Friday, December 11, 2009
Roses Don't Just Bloom In Spring
Owen is here from ten until six today. An entire day I get to spend with this boy. I hear he was up at four-thirty this morning, and Lily nursed him and he was still upset and she had to wake up his daddy and he gave him a bottle and walked him for an hour and finally he went back to sleep and who knows what sort of mood he's going to be in today?
Ah. That boy.
He can go from smiling with delight to howling with pissed-offedness in two seconds. That's my Owen.
And I hate for him to cry. It upsets me down to the bone, I can almost feel my blood rushing in a way that is uncomfortable, my spine is activated and my heart is broken when he cries. Do something, do something, do something, instructs my very viscera.
And I do. I change him (I've never once checked his diaper and found it not wet), I make him a bottle, I hold him close and feed him, I take him out to see the chickens, I put him in the sling and rock him, I sway and sing and tell him funny stories. I'd stand on my head if that would help.
But through all of this, I am completely happy.
I've always said that my children saved my life but I don't think I realized how profoundly true that is. All those years when I felt as if I was hiding from the world by taking care of babies and children, feeling guilty that that was all I did... I don't think I realized how very happy it made me. Because it was hard and some days I felt as if I couldn't do it and that I needed to run away and be someone else, do something else, shut myself into a room with the ocean outside and write, write, write, no one to disturb me, no babies clinging or wanting sweet milk or needing a note signed or a lesson to be taken to or snacks made or yet another poopie diaper cleaned up.
I didn't know I was doing the work that I was born to do.
I didn't know I didn't need to feel guilty.
I didn't know those were the blooming of my rose-years.
And Owen has taught me that my rose-years are not over.
Here it is December and I have roses blooming in my yard, I have a baby here to be taken care of.
It will freeze soon enough. The roses will die back until spring.
But for now, I have this boy to take care of and he is saving my life just as his mother and her sisters and brother saved my life.
A second bloom.
Who knew? Who knew?