Be Good To Him

July 28, 2010 by nina
Filed under Blog It Out, Bitch

When I was pregnant with Jack I would often ask Donny, Kali, and sometimes the universe, “What are we going to do with this little boy?” The thought of having another person in our lives was frightening. The thought of being a mother to a boy after being, I thought, such a girl Mommy – all about mani/pedis, Girl’s Day Out, and teenage vampire flicks – was bizarre.

I wondered how he would fit into our family of three and if we really knew what we were getting ourselves into.

One day, I tossed the question into the air, rubbing my belly and eyeing my swollen feet, and Kali volleyed back the most simplest of answers.

“We’re going to love him, and take care of him, and be good to him.”

That latter stuck with me.

Be good to him.

Loving him would come naturally.

Taking care of him was my responsibility and I’d be held to it by the law if necessary.

But being good to him? It was such an odd thing for a 9-year-old to say. Such a simple answer and simple concept.

When Jack was about a week old I was suffering from excess water retention, in my legs and feet, on my lungs, and apparently on the brain as I was purposely ignoring the medication that would help because it would potentially dry up my breast milk. It was a tough time of very little sleep and patience. Whenever I felt like I was at the end of my rope I would simply hug him, rock him, kiss him and remember, “Be good to him.”

That instruction has remained with me for the past two years as I was reminded how energetic and difficult toddlers can be. It has remained with me as I am introduced to how rambunctious and fearless little boys can be. And it was my mantra last night as I struggled to get Jack to go to sleep when all he wanted to do was jump around and toss toys into the air.

We do not spank. A sharp rap to the hand to stop a bobby pin from finding its way into a light socket is one thing, but we do not hit the bottom, face, or legs with our hands, belts, wooden spoons or other foreign objects. It’s a personal parenting choice that has served us well. That is not to say that I’ve not found myself at the end of my rope. I have. Sometimes I want to tie that rope around my neck and jump! But it’s an effort I choose to make, to discipline from a different place and in a different way.

And it’s easy to do when I just remember those four words. Be good to him.

I said them last night as Jack finally settled down, nursing from one breast with his hand on the other. His eyes were closed and I kissed his brow. He sighed and hummed and gave my breast a quick squeeze. I pulled him closer, still amazed after 11 years of motherhood how perfectly their bodies seem to mold into mine. Like puzzle pieces finding their correct spot, they belong to me and I belong to them.

Jack’s breathing, through his nose, slows and I know that he’s finally asleep. Not enough that I risk removing the breast. I decide to give him a few more minutes, but really they’re for me. I enjoy that internal smell every time he exhales. It has such a boy aroma to it. It’s hard to explain to people what that means. Just like it’s hard to explain that I still stick my face close to his when he yawns to soak up that baby breath. Yes, thankfully, he still has baby breath. I placed my hand on his back and pushed him closer still.

I feel bad that I’d lost my patience a few minutes before. I think about a mother in New Zealand whose baby fights for his life because someone wasn’t good to him. Someone lost their patience or swung too wildly or… God only knows. I think that I am lucky and blessed.

I woke up this morning to an email from my friend Alegra. Her nephew is that baby, and last night he stopped fighting. He is in death as he was in life, a perfect little angel. Donny called me a short while ago asking if I’d seen Alegra’s Facebook status about it and I told him about the email. We spoke for five minutes about how senseless it was. How sad. How painful. When Alegra had first told us what had happened to baby Cezar, Donny and I tried to remember what Jack was like at five months. All we could come up with was beautiful, sweet, and small. So small.

It doesn’t make sense and I’ve had to stop writing this several times – sometimes to cry, sometimes to hug my baby, sometimes to do work and not think about it. But then, of course, I will think about it and I have to write again because it helps get the feelings out. Otherwise, I feel like I’ll choke on them.

Please say a prayer for baby Cezar and his family. And if you have little ones, be good to them. Even if you’re tired and stressed over bills and life in general. Just take a moment. Take a breath. And be good to them.