The First Day of My Life

It's after 7:00, and I haven't even begun to think of what I will post today.  And I can tell you, nothing blocks the flow of thoughts like a blank, white screen daring you to write something already.  So, I dropped the kids of at the babysitter (popped in a movie, because yes that's how we roll.  Our patented exceptional parenting courses will be available online soon) and threw on the headphones to drown out the remarkably uninspiring sound of "Toy Story" playing in the background.

One of the first songs that came on is one of my favorite songs about parenting that just happens to be not at all about parenting, "First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes.  I first heard this song when I was pregnant with Nico, and I just knew I had to play it in the hospital room on the specially crafted soothing/inspiring labor mix I was putting together.  I find it hilarious in retrospect that I went to all that trouble finding the perfect songs to give birth to when my real labor experience was more battlefield drama than transcendant meditation.  About thirty seconds after Sam turned on the music, a nurse came in and ordered him to turn it off because the doctor wouldn't appreciate that kind of distraction.  Nobody seemed to care that the woman in labor was desperately hoping for some distraction right about then.

I should have seen that moment for what it was: a clue to the reality of parenting, in which nothing ever pans out the way you wanted or expected or packed for.  In our lovely birthing classes, they went into great detail about all the little things you could do in labor to relieve the pain or keep yourself calm and focused.  But, when you are in the room (at least my room), there's no rolling around on a big ball to soothe your back or doing strange stretches to survive contractions or listening to the relaxing songs the birthing coaches suggested we compile for the occasion.  There is, however, a whole lot of being told to stay in bed and lie still, although that is the world's least comfortable position, so they can get the baby's heartbeat.

I can certainly say that my parenting experience has been fairly consistent since the day I actually became a parent and had my introduction to letting go of expecations.  Now, when I hear that Bright Eyes song (check it out below), I think not of my child regarding me on the first day if his life, but of my own life beginning in a completely unexpected way the moment I saw his face.  It felt like the first day of my life, not his.  I was reborn somehow in the reflection of his eyes at his first moment of sight.  Metaphorically or no, the person I was before him was gone, and the new person staring at the little fragile leech in her arms was taking her first breaths, too.

I wasn't sure what to expect the second time around, as I was sure the birth experience couldn't possibly match the amazing experience of the firstborn.  Well, I was right and wrong.  Our experience with Lincoln's birth was completely opposite in detail, and surprisingly the same in sentiment.  Both were lessons in adjusting to what you were not expecting and being swept away by the depth of emotion that binds you immediately to the new mess being handed into your care.  Although moments after his birth, Sam and I were reeling with a scary diagnosis and a litany of expected medical conditions, we have this one amazing photo taken of the three of us in the few seconds we got to see Linc before he was carted of for medical care.

You would think that picture would be painful for us to see now, the reminder of how happy we were before we knew what we were facing.  The look at what our lives would have been if everything had worked out just as we planned.  But, in truth, we both love that picture because the joy we felt in those moments is consistent with the joy we still feel as Lincoln's parents.  His diagnosis did not uproot our love, or supercede it or lessen it.  His diagnosis to us was like the nurse telling me to turn off the music.  It wasn't what I had in mind, but it could not touch the miracle of that moment of birth/rebirth. 

I am grateful for the sight that has come, in drastically different and surprisingly similar ways, from the birth of both my sons.  I am still a stubborn, weak, floundering person trying to find her step, but I feel like these kids have helped me more than I ever expected to find direction and purpose.  As the song puts it,

Yours is the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
Now I don’t know where I am
I don’t know where I’ve been
But I know where I want to go