On this day, 17 years ago, I became a mother for the first time in my life with the blessed arrival of James Jackson Patterson. My husband Jason and I welcomed this new role into our lives with excitement, fear, anxiety and hope. But, above all, we accepted it with unconditional love.
When I met James for the first time, I was expecting to be handed a crying baby. But James was placed into my arms with wide eyes and no tears. Little James was a perfect baby, healthy and, yes, quiet. It shocked me that he wasn’t hysterical but rather quiet with his wide eyes so open. His tiny fingers rubbed up against my bare skin, and I knew then what it felt like to be a mother. I never knew I could love someone so much within seconds.
When we first brought James home, Jason and I were a nervous wreck. We were so worried that we would not know what to do without the aid of nurses or our family. Those first nights were spent taking shifts sleeping in the recliner because the only way he would go to sleep was resting on your chest with his tiny ear against your heartbeat.
Two weeks later, we experienced our first road bump as parents. James was diagnosed with pyloric stenosis, which is a narrowing of the opening between the stomach and the small intestine. It usually leads to forceful vomiting, dehydration, poor nutrition and weight loss. His diagnosis explained why he seemed to be hungry all the time.
Although we were assured by our doctors that the surgical procedure was simple, it sent Jason and I into a whirlwind of emotions. I prayed so hard the day of James’ procedure, and it was then that I learned how to adjust my prayer life to that of a mother. Those prayers have continued for the past 17 years.
Looking back as first-time parents, I think Jason and I grew up alongside with James. It was almost as if we were all just winging it.
But James turns 17 years old today. And at six feet tall, I must look up to him now. But when I look into his blue eyes or see that familiar grin, he is still that small baby boy who was handed into my arms.
He will always be that little boy who brought me flowers from our yard. He is that little boy who created macaroni necklaces or clay pots I still have in my kitchen window. He is that little boy that would rock in my lap as I hummed “You are my Sunshine.” He is that young boy I would lift into the air when we watched “The Rescuers Down Under” when the massive eagle took flight in the movie.
He is still my little boy who requests just meat and cheese on everything. He is still that curious person who is up for any family vacation, eager to see a new place, a new adventure.
And as a teenager, he still is that boy who turns to me when he is ill, wanting attention. He is a young man who tells me when he is proud of a school grade he made. He is that young man who tells me he loves me when he leaves the house in his vehicle. He still belts out his favorite songs when he is in our backseat. He still comes to us when he has a problem or needs advice. And when he throws a football on Friday nights, he often looks over to the sideline to see if I was watching. He knows I will always be there on the fenceline.
It tears me up to know that we only have one more year before our first-born son plans on college or a career. That day will arrive when he leaves our house with a vehicle full of his belongings and a head full of dreams. I hope and pray that his time with us will provide the foundation for the paths he will create.
But I will always look into his blue eyes and see my little boy…the boy who made me a mother first.
Now, I understand why my own mother lights up when I pop up at her house, throw my shoes off, raid her fridge and spend some time with her.
To mothers, they will always be your kids.
