My Boy
Today is Sullivan's 4th birthday.
Exactly 4 years ago, at this very moment, I was sitting on my futon couch, watching tv with my husband, my mother and my mother-in-law, waiting for my contractions to kick in hard core. I emailed friends and fielded phone calls from Norway and Isreal with frantic voices asking me "Shouldn't you be on your way to the hospital or something?"
It was grey outside and a little chilly. Around 2:00 I had some weird idea that I would be more comfortable in the bathroom. So Tom grabbed his stop watch while my mother and mother-in-law drank coffee at our kitchen table worrying that we would not make it to the hospital in time. They mentally prepared a list of things they would need- towels, hot water, and clothespins to clamp on the umbilical cord. She never told me this, but I am almost 100% certain that my mother-in-law, Liz, was thinking even further ahead to the new set of bath towels she would buy me to replace the set we would have ruined in the delivery.
I did not deliver at home. I made it to the (now sadly non-existant) Elizabeth Seton Child Bearing Center and had Sullivan in a nice, warm, supportive jacuzzi bath with Tom holding my hand and the two new grandmothers watching the skill of my midwife with befuddled admiration. This was definately not what their birth experiences had been like. It was idyllic. We had a nice, cozy room and we ordered dinner to be delivered while everyone cooed over our perfect little baby, Sullivan. My best friend, Sara, arrived (just in time to witness the afterbirth- poor thing) with the day's newspapers and a willingness to chip in.
Sullivan was born at precisely 6:00pm, October 31, 2001- just in time for trick or treating. He's been ready for it ever since. It was such a wonderful day and I would truly live that day over and over again if I could. Never have I ever felt so focused! It's the birth that nearly every woman wants and it made me feel like I did something right.
But, it quickly became clear that this was going to be so much harder than I could ever anticipate. Love is wonderful, but it is also hard. It is hard to imagine how much you could love someone so intensely and then discover that BECAUSE you love them you are going to have to let them fall down. Because you love them, you have to expose them to pain and disappointment. Because you love them, you have to lead them through the land mine that is life on this planet. Constantly reorganizing your urge to shelter and protect so that you introduce them to things that are hard, things that are sad, things that are difficult to explain and, in the end, hoping that they will see the beauty and the value of the world through all of those experiences.
We had Sullivan's birthday party on Saturday morning. We rented the carousel at Prospect Park and it was freezing cold, but Sullivan got to see all of these people who love him. He was so happy and he finds such joy in his friendships that I could see his heart swelling with each new arrival. I rode the carousel by myself at one point in the party. I was allowed to sit back and watch Sullivan delight in his friends and his friends' parents. As we spun around the calliope played a selection of Burt Bacharach tunes- how Brooklyn! I couldn't help but feel a little weepy. Not out of sadness, but out of hope.
A friend of mine once told me that it isn't tragedy that makes you cry. What makes you cry is your relationship to hope. You cry if you have it and you cry if you lose it. Well, at this moment, I cried because I had it. I had it all over, from my freezing fingertips to the ends of my hair and all the way out my icy toes. The world is just a better place with a happy child in it. For a couple of hours, my little family was in heaven with pirates, carousel horses, the complete and all encompassing love of friends, and lots of whipped cream on a soft yellow cake.
Happy Birthday, Sullivan John. May you always have as much love to recieve as you have to give.
Exactly 4 years ago, at this very moment, I was sitting on my futon couch, watching tv with my husband, my mother and my mother-in-law, waiting for my contractions to kick in hard core. I emailed friends and fielded phone calls from Norway and Isreal with frantic voices asking me "Shouldn't you be on your way to the hospital or something?"
It was grey outside and a little chilly. Around 2:00 I had some weird idea that I would be more comfortable in the bathroom. So Tom grabbed his stop watch while my mother and mother-in-law drank coffee at our kitchen table worrying that we would not make it to the hospital in time. They mentally prepared a list of things they would need- towels, hot water, and clothespins to clamp on the umbilical cord. She never told me this, but I am almost 100% certain that my mother-in-law, Liz, was thinking even further ahead to the new set of bath towels she would buy me to replace the set we would have ruined in the delivery.
I did not deliver at home. I made it to the (now sadly non-existant) Elizabeth Seton Child Bearing Center and had Sullivan in a nice, warm, supportive jacuzzi bath with Tom holding my hand and the two new grandmothers watching the skill of my midwife with befuddled admiration. This was definately not what their birth experiences had been like. It was idyllic. We had a nice, cozy room and we ordered dinner to be delivered while everyone cooed over our perfect little baby, Sullivan. My best friend, Sara, arrived (just in time to witness the afterbirth- poor thing) with the day's newspapers and a willingness to chip in.
Sullivan was born at precisely 6:00pm, October 31, 2001- just in time for trick or treating. He's been ready for it ever since. It was such a wonderful day and I would truly live that day over and over again if I could. Never have I ever felt so focused! It's the birth that nearly every woman wants and it made me feel like I did something right.
But, it quickly became clear that this was going to be so much harder than I could ever anticipate. Love is wonderful, but it is also hard. It is hard to imagine how much you could love someone so intensely and then discover that BECAUSE you love them you are going to have to let them fall down. Because you love them, you have to expose them to pain and disappointment. Because you love them, you have to lead them through the land mine that is life on this planet. Constantly reorganizing your urge to shelter and protect so that you introduce them to things that are hard, things that are sad, things that are difficult to explain and, in the end, hoping that they will see the beauty and the value of the world through all of those experiences.
We had Sullivan's birthday party on Saturday morning. We rented the carousel at Prospect Park and it was freezing cold, but Sullivan got to see all of these people who love him. He was so happy and he finds such joy in his friendships that I could see his heart swelling with each new arrival. I rode the carousel by myself at one point in the party. I was allowed to sit back and watch Sullivan delight in his friends and his friends' parents. As we spun around the calliope played a selection of Burt Bacharach tunes- how Brooklyn! I couldn't help but feel a little weepy. Not out of sadness, but out of hope.
A friend of mine once told me that it isn't tragedy that makes you cry. What makes you cry is your relationship to hope. You cry if you have it and you cry if you lose it. Well, at this moment, I cried because I had it. I had it all over, from my freezing fingertips to the ends of my hair and all the way out my icy toes. The world is just a better place with a happy child in it. For a couple of hours, my little family was in heaven with pirates, carousel horses, the complete and all encompassing love of friends, and lots of whipped cream on a soft yellow cake.
Happy Birthday, Sullivan John. May you always have as much love to recieve as you have to give.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 2:05 PM
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