If you asked me what knitting needles could be used for, I would offer what I thought was a fairly diverse list of projects I’ve completed in the past eight months or so: hats, scarves, golf club covers, iPhone cozies, sweaters, dresses, and so on.
If you asked Jacob, you would get a very, very different answer.
Who knew knitting could be so delicious?
Mostly obedient child that he is, Jacob has reached the stage where he’s testing whether instruction-giving is a two-way street. He’s so used to hearing directions like, “sit down” and “eat what’s on your plate,” that it’s only natural that he starts trying to dish them out himself.
Sometimes it’s cute, like when he reminds that I should be on the floor playing with him instead of in a chair knitting.
Other times it’s healthful. I’ve been more hydrated in the past few weeks than I probably ever have been because every time I finish a glass of water, juice, whatever, he’s on my case to refill and drink. When I’m eating with him, he’ll encourage me to eat my food—even before it’s fully prepared. The good news is that he hasn’t been asking for my food as often, but I find I’m eating too quickly sometimes to appease him. Cool your jets, little man.
And then there are moments where I see a little tyrant struggling to emerge. Like when he needs me to sit on the floor instead of in the rocking chair before bed. Or when he tells me to clean up his toys, and he’s not going to help. This morning he asked me to stop what I was doing on the couch (knitting, obviously) and come over to a certain place on the floor to read a book. He handed me the book and then walked away, back to the kitchen chair where he was playing.
Um, excuse me?
Reality check, Jacob: I’m still the mom; you’re still the baby. Your suggestions are appreciated, but I’m the boss. Just don’t get any cuter, and we’ll both come out of this thing just fine.
Dear Jacob and Ethan,
Today is Mother’s Day, a day when children and families are supposed to tell the mothers in their lives how grateful they are for them. But I’m turning the tables. To me, this is a day for me to tell you how grateful I am for you.
Jacob, my first baby, you made me a mother. Some day, if/when you get sassy, I’m going to remind you that I carried you through the hottest summer on New York City record. Being hot, hungry, tired, and only wearing flip flops for a few months was absolutely worth the blessing of being your mama.
You are a good boy, Jacob, generally calm, pious at church—which amazes me, a good eater and a good sleeper. You are an “easy” baby, and your demeanor has been chill since day one, which makes me think this will extend beyond the toddler years. You bring joy to everyone you meet, and your whole family is head over heels in love with you.
Before you were even born—and after, too—you taught me how important it is to trust in God. I had never been entrusted with as great a responsibility as caring for another life, another soul. Despite everyone telling me I’d be great, I didn’t know how I’d do when the time came. I don’t do everything perfectly, of course, but I’m learning. You have made it easy on me, and I am grateful for that. But had you been a colicky baby who didn’t like to eat, I would have loved you just as much as I do, which is a lot, as you know.
While I was pregnant with you, I prayed every day that you would be happy, healthy, and holy, and my alliterative plea was heard. Now I pray that you continue loving and serving God, and inspiring others to do the same your whole life through. I hope you learn earlier than I did how important it is to trust in Him. I hope I can teach you that.
Ethan, my second baby, my No. 2. While I would have liked to get to know you better, to see your face, to hold you in my arms, to make you laugh, God had another plan. As much as it stinks for me, I know that you are surrounded by love, that you are safe, and holy, and happy. Health isn’t an issue anymore.
My little Brussel Sprout, if Jacob taught me to trust, you taught me hope. Hearing the doctor say that he couldn’t find your heartbeat at the ultrasound was, in a way, one of the scariest moments of my life. But you’d already been gone for two weeks, and I trust you were already praying for me at God’s feet. Perhaps that is why I felt such a strange sense of peace in the moments after, why I knew it wasn’t my fault that you were gone; this was simply the way it had to be. I couldn’t understand why, but I could hope that something good would come of it.
Ethan, after losing you, I am not as afraid as I used to be. My faith is stronger, my love runs deeper, and while I still mess things up, I have a greater hope. I need to get to Heaven to meet you, because I know you want me there with you. As a priest told me, not many parents can say that they have a saint for a child, but I do. I like thinking that you have already started your forever in love. It makes me want to do my best here, to make you proud of me.
My boys, you can’t really know this—at least not yet—but you have made me a better person. I believe God wanted me to be a mother, and I wouldn’t be one if I didn’t have you. Thank you. I know it was not your choice, but your life, your existence is enough. You are so special, my little ones; you are so loved.
With all my heart,
Mom
