I neglect to inform you that I have a senior in high school. I regret this fact. I do not regret his birth and subsequent growth. I revel in his momentous personhood and being his mom. I stand in the river of denial.
The year he was born was glorious. A teeny house in Alexandria, VA with ruby roses climbing a trellis on one side of our yellow home and wisteria twisting the rod iron on the other side. Periwinkle colored Hydrangeas were in full bushy glory. Addy had just finished preschool. Tuck was an extreme climber and frequent playground topper. Beatrice was spunky and busy with her baby dolls and bubble gum. George had been so big in my belly or I had gotten so round that everyone inquired whether or I was having twins.
My only summer baby. Born June 13, 2002. Healthy and rosy from day one. He was born at Georgetown hospital and the doctor in training tried to take my baby to the NICU for breathing issues. I said No. Go get another doc and check my baby again. The senior doctor laughed and told the new doc that the NICU would laugh at him if he took this almost 9lb newborn to them. I brought George home without a worry in the world. Round and handsome and full of life in a sleepy cuddly way. Oh, I love that boy.
The summer he arrived, my mom came to watch the kids after Chad went to work. I would lie with sun streaming in the big window at the head of my bed. Baby George would curl next to me and stretch one arm up with his tiny hand balled in a fist making the opposite leg bend tight to his diaper. His skin was going to tan easily. I could tell. He had Addy’s golden color mixed with olive heritage. His eyes were wide set like a Rodi. Beyond beautiful. I read three books in my bed while Gidge smacked rosy baby lips and drooled milk. I read books with a newborn- that is how peaceful he was and is.
I am so proud and puffed up like a Daddy Cardinal and scared and aching like a mouse caught by the tail with this new stage. George will go to Maine for college and be amazing while hugging trees, surfing freezing oceans, strumming his banjo and writing poetry. The observant will see his light and live on the sunny side.
Momoirist 