my baby

When I talk about my 'baby', it could be one of four people. But in the depths of a mother's soul, there is one true baby. Her first born. I am not saying that I love anyone more than anyone else. I overflow for everyone, but the firstborn was first and that's special. They mark time for the entire family. They set standards and blaze trails. My baby is almost thirteen. 

Yesterday I was working outside, and he came out to tell me that he was going mountain biking. I said he should call a friend or get his brother to go with him. 

'You come with me.' he said.

I was content in the garden, but this is my baby.

'Yes, I'll go.'

While I got ready, my baby got my bike down, pumped the tires, filled the water bottles, put on sunscreen, gathered helmets, and loaded his pockets with power food. If you have a four year old, then you can appreciate this, I'm sure. He did what I have been doing for the last thirteen years. Without asking. He knew. The parenting gods were shining on me.

We rode to a trail near our house and he wanted me to lead. 

I did, and it's a long rocky uphill climb to our favorite part of the trail. He was sweaty and red and steady. At one point, I pulled over to make an adjustment and told him to take the lead. The commentary started. 

"Big rock, Mom. Watch the stump. Steep curve, take it easy, Mom. Lowest gears, Mom. Isn't this amazing? I love this part! Watch the branches, Mom. Hey Mom, did you notice how the terrain totally changed? We should do this early every morning...."

 And on and on and on. Where did this all come from? Well, yes I know. When he was only seconds old, I started talking to him. We both did. Pouring into this child our liquid love in the form of words.

The other day I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him as hard as I could. I was messing with him, which I often do, because I can't physically pick him up and hold him anymore. (I can actually, but that would be weird.) Anyhow, I was shaking him and telling him that he should feel saturated with love. He should feel bloated, really. He should feel love bubbling up andtrickling out of his ears and down his neck. Hell, he should be overwhelmed with love. I was sort of joking and sort of wondering how his boy brain categorizes our feelings for him.

"I feel it, Mom." he said. "It's good."

I have always hoped that the love will make up for whatever other ways I fall short.  

This baby of mine is approaching man/child status. 

My baby is big and muscular and his feet are bigger than his father's.

On our ride, we came to an amazing waterfall. We both stood under it and drank it in. We were soaked. Coming home, I crashed. Hard.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

Besides this puncture wound and rock rash?

Ever the optimist, he said.

"At least you have a story to tell."