Today is Gus’s birthday. I could so easily write an ode to Gus. He’s the least like me, and thus, the easiest one to praise and appreciate. He’s creative, curious, confident and those eyelashes, get outta here. I could go on and on about his charm and his trust in the world, the way he has his daddy wrapped around his finger and his popularity at school with kids older, younger, of all the genders, and the teachers too. He’s human, so I could throw in a description of the super-out-of-the-ordinary fit he threw on the way to school today, and juxtapose it against his normal ease around transitions and change. I could really easily fill up a page with my adoration of this blond 98% angel child, but instead I want to talk about me.
I’m the one who brought him into this world, and I’m the one who remembers it. Nine years ago I gave birth to a babe who emerged silently, ready to tackle this thing called life. He was my only full-term (plus!) birth, my only who could have been born in an intact bag of waters (if not for the overzealous and YOUNG nurse who broke it, on purpose). The only chubby one, the only serious smiler from the get-go. So many differences with this one, so much to learn from him. Again, this is about me, not him, so I’m focusing on what I’ve chosen to learn from him:
- If it makes you feel good and doesn’t hurt anybody, suck it. — Not out in public anymore, not even every night anymore, but when he needs to, Gus is a stellar self-soother, self-care provider and thumb sucker. And teeth can be moved later if need be.
- Know what you need and ask for it. (Or demand it, with a please tacked on the end.) This doesn’t just concern a glass of milk, but tuck-ins, hugs and snuggle sessions are included. As is creative play: earlier this week I participated in an at home World Wide Wrestling event with Gus. I was astonished at the detail in his instructions. He basically gave me a script: he jabs like this, I duck like that. He turns to face the crowd, I sweep his feet from behind. We end up tied after five rounds, but he wins in the last one.
- Acknowledge the world as your network. We can see the neighborhood playground from our kitchen window. If Gus sees kids, he’s outta here. To him it matters not their age, sex or whether they’ve ever seen each other before. If they are at the playground, they clearly like to play, and he does too. That’s enough of a reason to reach out, include and expect to be included.
- Test your limits. Just because someone has said no in the past or you couldn’t do it yesterday doesn’t mean it’s not possible today. Every day there is the chance to correctly guess your parents’ iPhone passwords or to hear a yes when you ask your adolescent brothers to build legos. Even if the last 50 times you’ve failed and been rejected.
- If you don’t like your choice, change your outfit. Just because this morning he was going to be an Argentinian gaucho doesn’t mean he can’t be a real estate broker this afternoon. He enjoyed the process and the time investment, so if it doesn’t pan out, no biggie. On to the next adventure.
- Flashcards don’t make you wiser. Unlike his brothers who could pretty easily be convinced of the necessity to practice, prepare and er, compete, Gus knows in his bones and can articulate pretty well the value of choosing activities that fuel his fire and bring him joy. Who cares if everyone else in class has moved from addition to subtraction? He is not them.
I could go on, I could reword and I could proof again, but in Gus style, I’m sending this out into cyber-space and I’m off to the next thing that brings me joy— teaching yoga.
Namaste to all the mothers out there! May all our lashes grow as long as sweet Gus’s.
xo,
Katie
