Dear Jacob: December 2008

Dear Jacob,

This has been some year for us. We used to be best buddies, but now at times I feel like I don't even know you. Ever since Sabine was born, you've seemed to regard me differently. You're more wary of me sometimes, wanting to be left alone or to the care of your father. You clearly prefer him these days. That's a hard pill to swallow, but I guess a normal thing in the span of the mother/son relationship. And I figure it's just the beginning of this whole detaching process. Not that I expect to ever feel less of an attachment to my children. But I suppose it will feel like a deeper form of what I experienced when you were a baby.

When you were born it was like one of my vital organs - specifically my heart - had been removed from my body and was walking around outside of it. I wanted to put you back in and keep you safe forever. As an older baby and toddler, it felt very abnormal to be away from you, as if one of my limbs were missing. Eventually it began to feel more normal, and then I was pregnant and too tired to care. Now that Sabine is here, it's like it's given you the chance to pull away from me a little more while I am distracted with this child who, too, feels like a part of me that should not have come away from my body.

What would a quest for maternal freedom be without the trappings of a good revolution, right? You've been sure to include many of these 'trappings' into our recent days; including, but not limited to, whining, complaining, refusal to follow instructions, disrespect for others, torture by sing-songing every spoken word or repeatedly fake-burping, arguing minuscule details, and a great many little annoyances which I simply refer to as 'Chinese water torture'. On some days it's not necessarily a blatant form of warfare, it comes out more subtly, like the way you address us, "Hey Dad, come look at this, or "Mom, what are we doing today?" I do not like this one-syllable addressing business.

To fight back I implement impossible rules and limits. I'm not usually aware I'm doing this, but I'm trying to get better at it. For instance, I'm giving myself a New Year's resolution to not be such a craft nazi. I hoard the craft materials away, only parcing out little bits at a time, saving the good stuff for a future date down the road that will probably never come. I do this not only with the craft stuff, but with other things. We have all these things around the house that I am always refusing to use because I think we have too much stuff in circulation as it is. Well I'm going to try to stop saving so much and stop being so sentimental about other things I don't want to get rid of. I think it will be a lot better for both of us if I can just leave you alone about using up an ENTIRE SHEET OF STICKERS all at once. I promise I'll try.

Recently we had a little spat that made me realize how impossible some of my standards really are. I can't stand the dog hair around the house, on everything, in everything. Most objects, in my mind, have an assigned status, 'floor object' or 'furniture appropriate'. If a floor object touches the couch, it will get dog hair on it, thus spreading the hair around to our bodies and then other pieces of furniture and right into Sabine's mouth - horror of all horrors. And vice versa with the 'furniture appropriate'. Anyway, you wanted to put something on the floor to build a fort with or something like that. Each item you went for I told you was not ok to put on the floor. Finally you complained (in a yell), "What DOESN'T have dog hair on it?!" Exactly, I thought, he's finally getting it. Days later I'm realizing it was not you who was getting it, but me who was failing to see the impossibility of keeping the dog hair limited to the floor. It's not like this realization has solved anything, but at least I'm aware of it. As I see it now there are only two options, send the dogs packing, or I'll have to find a new home.

A few days ago I tried to curl myself around you in bed, like always, and you politely told me you didn't want to snuggle just then. It's difficult to absorb that, but I have to respect your wishes and realize that eventually I will no longer have the rights to your physical self. It's a rare treat these days when I get a whole-hearted snuggle from you and an unending hug, a glimmer of your love for me in your eyes. "I love my Momma," you'll say on these instances. These times are more than worth the pain on the days when you're fighting the battle to your independence (I wouldn't let any other male treat me the way you do then). The moments when you open up and come back to me wash away everything else.

Since the beginning of time as far as your life is concerned, people have always commented about your eyelashes. When they compliment you sometimes I joke around and say, "That's how he'll find himself a wife." Either that or, "He's going to break a lot of hearts with those lashes...and the first one will be mine." I can't say I've ever had a broken heart before. Maybe the kind of break that happens right down the middle and all at once - say from a boyfriend - is repairable, a clean cut just requiring a number of stitches, but these days I find that little pieces of my heart are being chipped away as you start to make your own way in the world. They're getting all mixed up in the world and I don't think they can ever be replaced. I guess I wouldn't want them to.

Love,

Mommy