The touch screen keyboard on my phone is my nemesis. We have a love/hate relationship, and because
of that you may at some point receive a text from me that looks something like
this: “How ark you? Hoope eventhings ark o.j.!” Fear not!
I am not drunk. I just,
apparently, have abnormally bulbous fingers that no mere touch screen can
accommodate.
My baby boy turned 10 today.
The reality that we are on the downside of these precious first 17 years
that are wholly mine has hit me like a ton of bricks. One of my common texting errors is my habit
of telling others that I “live” them – darn these clumsy, sausage fingers. This week with Coop’s looming “double digits”
weighing heavy on my mind, I typed it yet again – I live you – for what was
probably the 2000th time. This time though, for whatever reason, I didn't immediately correct it. I just stared at it there on the screen, "I live you". And then it hit me . . .
1.26.15
Cooper,
I live you. No,
that’s no typo. I’ve figured out what
makes this letting you grow up thing so hard, and it’s all because I LIVE
you. Oh, I LOVE a lot of people – family
members, friends, the bagger at Kroger who puts all of my cold things in the
same bag together . . . But you and
Grace, you two, it goes beyond simply loving you – I live you. We’re a team, you and I. You grew IN MY BODY. My DNA is in your every cell (as is evidenced
by your brown eyes and love for bread products and all simple
carbohydrates). You are, sweet boy, a
piece of my heart walking around outside of my body, and I live you. The truth is that I have lived you from the
moment you came into being. The very
thought of you filled an empty spot that I didn’t even know was there, and from
that moment I dreamed of you and your wonderful, beautiful life. I swallowed HUGE folic acid pills and
vitamins so that your brain would develop perfectly; I didn’t color my hair; I
held my breath around second-hand smoke; I DIDN’T DRINK CAFFINE – I lived
you.
And then, when you were finally here, I stood over your crib
and obsessively watched your chest rise and fall. Not even realizing that I was holding my own
breath waiting for yours – I lived you. I
smelled your head and cried with the knowledge that it wouldn’t always smell
that way and with the fear that I might forget how it smelled (I haven’t) – I
lived you. At each and every milestone
I was there, your biggest cheerleader (don’t tell Daddy I said that). And I have felt physical pain with each and
every boo-boo. And now, when friends are
unkind or life disappoints you or you disappoint yourself, my heart hurts with
yours. And when you shine – and boy,
Cooper, can you ever shine – sometimes I think my heart will just explode from
being so completely proud. You see, I
live you. We’re a team, you and I.
I still watch you sleep, and in those moments when you are
still and beautiful and mine, I touch your face, and I pray just like I always
have and just like I always will. Asking
Jesus to guard your precious heart and mind and to reign mightily over every
cell of your body keeping you healthy and strong. Cooper, He lives you too – even more than
me. You were His first.
When we found out that you were a boy your Mimi repeatedly
stressed to me the fact that you “have to raise boys differently than
girls”. She was right, but not in the
way that she thought she was. I won’t
ever push you down and then rub dirt in your scraped knee because you are a boy
and need to be tough. I’ll help you up
and hold you through the hurt because you are a boy and need to know that it’s
o.k. to need comforting sometimes. I
won’t let you be reckless and wild because you are a boy and sometimes you just
need to learn the hard way. I’ll teach
you to be cautious and reserved because you are a boy and these things don’t
always come naturally. I won’t tolerate
you solely focusing on a girl’s outward appearance because you’re a boy and
that’s just what boys do. I’ll teach you
to value women based on the content of their character and to treat their
hearts tenderly, because you are a boy and somewhere out there is a little girl
who is going to need you to know how to do that. You won’t always like it, but I’ll make sure
that I’m doing all that I can to make you the very best Cooper that you can be
because today you’re a boy, you’re MY boy.
We’re a team, you and me, but one day far too soon someone else will
capture your heart. It breaks mine a
little just to think about it, and yet I know that it’s exactly as it should
be. And I’ll be sure that you’re ready
for her. That’s my job, because I live
you.
This week we talked about decimals as we waited in car line,
and then you kissed me before you got out to start your day. I watched you as you hurried to the door,
anxious to be the first Green Team member signed in so that you could get the
best hallway. But then it happened,
despite your hurry. It took mere seconds. No one else noticed
it, but I did. You stopped at the door,
held it open, and glanced over your shoulder to make sure there was no one
behind you before letting the door swing closed. That heart for others
wouldn’t dare let it close on someone, wouldn’t dream of not holding it open
for the next person. “There he is!!” “That’s my boy!!” “That’s what I’m talking about!!” You didn’t hear it, but your cheering section
went WILD. It just took a glance over
your shoulder to make my heart swell.
Why? Because I live you. And when you shine, I feel it with every
fiber of my being.
Happy, Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy! How lucky I am to live you – every single
precious moment of you.
More than you’ll ever know,
Mommy
