Letters to Zion: To my 5 year old Boy
{Me and my first baby. The last photo of me with my four year old!}
To my Zion, Zizou, Zi, squishy, sweet boy, cutie, and most recently “Beckham”,
“The days are long, but the years are short”: a phrase I always considered mere cliche, until you entered my life. Looking back on these 5 years it seems like I just snapped my fingers and we got here. Then I look a little harder and I remember the sleepless nights, the hours of nursing you, the hard days of setting boundaries and being the “bad cop”, the worries and cares of each and every long day of being your mama.
Every year on your birthday, your life flashes before my eyes. It goes from the plus sign on a test, to those early days of a weak stomach and cups upon cups of peppermint tea. I see your little heart flashing in black and white on an ultrasound screen. Do you know at only 9 weeks gestation you were pulling your umbilical cord? One of those little things I found so fascinating and I will never forget. I remember hiding your existence as best I could, until the truth could wait no further. I remember vividly my first memories of your touch—your soft fluttering deep inside me, just to let me know you were there and it would all be okay.
I remember the long naps with my windows open in September. The breeze would be so cool and I would do just what my midwife said: lay on my left side and slowly massage my belly and offer soothing words to you. I would tell you how sorry I was you were going to enter the world this way. I would tell you how much I loved you, even though I wasn’t sure I understood the meaning of the word. I knew you were a boy before any ultrasound revealed it. From the beginning I knew you.
Your dad would lay beside me sometimes, I would wrap my arms around his back with you between us. From inside my belly you would kick his back, making me laugh. You still love to come between us when we hug.
I remember the stress of moving back to North Carolina when you were heavy in my belly. I remember crying through most of the flight, feeling my stomach clenching around you with early contractions. The young man sitting next to me asked if I was okay. I think I probably told him too much in my grief—I told him I had to say goodbye to the father of my baby, your daddy, and I was due in two months. I told him you were a boy and your name would be Zion. The place where God dwells.
I spent a night in the hospital after Christmas, the stress becoming too much and you trying to come too early. In that night I was afraid. I wanted you to be healthy and I didn’t want to fail you from the start. We pulled through and you decided to wait a little longer.
I remember speaking to your dad on the phone, the whole eastern seaboard separating us. I remember telling him I was DONE. I couldn’t sleep or move comfortably, I was swollen, I had to pee all night long. He told me to get out the Bible and turn to the Psalms and read to you. It always relaxed him, so I did what he said and read to you almost every night.
I remember spending the last weeks with you inside surrounded by my mother (Zanni) and father (Pops) and sisters. You amazed your aunties with how you could roll around in such a small space. We prepared the home with love for your arrival.
The last night you were in me—January 20, 2007—your dad and I spoke on the phone as usual. We were speculating when you would come. I told him I was sure I had more time…maybe around Valentine’s Day? He said he would tentatively make plans to fly down around then, and we’d hope and pray he’d be there for the big moment.
I remember waking up the next morning, a Sunday, with signs that it would definitely not be weeks till you were born. Everyone was at church already, so Zanni and I headed up to Chapel Hill on our own. We talked and laughed and were filled with excitement and nervousness. Around 6 hours after we arrived, you were born.
Your first year was tumultuous and wonderful. You watched me and dad get married. We took a train from NC to Maryland to a new home we had never seen. We learned to survive together as a family out in this brave new world.
In the past three years we’ve returned to NC, you’ve grown ridiculously tall and smart and beautiful. I tell you every day you are my special boy. I tell you these stories I’ve recorded here in simple terms that you understand. I want these memories to be ingrained in you, as a part of you. I want you to know that from the beginning you were destined to be in this family, that you returned me to life and happiness…you are, as your dad calls you, the son of our joy.
I have cried a little today thinking of you turning 5 tomorrow. While it pains me to let go of the past, it is also exciting to watch you grow and become. As I told you tonight before bed…I hope you grow into an old old man one day. I hope I get to see your children and grandchildren. I hope our feeble attempts at parenthood will one day produce a man of integrity and sensitivity and strength.
I thank God everyday that he allowed me to catch you.
Love,
Your Mama
