Lightness of Being…

Dear Sufyan,
24 months ago you tumbled into my arms wide eyed and crying. 24 months I looked at you in awe and stupefaction, and until I put you next to my heart to nurse, the dams opened up and I began sobbing…the only phrase I could keep repeating was “I am a mommy now!” 24 months ago you shattered my every preconceived notion of what love is, what it looks like and how it is supposed to act. 24 months have morphed into a lifetime because I can’t seem to remember what I did with my squandered time, my empty heart, and these useless hands of mine before you came and gently led me to the highest altar of Divine love.

I shared with you the first six months of oblivion. Emerging from the warmth of celestial existence, it took you a while to figure out these new cycles of night and day, body functions and even the simple acts of recognizing shapes, colors, your loved ones. It took me a while longer to emerge out of the hazy fog of new motherhood, to still the panic that rose every time I woke up with a start and reached out to make sure you still are. Stretch that moment a bit longer to the point I was finally convinced I wasn’t going to “break you” and trust that you are much more resilient than I could ever imagine.

I want to pretend I taught you so much in this little blink of an eye. I want to pretend I led you through the milestones with confidence and enthusiasm, that I was responsible for the emergence of that unbearably loveable personality of yours; that your effortless charm, relentless curiosity and inquisitive mind is somehow a reflection of my “mothering” skills. The truth is a bit closer to this, I wake up every morning convinced you learnt all your new “tricks” within those small gaps I was sleeping. You moved so quickly through each milestone, you exerted so much untiring effort into mastering your movement and scaling your environment, half the time I got tired just watching you.

I would like to pretend that I am the one who introduced to this gorgeous yet heartbreaking universe of ours; that I am the one who guided you through the maze of distinguishing a tree from a leaf from a blade of grass. That I infused the love of intricate details in you, or have something to do with that bottomless well of amazement that keeps your eyes perpetually twinkling in delight. I can continue pretending but reality whispers a different tale; one that imbues you with magical powers of flipping this mundane world of mine upside down. Your tiny hands have unearthed a new universe for me to discover; your gaze still in touch with the sacred leads me to all those tiny crevices teeming with life that I have become blinded to; your infinite capacity for joy and pain has sensitized this crystalline heart of mine into indistinctive mush.

We, the appointed guardians and parents of your existence, find ourselves following behind you and silently marveling at your unfolding.

 Emerging from the realm of pure physicality, your senses are being pointed slowly upwards into deciphering the symbolism of language and disciplining your tongue and jaw to form distinctive words. Like all other milestones, I can’t point to a beginning (did it start with your da-da-da? or babababa?) and there’s probably no end to this process of uncovering layers and layers of meaning until you get to that point where everything leads you back to the beginning when time, earth, sky, and heart beats were all one.

Of that forgotten time before time, you have jogged my jaded memory and stirred the ashes of forgotten chambers within. The theories I had memorized of “reliance” and “selflessness”; of the necessity of “letting go” and “trusting”; were just words floating around in my orbit. Words that I wanted so bad to carve into my soul; forgetting that alone they are ephemeral and without weight.

I have books and books, notes and papers of lessons I have written down, of things to be remembered (but always seem to be forgotten), of my endless to-do lists that only keep lengthening.

Or the hilarity of reading books on motherhood, of arming myself with expectations and plans, of wanting the world to be just right for your presence; and finally realizing that motherhood swooped down and gradually unfolded this clenched fists of mine into the tremble of open palms; quaked this iron heart of mine into molten prayers and surrender. Motherhood exposed only my vulnerabilities and limitations; my yearning originates from this point of wanting to be more, just so you can be even better.

24 months and I regret not a moment. Not those endless sleepless nights or those overwhelming days when I was convinced I would never ever get anything “done” again, that my life was effectively over; that the sun, walks or that thing called “a life” were no more. 24 months and I am already starting over again, counting down the weeks with breathless anticipation, praying and praying for the safe delivery of your brother and wondering what other marvels he has in store for me.

24 months to date and I began counting the rest of my life; of sincere gratitude, of heart felt prayers, of ineffable moments filled with awe; of relearning the art of loving and rediscovering the meaning of living.

Happy birthday my dear Sufyan; may your life continue to be dazzling with meaning and discovery; may your delight always be so palpable and your enthusiasm contagious (amin.)