The number 3 has been important to me my whole life. It was my favorite number, then my lucky number, and at 2:22 pm today it’s the age of my Baby J. I remember my whole world changed— I was handed a small wrinkly, warm, wiggly thing — it had stolen my heart before I had a chance to lay eyes on it. As the days went by it changed me, almost as much as it changed itself. He is my light at the end of every tunnel, he is as sweet as honey but as stubborn as a nail — but I wouldn’t have him any other way. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree but man it’s like looking into a little personality mirror and it drives me oh so crazy. As the days pass and I watch him grow and become more and more his own person I become overwhelmed with emotion, on one hand I am proud of all that he has learned and all that he is able to do on his own, on the other I miss having a small, loving creature that doesn’t mind laying on me when I need a cuddle.
Three is an interesting age. He tries so hard to be independent but still needs so much help. His sass is at a whole new level. He knows what he wants but may not always know how to tell me. I can’t imagine life any other way, he is so active and caring, but just like any child he needs to be prodded along in the right direction. He already loves checking on his baby brother and his favorite thing to say seems to be “I OK MOMMY” as he dives into the ground, momentarily stopping my heart. I have a daredevil of a child who fears very little and loves the world of books.
As I sit here reflecting on how different my life has become I can’t help but wonder who I would be without him; its a weird thought, but I have changed so much, become so protective and obsessive about his daily life. I have somehow lost track of the person I had been. I have lost my identity, often referred to as “Jason’s mom” or “Jason’s wife” I sometimes feel as though I have lost me. I used to be Wadad, known for how stubborn and capable I was and here I am sitting in front of a computer wondering who I am. I am a wife, a mother, a personal chef, a housekeeper, I am still a person who cares and trusts too quickly and gives all that they can without thinking yet it seems like my identity doesn’t matter nearly as much as being “Jason’s mom” and I seem to be OK with that. My identity has changed and adapted to ensure that my baby boy is the best person I can make him, I realize that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for the sassy, angry, stubborn mess that I call a son, that is the biggest change that parenthood has brought, the fear that I am not doing enough, not being enough, not enough to ensure that he has the best that is possible. As the days pass I wonder, how did our parents make it through the maze of parenthood? How did they know they were on the right track? What are your biggest fears as a parent?