Happy birthday, my dear baby boy.

My dear baby boy,
Last year this time, I was just getting to know you; Counting your fingers and toes, memorizing your face, and wondering what you would be like once your personality starts to show.
You are a loving, lovable boy. On the days that I work, I would step through the door and see you dropping anything you were holding, your whole face blossoming into a gigantic smile, walking as fast as your legs can carry you (at one, you can't really run yet), coming towards me with an enthusiastic "[h]i~~~~~".  It was one of the best sights and sounds in the world. When we are playing at home, you'd be off on your own for awhile, and then run towards me with your arms outstretched for a "mommy recharge". I love to crouch down to your height and let you plunge into my arms for a tight, tight hug.
You are so small and so young, but you demonstrate such interest and curiosity towards the world. A ball and a bucket, light switches, an open window, the thermostat, a water bottle, my kindle. Any thing can spark  and hold your interest for a long time as your chubby fingers touch, feel, grasp, turn, and flick in all ways imaginable. Every time someone starts to play the piano, you'd run right over to it, tip your toes and reach up to play a few keys. Just a few keys, and you'd come back to the rest of us happy. And books. Oh my do you like books. You vie for your turn when we do bed time readings with your sisters, thrusting a book towards us, pointing at it, opening the pages, demanding that it be read to you now. When we comply, you settle down with a huge grin on your face, happily follow along, looking at the pictures and help flip pages.
You love to play with water, too. Every time I draw a bath for your sisters, you'd race to the side of the tub. You'd reach for my hand for support, and then lift up your chubby leg that is still shorter than the side of the tub in an attempt to climb into it. I could never strip you fast enough as you try to get into the water. Water over your eyes or ears bothers you not. The one day that the weather reached the 80's, I pulled the kiddie pool out. You did not wait until it was filled or for me to take off your shoes. In you step to your sister's delight, onesie, diapers, shoes and all.
You know how to ask for help. You would ask for my hand for support or so that you can take me to where something is out of reach. You would tug at my shirt and than point to my mouth to ask to be nursed. You would take your father's hand to pull something that was stuck fast out so that you can play with it. In this way, you are constructing sentences.
You also know how to say no. You'd brush a hand away, push your sometimes overly passionate sister further, or shake your head vehemently at an unwelcome spoonful of yogurt. Determined, that you are. Determined on your preferences, and determined to do things yourself in your own way. You are learning to climb steps. But instead of climbing the stairs on your hands and knees, you'd rather grip tightly on my hands and scale it. Each step on the stair is higher than your knee. Fazes you not, though. Well, you are a child who was impatient with crawling. And I will not be surprised if one day you decide to bend down and do a forward roll.
All too soon, you are one. I held your hand as you lay beside me and nurse, with your legs tucked, you fit right into my curve. Disregarding those rules on nursing, I made a face at you and watch as your eyes sparkled and the corner of your mouth lift into a smile. All too soon, these moments will be but a memory. But you will be running, jumping, talking, laughing, exploring, learning, growing, and fascinate and amaze us with all the wonderful things that you are and do. We love you, baby boy. Happy birthday.

I don't want children

One afternoon, we sat chatting about whatever flew into our heads. Evelyn mentioned mommies having babies. I reminded her that mommies need daddies in order to make babies. "Oh, so they have to be married?" she asked. "Well, yes," I chose to answer her, not wanting to confuse her with too many different scenarios, combinations and alternatives. Lauren piped up and said "I don't want to get married."
"Oh, you don't need to decide now," I said, "you can decide way later. But why don't you?"
"Because I don't want any children."
That, was not what I was expecting.
"Oh... why?"
She answered with a shrug, eyes twinkling.
I decided not to press her for a reason.  "Okay... well, you don't need to decide now. You have plenty of time to decide on that." A safe answer I can offer.
Later on, when we were alone, I brought it up again, and asked why she doesn't want children.
She gave me that impish look and that little smile that seems to hide thoughts unsaid. Finally, she came up with "because I don't want to carry them around."
Hm. When I relay this story to others, people often burst out laughing here. Especially if I told them that prior to this conversation, she just asked me to carry her up the stairs.
Yet I must admit that I am a bit unsettled by this little episode. It might be true that the only reason behind her decision to not procreate is because she hates having sore arms. May be not having children, to her, simply means to not have a child balanced on her hip at all times. After all, she is here to witness how I have gotten creative in say picking things off the floor, make dinner, or even wash dishes when her brother won't let me put him down. But I can't help but read more into her response. What she knows about motherhood, she gets mainly from me. What is she sensing from me that makes the idea of children undesirable? Do I exude exasperation? Do I smell tired? Do I seem stressed? Does my life revolving around them seems trite? It is true that I am often short on patience, on sleep, on organized thoughts, on the freedom to act on impulse (fly to Rome on a whim or drive to NYC for a weekend for example).  But I hope she also sees my joy, my contentment, my happiness that stems from them. From having children. I do not need to travel the world to find beauty and excitement. The sight of their smile, the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their hands in mine make my life so much better. They fill my heart with a joy that I was never able to imagine before I became their mother. I hope she knows that. I hope she understands that even while I may look bogged down by the minutiae of daily life, I will not trade motherhood for anything.