Jen Kehl is a mom, writer, homeschooler, maven of music, self-proclaimed sensory processing disorder expert, food allergy pro, photographer, controller of chaos, John Cusack aficionado and all around interesting person who refuses to put herself into any one category (because that's boring). Jen Kehl shares what is important to her in the blog My Skewed View, Tweets about pyromania and other antics on Twitter and for things about antics that are more than 140 characters look for her on Facebook. She also shares her love for music at Raised On The Radio.
Blistering heat. Like nothing. Not like back when I lived in the armpit desert that was Mesa, Arizona. This is oppressive, heavy, impossible to move. This is Plano, Texas.
Unpacking a car full of too much. Too many diapers, too many onesies, too much baby stuff. But how could I know?
In two days our baby boy will be born. In two days plus two more we will have to bring him to this hotel room, with all of this stuff, live here for two weeks. With no one to help. No one.
A combination of nerves and more nerves have made me the skinniest I’ve ever been. I will be the envy of all new moms when I get home. They will say, “Wow! He’s only 3 weeks old? You look amazing!” If only you knew. The innocent things people say.
8 years ago today. 8 years ago – my boy – my gift from God: My gift, through the most amazing woman ever, came into this world.
We were all so scared, we were all there for each other. We were scared.
Who knew where things would go? How could we know we would all be one big family?
He didn’t want to make his arrival on August 9, 2005, but he had no choice. And so one emergency cesarean later and my beautiful boy was in this world.
I didn’t come to motherhood like so many. I came through phone calls, letters, visits. I came through the glass window, watching, heart racing, scared. But my heart was exploding. Exploding with love for a baby boy I had dreamt about, a baby boy God promised me, a baby boy on the other side of that glass. I wanted to hold him and comfort him. I needed to remind myself he wouldn’t remember the prick on the heel the cold of the scale. I watched, I waited, they gave me the look and he was mine.
We met in a hospital room, you were so teeny tiny and despite reading every book on the planet about babies and parenting for the last 10 months to simulate pregnancy, I was not prepared.
Once they handed you to me, I never put you down. Only when they made us go home at night. I worried for you so much that I couldn’t sleep or eat. Had I given birth to you I wouldn’t have slept at all I am sure. As soon as we were allowed back in, I went to the nursery where we had matching bracelets. And you were in my arms again.
I loved you so much. I thought my heart would explode. I was a bundle of raw nerves and love. I held you in my arms every minute. The nurse often offered to take you to the nursery for your nap. I refused. I loved you too much. I was afraid it was too good to be true. I wanted you to know I would never leave you.
Now you are 8. You are 8 today and you made a wish on your impromptu birthday cupcake that your mommy and poppy would always love you. You don’t know what to do when I cry tears of joy, so I didn’t do it today.
I hugged you and I told you your mommy and poppy would always love you, we would love you forever. In classic Isaiah fashion, you told me you saw a movie called Love and Death where the parents stopped loving their boy.
Not EVER I said. Not ever.
Happy Birthday Baby Boy….
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