Dear Jhun,
I am writing you now because one day, things are going to
change and it will seem like yesterday when you and I spent one of the craziest
stages of our lives, as a new mom and a new baby. As I write, you are spending time
with your dad. Yes, there is life outside mommy and I have to keep reminding
myself that. Sometimes, I have to rationally tell myself that you are safe with
him every time I have to back off so you can have your ‘men time’. He is
ecstatic about having you in his life too. It also takes effort for me to trust
friends who offer to hold you. Call me crazy but at times, images enter my
mind, of them dropping you on the floor or letting you roll off the hill in
your stroller, but I am still sane, so the images go away and I realize I’m not
the only one who cares for you.
You are 7 weeks today. You survived probably the most
crucial moments of your infant life – getting out of a tiny hole, leaving the
comforts of your life in the womb and staying at the hospital a little bit
longer because of jaundice and oh, don’t forget our struggle with your latch. I
wouldn’t know which one was the most traumatic for you. Life is hard as a new
mom but I’ll never know how hard it is for a newborn. I was heartbroken when you
started refusing to breastfeed after experiencing the bottle. But I feel proud
of you when I look at you now, happy as a clam with my milk and getting
chubbier each day.
I haven’t had a decent sleep since you came and I don’t own
my time anymore. I have become a 24/7 on-call caregiver and your rapid changes
compel me to be flexible, to overlook chaos and forget stability – all these despite
the lack of sleep and lack of experience. Yet, as my prize, I get to experience
your smile, your funny attempts to express yourself through your coos and enjoy the scent of milk on your skin. I don’t know when I’ll have my next free
time, but you are fed, clean, safe, sound and thriving – and I already feel
more successful than Oprah. I pray multiple times each day for various
seemingly petty reasons – that you would keep napping while I rush to have
lunch or take a shower or that the snoring sound in your chest is not
pneumonia. My prayers are not always for the small things, though, for I pray
that you will live up to your name, Jhun David - be as loving and faithful like
your grandfather Jun was and become a man after God’s own heart like King David
in the Bible.
Your dad and perhaps, everyone else in the world think I
have become a little crazy since I had you – worrying all the time and
sometimes feeling responsible for every bug bite, every cold and every
constipation that you go through as a baby. I got to tell you - my heart breaks
a little every time you cry, every time you are trying hard to sleep but can’t
because of stomach cramps or whenever I see a rash on your face. It is crazy but
I think that’s what we call ‘love’. I haven’t experienced this kind before so
it can be a little overwhelming. I am convinced that if I am not careful, this
love could be dangerous to you at some point – if I express it in a way that
would not give you room to grow and be the kind of man God has planned for you
to be. Again, call me crazy but I am already picturing myself scolding you for
refusing to make your bed, or for not doing your chores, or talking you out of
an unhealthy relationship with a girl one day. If someday, you might break a
woman’s heart, remember that mine was the first you broke. Yet, I want you to
remember that I will always be there for you, no matter what.
I am praying for you Jhun because even though I feel like I
am your Wonder Woman, I know I cannot always shield you from the ugly sides of life. I
pray that you will be a Superman to many people, by God’s grace and according
to His will and purpose for your life. If one day, you might doubt your worth
as a person, remember these days when God did not only express His love for you
by compelling me and your dad to take care of you despite all the challenges,
but projected His very being through your existence. You are worth my back
pains, this drool on my shoulder, my aching breasts, these stretchmarks and
these tired eyes. I got to go now, to check whether you didn’t roll over the
bed and suffocated yourself.
Your crazy mom,
Jill
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