The Last of Another First

So April 7th was THE day. My destructor turned one. I thought about not claiming the new age until 1:30pm which is when he made his grand entrance into this world. I am not one of those moms who can claim that I spent 2 days in labor (and I know they are out there- my hat is off to you!) because mine was short and sweet. I went in as scheduled for induction because not one of my kids voluntarily left their comfy nest and after four short (certainly not sweet) hours, there he was, all mad and screaming about how unfair this life was going to be. I held off on telling him he was right. The experience was so bittersweet. I knew when I walked through those doors at the hospital that I would never have that 'moment' again. For all the pain and work, bringing life into this world is a humbling experience. That first beautiful cry that brings tears to your eyes and that sweet little face with the goopy eyes that look at you with wonder. I am so lucky that I have had this experience three times and have three great kids to show for it because I know that not everyone gets that.

His big day did make me stop and think though, about how I view parenthood. Parenthood does not hinge on the experience of labor. At least not the kind of labor I went through in that hospital bed. It has so many forms that it is hard to cover them all. For example-I am adopted. Not a big deal to me. It just is. I have always known and have always accepted. I guess you could say I am comfortable with it. It is a HUGE deal to my parents. Now this is the word of note. Parents. I am speaking of the ones that raised me. That provided for me, loved me, taught me my values. They see me as a gift. That is the second word of note. Gift. See, to be a gift, I had to be given. I was given to them by my parents. The ones that conceived me, made the heart- breaking choice to give me up, the ones that loved me enough to carry me to term, to struggle through the pain of childbirth. I don't see the parents that conceived me as less because they gave me away but different because their sacrifice was different. I am the part of them that will always be missing, given to a couple who had their own empty space needing to be filled. They will always be my parents, too, even if they never speak my name or me theirs. They earned the right to call themselves parents just like the ones that brought me up did. I am perhaps more blessed than my own sweet babies as I have two sets of parents that shared a piece of their hearts for me. Of course there are many other forms of parenthood. There are step parents, grandparents, foster parents. People who put children before themselves, who open their hearts to love them, nurture them. Whether the choice is to raise them or offer them up to someone who may be in a better place to that, parenthood is about making the choice that benefits not the adult but the child.

Parenthood is a precious gift. As with anything in life, what a person does with that gift is up to them. I choose to appreciate it, to nurture it. I want to be a good parent, to make choices that will one day lead to my kids being good parents, in whatever form that may be. I will make mistakes but I am OK with that. After all I am human. I will continue to try and as long as they know they are loved as much as I know I am loved I will have succeeded.

To my little man and your first birthday: I love you very much. Thank you for being my gift. To your sisters: I love you both very much, too. You know you are my gifts. To every parent in every form: Thank you for your sacrifices.