Nine

9 years.  9 years and 1 day ago, I could not fathom how motherhood can change a person.  I was eagerly anticipating being a mother and meeting my baby, but I didn't really know!  I didn't know, as a famous quote goes, that being a mother is like "forever having your heart go walking around outside your body."  I didn't know how excruciating labour would be, but how much more excruciating it would be to suddenly have a 9 year old boy who I sometimes feel absolutely inadequate to actually raise.

My first labour was my most intense and excruciating and I felt the most emotionally drained afterward.  I remember feeling like it was incredible and yet harrowing.  I remember feeling like I didn't think I could do something that emotionally risky again for a long time.  Maybe that feeling lingered in the back of my head and why there are 4 years between my first two children.

I think oldest children get the most neurotic parents.  Those same neurotic parents are a bit more sane raising subsequent children.  My oldest is the guinea pig for all of my parenting successes and blunders.  He is so much like me.  He looks like me.  He says things that I can imagine my 9 year old self having said.  His imagination knows no bounds.

But I worry about and for him in a way I don't about my other children.  Maybe because he's my first.  Maybe because of his personality.  I worry because he's often fearful.  I worry that he doesn't tell me his deepest thoughts about some pretty heavy things he's gone through.  I worry that he internalizes too much and that he will become desensitized to what he went through, causing him to repeat past generations' mistakes.

So, I pray for him.  A lot.  Last week, I found myself in my hot, comforting shower, crying equally hot tears, begging God for more faith;  more faith to believe that my prayers will make a difference in this young boy's life.  A good friend told me that she believes a mother's prayers can move the hand of God.  As the water washed my tears, I was cleansed anew and given fresh hope for this beautiful boy.

9 years ago, I held this tiny, wee bundle in my arms.  I had nothing but hope and joy and contentment.  Many days, now, I feel heavy when I think about that same boy, and all he has been through, all that he will have to live with in his life.  And, as I did 9 years ago, I thank God that I have him.  In spite of the pain my mother's heart feels for him, I couldn't live without him.  I'm so happy he was born.  I told him that tonight and he thought that was funny.  But it's true.  For without him, I would not have been transformed.  Motherhood, begun with that precious 6 lb, 4 oz. bundle, has transformed me.  I am more understanding of other people.  I am less judgmental.  I can see grey now where I used to only see black and white.  I understand the heart of God, my Father, so much better.

Happy Birthday, Ethan!  May you know joy unending, love eternal, peace that passes all understanding.  May you know the Father who knew you before He even created the world.  I pray your heart will be and stay soft.  I pray you will know healing and keep growing to become a real man; a man of integrity and honesty, and a man whose heart belongs to the only Father who will never leave you, nor forsake you.  May you know that truth to the very depth of your being.  This is my fervent prayer for you, my wonderful, creative, beautiful, smart, funny 9 year old boy.  I love you.