To My Last Baby on Your First Birthday
Your birthday was perfect. October 15, that majestic time of year when the days are just warm enough so that you don’t have to wear a jacket, the nights are cool enough for a fire, and the trees are painted with such vibrant colors that you’d swear they were ablaze.
The day you were born was easily one of the best of my life.
I loved giving birth. There is no better experience in life than meeting your child for the first time. The moment a baby first cries in the delivery room, even the medical staff is over the moon with giddiness. When it’s your own baby, that moment is nothing short of paradise.
Yours could easily be called my favorite because I knew that it would be the “last” best moment of my life. I was not scared to deliver you like I had been the first time around, not nervous like I was the second, this time I had the swagger of a mother who had a hefty amount of experience under her belt. The path to your arrival was well worn by your siblings and they had trained me to be a mother in about a hundred thousand other ways. I had been through early sleepless nights; to preschool sing-a-longs and mother’s day celebrations; I already owned a house full of toys with an idyllic back yard for you to spend endless summer hours playing with your siblings; I had been to several rounds of parent teacher conferences, to the ER a handful of times, and even the PICU; I was on the PTA and knew members of the school board; I had a pantry full of mac and cheese that every kid loved and juice boxes that other mothers did not hate.
I indulged myself in a cappuccino on the way to the hospital during my last labor and etched in my mind every moment bringing you to this world, knowing you’d be the last of my babies.
Your birth was not easy or textbook, but none of them are. You cried until I held you. I looked at your perfect face and I knew our family was complete. I named you Penelope Lane. “Penny Lane” an ode to the Beatles, whose catalog was full of the most beautiful, clever, and loving music the world ever knew. Your dad and I, our hearts were so full. We were on top of the world.
The first nine weeks of your life were easily the happiest of mine.
We headed out to pick pumpkins with your siblings when you were just four days old. A top tier tradition in our house. I wore you in a carrier out to do any and all of the regular things that families with older children do. You went to two funerals, a Halloween Party, too many bars and restaurants to count, saw Santa, and traveled to Disney World in your first few weeks of life. I worried about you catching a winter virus and kept you cocooned on my chest, where you were a perfect peaceful cherub.
Everyone loves to hold a baby, but I knew you were my last so gave myself permission to be selfish. I took time to heal and I turned down visits so I could hold you, snuggle you, and nap with you. We were perfectly in sync and I was so happy.
But while you grew inside of me, so did cancer.
A cancer diagnosis is shocking and devastating for the patient and anyone in her wake. The fear of death and terror of the course of medical torture is overwhelming. I knew it would be awful. I was scared. I also knew I could handle it.
But I didn’t know it would take me away from you. Of all the parts of my life that were shattered by breast cancer, losing my time with you will continue to break my heart as long as I live.
The most sublime fall gave way to the harshest winter as I struggled to divide my time between our family, my business, and the medical care that I hoped would save my life. I stopped nursing you and fed you bottles of formula and a part of me died. I plunged into fits of anxiety when I gazed at you sleeping in your crib and wondered if you would remember me.
Penny Lane, on the last day I would ever nurse a baby.
They poisoned me for months and I couldn’t kiss you. I was too weary to hold you. I often wondered if you even knew I was your mother any more, or if you had spent so much time with your grandmother that you were confused when I held you.
Not even your gummy smile could pierce the veil that cloaked me in depression.
Despite the long months I orphaned you, you thrived. You grew. You smiled. You rolled over. You sat and you crawled.
In spite of cancer, we survived.
The trees are ablaze again. Glorious with colors so magnificent, you’d swear they’re showing off. I think back to the time when I was my happiest and the pain is raw. My airways tighten and my ears feel hot. Reflecting on the best time of my life is a brutal reminder that they would be followed by the worst.
You are one. Your smile lights up our home. Little curls sprinkled with bits of pizza sauce from your dinner frame your round face. You squeal with delight when your big brother and sister enter the room. You crawl over the dog and laugh when he licks tomato sauce from your lips. Your baby coos have given way to a soft voice that you use to make animal noises. I have never known my heart to be so full of love and pain all at once.
We are turning the corner away from this awful year and you are leading the way. My hopes for you are endless, but most of all I hope to be in your life. Your chubby hand grabs my tear stained cheek and together we begin to heal.
“Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes..”
