Anthony John
My true understanding of love at first sight is 3 feet tall and weighs 35 pounds. His small frame cannot seem to hold the dynamite inside him and he bounces from foot to foot at my side, as if ready to burst, even at the quietest of times and I am head over heels in love with him. He is a spitfire and constantly ready with fiery and inquisitive questions on any subject that stands before him.
From the first moment I laid eyes on his beautiful body, the black softness of his newborn hair, the perfectly shaped button nose and his full pouty lips that held a mischievous grin even at birth, I knew. I knew that I was in love. I was captured and held hostage in the purest of loves that only a mother truly knows. I had no idea the amount of care for another human being I had inside me until then. At that moment I felt that my heart was on the outside of my body and lying contently in my arms wrapped in a soft blue blanket.
Now, a precocious four year old with dirty blond hair and piercing dark blue eyes stands before me. He looks at me as if he’s looking right through me and when I stare back in awe at my creation and look into his eyes, which have a hint of violet if the sunlight is near, I can see the marks of an older soul looking up at me. I was told by the nurse who handed him to me wrapped in that blue blanket four years ago, that his eyes would change from this deep sea blue to his “natural color”. She was an older nurse, about 50, with an air of arrogance about her. I could tell that she felt bored with her position, having been the deliverer of tiny miracles for many years and must’ve said this same line to many new mothers in her time. And to most it was true, babies are often born with dark blue eyes that change after time, but not my Anthony John, he still has the same intense blue stare he did back then. It would have been a testament to his true stubbornness, if it was in his control and not the wistful workings of Mother Nature and heredity.
Living with him is delightful torture. He is easily able to melt my heart with the joyful sound of his laughter and his perfect smile. He can choose any one of his smiles, as he has many, but the one that he uses most and best is impish and wicked, as if he had done something wrong and was now giving you the “winning smile” where his face lights up with a wide grin, showing perfect teeth, glistening to the point at which you can almost hear the “ting” as if he were in a toothpaste commercial. He is acutely aware that this is the one that will break mom’s defenses if he’s in trouble. He has perfected this smile particularly because he is in trouble quite often.
If the house is quiet and AJ is in it and not fast asleep, then there is reason for concern. I quickly address the silence with a resounding “AJ, What are you doing?” and he responds almost always with “Nothing, Mama”. At this point I rush to find him in the middle of something messy and then “ting” comes his immediate response to my flustered and wary look.
He is selfish and all-knowing to the point of exhaustion. It’s his world, his universe even, and welcome to it! But walk gently; you wouldn’t want to wake the tiny bear who growls “GRRR” when he gets frustrated or upset. I am told by other mothers that this is all normal behavior. I ponder my own sanity and theirs as well.
I found myself driving in the car with him one sunny day to nowhere in particular, and for no apparent reason at all he starts to scream and shout. After a while and just when I thought my head would burst from a frustrated headache, I turned to him and yelled that under no circumstances will there be screaming and shouting in this car! After which, I drove on silently laughing inside at the hypocrisy of my own words shouting and screaming this message to him. I glanced into the rearview mirror at my son who was staring at me with arms crossed and his lower lip jutting out as far as it could go to show his displeasure. At which point I smiled and we both laughed heartily at ourselves.
He was recently picked on at school for being so small and was called a baby by one of his peers. At this, his precious ego was momentarily shaken. Particularly, I’m sure, because for his whole life until that point he had been told how handsome, adorable and beautiful he is. He is learning that not all will think so and the world isn’t always sunshine and smiles. I struggle within myself to understand motherhood. I fear the overwhelming task of teaching him all there is to know in this world, to keep him safe, to be sure he keeps himself safe and to become a good man as he grows older.
It’s just he and I in this world we call our home. We’ve set up a calendar showing all his important play dates and appointments and a small chalkboard sits in the kitchen for practicing words, numbers and so forth. He always wants to help with anything and feels that he is the man of the house. He may be small at school but here he is mighty and strong and in charge of small chores that he does happily when reminded. However, when he begs to take the garbage out he gets frustrated because I don’t allow him to walk across the busy parking lot to the dumpster which is too high for him to reach anyway. He pleads to get the mail, but his small hands can’t turn the key and successfully unlatch the mailbox.
His independence from me grows stronger and more diligent. When he was stricken with the stomach flu we were watching a movie and lying in bed. He would get up to go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. After the third time, I followed him to the bathroom to find him vomiting solitarily. His little hands were holding tightly around the rim of our toilet, I could see the tiny fingers turning white as he held on with all his might and heaved everything that he had eaten into the bowl with a splash. When he was finished he said in a strong voice, “I’m ok, Mama.” I realized that he had been doing this alone to spare me the worry and to show that he didn’t need Mom to coddle him. I am proud and heartbroken at the thought of him growing up.
His sense of self is growing but at times he is terribly shy. When at home and comfortable he is the confident child aware of his surroundings and love, but in social situations he sometimes becomes introverted and watchful and unsure. He delights in watching more rambunctious boys play and act out but he hesitates to join in. When I signed him up for T-ball he was particularly shy and upset. If the ball would pass him and he didn’t catch it, he would cry. I explained to him that there was no crying in baseball to the best of my ability but it seems the act of actually running for the ball was too much for him. Perhaps it was the many bigger boys around him all clamoring to be the one to grab it first and send it flying to first base that was overwhelming for him.
I explain to him to the best of my ability that I will always listen if he needs me to, help when I can and to always, always love him and to this he replies confidently, “I know, Mama.”
