Okay, there's a kid at our house with a birthday.
James and Kirsten the morning he was born
Thirteen years ago he was born in the middle of a snowy night. We caught him in the dark of our bedroom after a few hours of meandering labor. Suddenly he was born right NOW. AAAAGGHHHH. We asked each other, NOW? ... Yup, that's our baby.
All at once there he was, soaking wet and boiling hot, skinny arms in my hands, his face against mine, dark curls plastered to his head. I'm always shocked by how warm a newborn is. Their skin almost steams when it hits the air.
James, 3 minutes old, and not happy
We both look horribly startled.
Oh, and he was a tender, serious baby, so sweet.
In those early years he had his thumb in his mouth a lot. When he'd take it out to say something, there'd be a little pop first, breaking the suction. But mostly he did a lot of observing.
Yeah. Now he has that dry sarcastic sense of humor that observant people often do. Even though I know this about him, it's still startling. "What did you just say??"
He rode a two wheel bike at three, wearing his blanky like a muffler. He did flips off the swings wearing his blanky like a turban. (The blanky he latched onto was one my grandmother had sewn for Dan when he was born.) The blanky gave him his superpowers.
Every night at 4 am, there he'd be in the doorway of our room, blanky wrapped around himself, looking for his dad. There'd be the pop as the thumb came out and then this: "Dad, will you come warm my bed back up?"
But now he's taller than I am and he never needs his dad to warm up the bed. He doesn't suck his thumb and I haven't seen the shreds of that blanky for a long time.
Tonight we had to serve soup in the city at suppertime. As we drove home, the sky, the asphalt, the dash of the car and even the steering wheel were all the same pearly gray in the dark, foggy rain.
When I looked in the back, all I could see of Tim was the tip of his nose and his chubby lips sticking out from under his hood.
In a mile or so the Monkees came on the radio and we sang along. As we dove into the tunnel near the Basilica we lost the signal, but that's okay, we knew the words until we came out again. Then it was the Rolling Stones, "...you make a grown man cry-y-y-y..." and THEN? The Beatles. Yeah.
Jay's been out of town working since yesterday. Usually I hardly notice, but this time I've been missing him, unhappy. I called a bunch of times yesterday and left a crabby message, "Why don't you ever answer the damned phone??"
He called back later, "Hey, Val."
"Yeah, Hey, Val. Where the hell have you been?" (He's out at a farm all alone, working in near silence, and I know this.)
I could hear he was trying not to laugh. I don't know what's wrong with me. Just don't vanish into thin air, okay?
But he'll be home later and we're going to have cake and Julia picked out a gigantic Sponge Bob balloon for James. She was so delighted to give it to him, and it is a cool balloon, true. There will be more presents on Friday. He's thinking about what he wants. It's an in-between age, thirteen is, too old for toys...
Thirteen years of loving James... I say this all the time, but it's always the truth: The whole family is better with you in it. Lucky us, having you. love, Mom
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