Three years and five days ago, I went into labor on Easter night. Six to be exact. I had just finished eating and went into the kitchen when I felt the first contraction-THE contraction that my body used to inform my mind that it was time. As I gripped the counter top and exhaled my way through its duration, Mother Ezekiel’s words unearthed themselves from my memory and gripped my heart once again: “It’s time, ” she had whispered as she took my hand and drew me in close at the altar so I alone could hear the prayer on her heart for me…for us. “It’s time, and it’s going to be ok. All is well. It’s time for the baby to come and he will be such a blessing to you-oh how God LOVES this baby A’Driane, ” she said as her hands found their way to my belly and the small of my back.
Her grip was strong, yet gentle, much like the tone of her voice. I remember my heart breaking, releasing all of the turmoil that had been churning inside throughout my pregnancy. Her prayerful whispers of affirmation and encouragement were a soothing balm to my soul that had been bleeding quietly for months. I released the pain and weight of the depression I had been carrying and her arms encircled themselves around me, drawing me in yet even closer. Out of all of the altar calls I’d responded to in my life, that one was the most tender and beautiful. They were God’s arms holding me, it was God’s voice whispering healing and hope, affirming that despite the pain of the last month’s, my son and I were going to be ok.
My labor started that Easter night, at the end of my 36th week of pregnancy….and lasted for the following five days. Yes you read that correctly, people-FIVE DAYS. Even my OB couldn’t believe it. I was so desperate to move from 3 to 4 cm and be admitted to the hospital I left my OB’s office and instead of taking a walk as he suggested, I RAN. A. MILE. In a maternity dress and sandals as my sister tried to keep up w/Brennan in the stroller.
22 hours and five pushes later, there he was, Alex the Great, laying on my chest, jet black eyes squinting from the harsh delivery room lights….we had made it.
Today, he’s three and I’m always reminded of how I gave birth to him because every day he reminds me that he will do things in his own time, his own way, on his own terms. He’s not one to be rushed, pushed or prodded into anything be it a t-shirt or trying something for the first time. He is fiercely independent, bold, fearless even, but cautionary when it’s called for. He is a free thinker, stubborn like his father and I, adamant about having his way and never shy to voice his displeasure, but grows quiet when consumed with excitement. He’s an old man in a young man’s body, enjoying the simple pleasure of just sitting outside on the front step, observing all of the life going on around him. He trusts no one the way he does his big brother, and even we, Bertski and I have had to work diligently to earn his confidence.
He’s addicted to trains, cars and trucks. Want to see pure joy? Watch his entire body explode with it as one of his trains falls off of a “cliff”, be it the edge of the dining room table, the couch, or TV stand. Hear it in his laughter as you chase him around the house, or have him wrapped up in your arms as you tickle his belly.
Brennan saved me by healing my heart of wounds borne in childhood. Alex has saved me by forcing me to grow, mind, body and soul. As difficult as my pregnancy and first year postpartum were, carrying and giving birth to him helped me give birth to who I was underneath the wounds of my past. He’s the one who has given ME new life. Were it not for him, I wouldn’t be free of the tangles that kept me bound up in misery and ignorant of who I am. His birth led to me getting therapy and treatment and pushed me to grow and stretch in ways I didn’t think were possible. From the challenges that have come with mothering him while battling a mental illness, I’ve learned empathy, patience, grace, and that time is my friend and not my enemy. He’s taught me to slow down and LIVE. He’s taught me to seek and not just rely on what I’ve always known. He’s helped me expand my perspective and worldview. From him I’ve learned how to be open and flexible to whatever may come my way.
From the joys that have come with being his mother and watching him evolve into the three year old little boy he is today, I’ve learned how to cherish every laugh, every smile, every expression of love bestowed upon me, big or small. He’s taught me how to value the simplest of things and how to be an individual. He’s challenged everything I thought I knew about life and parenting, and taught me how to endure.
I’d be lost without you my sweet boy. I’m so glad you’re here. Happy birthday son. I love you.