The nurse was done checking you over, busy rebundling you into one of those giant, hospital-issue pink and blue blankets. I sat on the edge of the bed, my post-partum body almost folding in on itself with sheer exhaustion. I had nursed you every hour, on the hour, all night long.
The thing is, I ventured cautiously.
She will only sleep in the hospital bed with me. Every time I put her in the bassinet she wakes up and cries. I haven't slept for two nights and I'm worried that I will knock her out of this narrow bed in my sleep.The nurse had finished wrapping you up. Only your grapefruit-sized head and wee hands were visible out the top.
Newborns are generally either tired or fussy, she said to me as she raised you up to her eye level.
You got a fussy one! she declared in a baby voice, gently turning you from side to side, giving you the appearance of a miniature cheerleader.
Go fussy! you seemed to be saying.
Hooray for fussy.**********************************
I tried to lead you down a different path, the path that your brother forged, the path that was familiar and comfortable to me. It was smooth and straight, awash in a mellow light, paved with soothers, contentedness and babies that sleep through the night at 12 weeks of age. Ah, but you would have none of that; you wanted to choose your own path. You tugged fiercely on my hand, while I looked wistfully over my shoulder as the path I knew, the one I
expected, disappeared.
The path that you chose was challenging to me. It was rough and hilly, with brambles that would catch my clothes and stick in my hair. You often wanted to be carried. You were hungry and thirsty and the snacks that I brought along for our journey seemed somehow inadequate.
But we persevered, we two. Sometimes I had to sit on a rock and rest, you impatiently tapping your foot beside me, eager to get going again. Sometimes you would rest with me, crawling into my lap until you felt ready to carry on. Eventually I adapted to the new path, finding that I needed to rest less often. I noticed that you progressed to holding my hand instead of insisting that I carry you. And we continue to redefine the path, together.
************************************************
Yesterday, my beautiful girl, you turned 7. We spent the afternoon together, just you and me. You squeezed my hands tightly as you got your ears pierced. You chattered away beside me as we got our toenails painted. We casually strolled our path, enjoying each other's company. Then your friends came over and you promptly let go of my hand, running ahead of me, your long, strong legs more than capable of taking you where you want to go; your skin kissed demerara-brown by the sun. As I watched you go, I thought to myself,
Hooray for fussy! Hooray for you.
