Whenever
one of my children has a birthday, we always look at his or her
scrapbook, to reflect and remember highlights from their young lives.
Although, sometimes we have to look back at older blog posts,
because, true to parenting form, my oldest has a very thorough and
painstakingly crafted scrapbook dedicated to the first half of his
life, my second child has about a dozen pages, my third has one page
and my youngest, well, I believe his birth certificate is around here
somewhere, authenticating that he is mine and was in fact born to me.
But at least my blog offers more to behold, thus not rendering me a
complete memory-capturing failure.
Like
most children, mine love to look at pictures and hear stories about
their lives. I tell them their first words (or truth be told, I make
it up if I can’t remember. Chances are good it was mama or
dada, right?). I might tell them about new things they did like
trying rice cereal for the first time, or wearing a Halloween costume
they weren’t thrilled about.
I
might tell them about naughty things they did, like write on the
walls, or have such a ridiculously long and loud temper tantrum at
the Lewis and Clark Museum beneath the Arch in St. Louis that I am
still bitter about not being able to enjoy or even remember one
single thing about said museum.
But
one thing I am always sure to tell them is how much they were loved
even before they were born, and even more so the moment they were
born. I mean, is there really even anything as remotely amazing as
having your brand-new infant placed in your arms for the first time,
inhaling and absorbing every little fantastic feature about them, and
suddenly understanding that love goes far beyond anything you
previously thought possible? I think not.
And
so, as I took a big breath and prepared to turn yet another year
older, I turned to my own baby book, reflecting on many more years of
a life lived than my children. Much as I love being a mother, I am
still me, I still have thoughts and experiences and history
independent of them. And it’s good to recall that from time to
time.
How
often I hear mothers talk about how they can scarcely recall the time
before they had children; it really does seem that the years BC
(that’s Before Children) —
are foggy and difficult to bring into focus. Yet there they are, and
I believe it’s good for the soul to clear off the mirrors to
our pasts and take a good look now and then.
Within
the pages of my baby book are reminders of moments from my early
life, such as being Raggedy Ann for my first Halloween (well,
technically my second, but having a birthday two days prior to
Halloween meant I passed my first Halloween as a newborn in the
hospital), my first home and Raggedy Ann bedroom (I’m sensing a
theme here), my first days of school, vacations, early friendships
and more.
And
then I read this passage from my mom, written during my first few
days of life on earth:
“To
Melissa, my lovely baby daughter,
The
first time I saw you I couldn’t believe you were real —
you were squirming all over and crying. I remember tiny feet pressed
against a piece of paper and then you were wheeled away from me —
daddy, of course, followed you. After you had gone I thought how
wrinkled and funny looking you were supposed to be but you weren’t
—
you were beautiful. Your skin was smooth and rosy —
then I went to sleep.
3
½ hours later I saw you again —
my beautiful little girl. You were just perfect and I couldn’t
believe it —
your dark hair was curled on top of your head —
your cheeks were rosy red and your dark eyes stared directly at me.
Such a wonderful moment holding you in my arms. Each time they
brought you to me it was more difficult to give you back. And now you
are home with me. For always you will be my precious little lamb —
my first daughter —
a perfect and precious jewel.”
I
am grateful for the reminder of how much I was loved even before I
was born, and even more so the moment I was born. That my mother also
understood that there was nothing even remotely as amazing as having
her brand-new infant placed in her arms for the first time, inhaling
and absorbing every little fantastic feature about me, and suddenly
understanding that love went far beyond anything she had previously
thought possible.
And
so, on this the day of my birth, I celebrate having been born into
this crazy and wonderful world, for all the experiences both good and
bad, and for having been born into a family that loves me.
Moreover,
I am grateful that I have subsequently had the experience of bringing
my own children into this crazy and wonderful world, and for the
opportunity to have experienced in my own life what my mother
experienced 38 years ago.
Melissa Howell was born and raised in the woods of northern Minnesota. She has a degree in
journalism from the University of Minnesota.
As a single 20-something, she moved to Colorado seeking an adventure. She found one, first in
landing her dream job and then in landing her dream husband; four children followed.
Upon becoming a mother, she left her career in healthcare communications to be a stay-at-home
mom, and now every day is an adventure with her husband Brian and children Connor (9), Isabel
(6), Lucas (5) and Mason (2).
In addition, she is a freelance writer and communications consultant for a variety of
organizations.
Melissa serves as Assistant director of media relations for stake public affairs and Webelos den leader