Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Finding Andrew

I've been thinking about my Andrew today. For many reasons, none too specific. Sweet as hell, crazy as the dickens, and oh so wise. I can see him coming into being. Not just splinters of him... but vivid, coalescing "Andrew." I remember this about Jack, as he toed the line of turning three.

He seems like the 2yo version of Keith, even down to the red-hair. A brilliant cardiologist who pulled down his pants at our wedding. Yep. That's my Andrew, I suspect, in 20 years. :) Some weird mixture of discombobulated persona that makes no sense...and yet does.

He comes in at the crack of dawn to snuggle. Every morning. It's like his morning coffee. Must.snuggle.mama. And if he doesn't, it throws off his day. When he was younger and less able to self-manage, it was about crawling all over me. He didn't quite know what to DO with the physicality of being near me, but he knew on a soul level that he needed it. He needed to soak up Motherness before moving into his day. Now, he knows the process. He has learned in his just-shy-of-three-years that you don't mess with Mom too early, and he just quietly crawls under the covers and wraps my arm around him.

Magical, this boy.

When he hears Jack wake up, he springs to life. Grabs his light saber. And greets Jack's day with the most resounding joy you'll ever hear: "Jackie, you're awake! Do you want to fight? Here's a light saber!"

And our day begins.

Every day, I think I can't love my children more than I do. And then another day comes, and I'm almost breathless with the sensation of falling more in love with them.

On the phone with the assistant of the woman who's assessing Jack for the program, she said, "I sense he asks a lot of existential questions." I inhaled a breath sharply, stunned a bit...and said with absolute seriousness: "Oh. Yes. It's an ongoing issue." Only later did I get the humor of my response. Since she didn't find it funny, though, she must know exactly what I mean.

And then I turn around and there's Andrew, 2.5 years on his tail, down that same path of terrifying, swirling parenthood. Good terrifying. But terrifying. I thought doing it once would pave the path a bit, but I'm not sure that it did. I feel sometimes like I'm standing on the side of a cliff with a bungee cord, plunging into life with these wild, wacky little wonders. So glad to be there, experiencing the feeling, but overwhelmed a bit about what's in store for me.

I just want to pick up Andrew, squeeze him into billions of pieces, and somehow tell him what an incredible, miraculous, stunning piece of art he is to me.

He often tells me, "I'm your precious treasure." And I think to myself, "You have NO idea, kid."

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