You were born straight from the womb with your eyes wide
open, staring straight up at the sky, hand to your chin, as if you were already
contemplating and soaking in everything you possibly could from this great big
world. Everyone who came to visit you would comment on how incredible it was
that you were so alert and how you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the lights in
the ceiling. You would look at us and study us closely. Nana said you must have
been seeing angels. Others said you were an old soul, wise beyond your years. I
don’t think it was coincidence at all. I think you’ve always known that there
is so much more than meets the eye. Considering you announced to us at the age
of seven that you were going to be an astrophysicist, you’ve always been
enamored with the stars and the universe. You are an optimist and always see
the glass half-full, constantly finding the good in situations no matter how
dark or dreary. I don’t think it’s any wonder you were born looking up because
that has been your perspective every day since for the last thirteen years.
As a mom you can only hope that you teach your children
well. You hope that you give them all of the tools that they will need to
become good people in this world. You hope that you love them and protect them
enough. You hope that they chase after their dreams finding success and
happiness in whatever they choose to do. The moment we first met on that
October Monday night, when you were placed in my arms for the first time - 6 lbs,
10 oz of sheer perfection - I had no idea what to expect. I had no idea how to
be a mother and I had no clue how to raise another human, but in that instant I
knew one thing for sure - I would never love anything more. And that was
enough. The rest would come with the territory. From that moment on, I have
been on a constant journey of learning and you have always been teaching me
along the way.
patience. You march to the beat of your own drum, at your own
tempo and speed. I, on the other hand, am always in a rush. Maybe that is
because I am always running five minutes late, but that’s another topic of
discussion for another time. I have learned that you cannot be rushed. You will
always do things in your own time and I must find the patience to allow you to
do so.
humility. You, my sweet boy, are a very literal young man.
Leave it to me to exaggerate something, for example, that I must have watched
that movie 1,000 times, and you will quickly
correct me, advising me that this would be an impossible feat, and logically
explain why. You keep me humble and honest.
creativity. I am not artistic. If I stay in the lines in a
coloring book, I consider this to be an accomplishment. You, on the other hand,
see something in your mind and if we have tape and a cardboard box on hand, you
can bet that by the end of the day, your vision has come to life. I may not be
able to assist you with the process or see your vision at first, but I have
certainly gained an appreciation for the craft.
perspective. I tend to see the world at surface level. You look
deeper. I’ll never forget when you were two or three years old, one night you
looked at the full moon and you said to me, “Look, Mommy. The moon is all fixed
now”. It took me a second to understand what you meant by this, but once I
realized that for the past several nights you had been seeing only bits and
pieces of the moon and were now seeing it in its entirety - “fixed” - I realized
that you were observant in ways that I couldn’t have imagined and I also knew
that I never wanted to forget that moment. More recently when we hiked through
the forest devastated by fires, listening to the eerie whistling of the wind
blowing through the bare trees, you said that you wondered if that sound was
the screams from the souls of the trees that had been burned. We were all
somewhat taken aback by this statement, yet couldn’t help but admire the depth
of it. Having the opportunity to see the world through a different lens, the
way in which you see it, has been one of the greatest gifts and learning
experiences for me.
living in the moment. I am on full speed, full time, always
planning the next minute, the next day, the next week, the next month, etc. It
takes moments like singing our favorite song together in the car, making goofy
faces, having conversations about the world, Ava or whatever is on your mind at
the time, or listening to you laugh hysterically, when I have to remind myself
to pause and breathe and soak it all in.
You have taught me so much about being a mother that I never
knew there was to learn. (You have also taught me so much about Minecraft that
I never knew there was to learn ;-)). From you I have learned the true meaning
of unconditional love. I make mistakes and you forgive me. I have learned that
life is flying by at an immeasurable pace, it is fragile and it is short, but
every day that I get to hug and kiss you and laugh because of you, is a gift
that I will never take for granted.
I remember crying the night before your first birthday. I
wanted to freeze you in time. I didn’t want to lose the baby stage and
selfishly, I was afraid of you gaining your independence and not needing me as
much. I wanted time to slow down. Nana talked me down, explaining that while it
is hard to say goodbye to certain phases, each new phase is just as exciting.
She was right.
(Remember this as you get
older: Moms are always right). I have loved watching you grow. From
watching you learn to walk and talk, to your first day of Kindergarten, to the
first time you saw the ocean, to scoring your first soccer goal, to performing
in your first violin recital, to losing your first tooth, to now - voice
changing, growing taller than me and making your grand entrance as a teenager
in the year of the quarantine and a global pandemic. To say that I am proud
would be an understatement. So, similarly to that night twelve years ago, I
find myself feeling a little sad today, saying goodbye to yet another phase, wanting time to slow down,
but finding hope that despite the challenges I am sure we are to face with you
being a teenager, this next phase will be just as exciting. We have many
memories to hold onto and a whole future of new firsts to look forward to.
It's funny that what I feared most, you gaining your
independence, has actually been one of the most amazing things to witness.
Watching you come into your own and discover your place in this world has been
awe inspiring. Our conversations have grown deeper and more mature. Our
relationship has transformed from not just mother-son, but to best friends. Of
course, in my eyes you will always be my teeny tiny baby and I will always aim
to be your guide, your protector, your shoulder to cry on. But never doubt that
I love the young man that you are becoming.
I am not sure if you picked me, if the universe chose me for
you, or if it was simply chance that brought us together, but either way, being
your mama has been the single greatest joy of my life. I feel so lucky to know
you, even luckier to love you and luckier still to be loved by you.
Happy 13th Birthday, Julian James. Keep seeing
the good in the world, keep laughing, keep being inquisitive and introspective,
keep being curious, keep chasing after your dreams, and most importantly, keep
looking up at the sky. Enjoy your teenage years and remember that it will
always be cool to hang out with your mom.
Love always, forever
and a day,
Mama xoxo
