I knew instinctively that it was never going to be easy. From the moment I held him in my arms, a few minutes after he was born, I knew that life with him would be a tumultuous path. Call it intuition or the exhaustion of a woman who'd just gone through childbirth or call it a psychic moment, I don't know, but as I cradled the long, chubby and screaming baby in my arms, that was the first thought that came to mind. His birth was not easy.....a long, long labor followed by an emergency caesarian. I can still visualise the image of the doctor yanking on forceps unsuccessfully trying to get him out. I was scared and the baby was screaming. So much so, in fact that the other vivid memory of the day was of one doctor commenting that he was screaming before they had even taken him from my womb. Yes....I heard him before I even laid eyes on him!
I remember lying next to him in bed, with the stark hospital room as a backdrop and trying to take it all in. An unsettled, unhappy baby was not what I had expected. I was in shock....this is not how babies appeared on tv. This was not what the books told me that I was going to get. They brushed over the topic of colic and reflux like it was just a blip. They hardly mentioned newborns who didn't sleep, who cried all of the time and who would not breast feed. They didn't mention the pain following a caesarian and how agonising it would be to even get up out of bed. But despite all of this, as I gazed at my newborn in the afterglow of the knowledge that I'd helped to create this human life, I vowed to him that I would do everything in my power to care for him, protect him, and guide him on his life's journey and I loved him, no matter what! The marvel of a mother's unconditional love in all circumstances is obviously beyond explanation, I think.
So fast forward twelve years. My predictions have generally been true. He has not been an easy child, preferring to skim along the edges of respect and following rules. He questions everything and everyone if he doesn't agree with them. He has become moody and sullen. His daily breakfast conversation (when he actually eats breakfast without fighting me over the 'I'm not hungry' argument) consists of monosyllabic answers and grunts. He sneers and glares at anyone who comes within a metre of him and anyone who requests that he leave his 'funk' for a few moments to lend a hand. He snarls at his sister and complains about her singing or being happy. He lolls all over the table or lounge until it is time to leave for school. Then he complains that we are running late!
I know that when I pick him up in the afternoon, he will be happier, friendlier. But mornings are a time when I remind myself of my intrinsic need to nurture and mother him - remind myself of my parental worry for a preteen who is going through another 'stage' and the fact that I love him, no matter what!
