My two-year-old son is a fast learner. It didn’t take him long to discover that standing at the top of the stairwell exclaiming, “Mommy, look! I jump!” could initiate a performance of unparalleled drama and acrobatic skill from yours truly. With his eyes opened wide and a grin revealing every tooth in that little mouth of his, he watches as I stretch my legs, leaping high, back arching and twisting, arms flailing, crying out in a panic-induced quivery voice, “No Sweetheart! No, no, no…we don’t jump down an entire flight of stairs!” By the time I’ve knocked my elbow into the handrail, and acquired a few rug burns on my knees making my rough and clumsy landing on the step below him, his smile has swelled to a hearty belly laugh. I know he finds my “mother bear” antics both entertaining and impressive. After the dust has settled and my heart rate has returned to normal, I wonder to myself what kinds of pranks this boy is going to pull ten years from now, and how on earth I’m going to survive them (especially since my joints won’t be nearly as limber as they are presently).
The instant I heard my husband’s full and powerful voice echo through the delivery room (and down the hall) announcing, “It’s a boy!”, a flood of emotion washed over me. I had a keen awareness that my life was forever changed, and I wondered – as his tiny, warm body lay curled up on my chest – “Am I ready for this?” Two-and-a-half years, and innumerable panic-inducing moments later, I can honestly say I was totally made for this. The adventure of raising a boy is one I never dreamed I had the disposition or temperament to handle. How wrong I was. I’ve realized it doesn’t take a rough and tumble, “natural chick” to connect with a boy. It doesn’t take a once-captain of the girls’ basketball team to teach a son how to throw a ball. And it doesn’t even take a former wrestling champ to flop on the floor for a tender tussle. Nope. Raising my little “Jumping Jack” takes only me (and a whole lot of prayer).
I wouldn’t trade having a boy for anything in the world. There is no treasure as precious as walking with my son down a hotel hallway and watching as he flicks his “Lightning McQueen” clad foot with a slick “Ka-Chow!” at every passer-by. Priceless. Jackson’s obsession with cars, trains, and anything that makes noise and moves has opened a whole new world to me – a world that shuns pink, princess gowns, and tiaras but leaves room for hand-picked dandelions and wild flowers for Mommy. This new world is truly a joy to discover.
And to think…I’ve only just begun.
(This post was inspired by the countless near-death experiences and mid-air ballet twirling rescue attempts that I have shared with my son, “Jumping Jack”. Even as I am writing this, he is working tirelessly at putting a pair of miniature sunglasses on my face stating, “Cool Mama…Cool!”)