11 Days

Yesterday was my son’s due date, but he arrived 11 days early. I’ll spare you the labor and delivery drama. Mostly because the last 11 days have made me feel that going through absolutely anything for my little guy would be worth it. Yesterday, on the day he was supposed to arrive, his umbilical cord stump fell off. The last vestige of me that attached us for so many months. He is now his own whole person. He seems to still need me seeing as how he can’t quite focus his eyes on anything yet and has no control over his arms and legs. But my little fetus is definitely on the way to becoming a man. I actually think he’s an old soul. Something in his calm demeanor and the way he furrows his brow when he’s trying to look at something. A T-Bone Walker song came on Pandora and my son’s otherwise herky-jerky limbs started moving to the blues. Like he could relate to how rough it is out there. He gave me a look that said: “Mom, this guy knows some things. You can’t even attach me to your boob on the first try.”

We’re taking it one step at a time. In 11 days we’ve had many firsts. First bath. First car ride. First walk to the park. First trip to the doctor. It did bother me to learn that the first shot he’ll get from the pediatrician is for Hepatitis B. Um, that’s an STD. An STD he would get from having sex. My son isn’t having sex. Ever. Not even when some futuristic 2030 slut tries to seduce him. He may not be attached to me anymore, but his face is just too sweet to let me think about him having sex yet. His face is so perfect and smells so good that I give it kisses all the time. I figure at some point his body will start to catch up with his old soul and he’ll push away my kisses. So until then, I’ll give him more than enough pecks on his chubby cheeks so that I know he has a force field of mom kisses stored up in there somewhere protecting him most when he thinks he doesn’t need them. Especially when that drunk floozy tries to give my sweet baby hepatitis B at some high school party.

I’ll be here. Worrying. And remembering these first days. The first time he looked at me while we were nursing. The first time he held my finger. The first time he farted.

Who wouldn’t love this sweet face:

This is his favorite position:

“Mothers are all slightly insane.” 
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye