have been thick as thieves. Just like that, our boys were together.  And it was everything I needed it be all of these years.  

We had a great visit that ended too quickly but we had a little girl that missed us and wanted us (mostly “her baby”) back home and so we got one last picture of the little men together and headed back to New York.

We decided to add another big milestone to month ten for Carter and took him to get his first haircut. While the mullet has always made me laugh I find it less funny on the heads of my children and so I thought a good trim was in order.  I went off the suggestion of a friend and brought him to an honest-to-God Barber Shop in the town next door; the kind where the barber’s were sitting outside waiting for men in need of some grooming.  A guy that could have been Sean’s doppelgänger was “up” and instantly started talking to Carter, making him feel at ease and let him touch the buzzer and combs.  My big guy- my last baby- he never fussed or cried once.  And though every snip of his baby hair’s made me want to scream STOP!!  I knew it was really Time I wanted to stop and not this sweet man cutting his hair.  In a month and a half he will be One and I’m just not ready to be there yet. So he is still my baby.  My baby with a pretty damn cute ‘do. 

As if there just wasn’t enough emotion coursing through my veins as we got in the car Kennedy asked why we were taking Carter’s hair home in a bag.  I explained that we’d done the same for her and that I had a special box to put it in.  Naturally, her mind always loops in Jack when I say “my kids” and so she asked, “Did you keep Jackie’s hair too?”  I could barely breath but managed to squeak out “No” as the tears started welling up behind my sunglasses.  When she asked why, I couldn’t give her a good answer because I was too busy asking myself the same question Why?! Why didn’t I ask them for a lock of his hair? He'd had so much.  It was dark blond and it was beautiful and I suddenly wanted to touch it more than anything in the world.  Grief is funny that way; it comes out at unexpected times and swallows you up.  And so, as I do whenever my heart calls out for Jack, I did my best to take in every second of time with his baby brother and sister, believing that he lives through them.

My summer vacation is winding down with my return to work starting in August.  Time off never feels like enough but there has been some pretty good moments to carry my through until our beach vacation down south the end of August.  Until then, I will soak in the sun and the chaos.  You do the same, my friends.