Today you are one month old. How to describe you? You are at once so hardy with all you have been through, you hardly shed a tear when they pricked your heel nearly hourly and squeezed vials of blood out of you, and yet, in the same breath, when I hold you in my arms you are so tiny and delicate, so fragile in your smallness. In one breath I stare at the calendar unable to believe its already been one month, and in the next, when I stare into your soulful eyes I feel I’ve known you all my life.
You’ve definitely kept us on our toes this month, going from the ‘model child’ who slept all night straight from the hospital, to the child we learned slept so because of his severe jaundice that resulted in three hellish days back in the hospital. We still tuck you in your moses basket by windows on the rare days sunshine peeks through our windows to help the jaundice retreat, but thankfully the worst of those days are slowly falling behind us, tucked safely in the past.
Sleep is also a thing of the past. Every two hours, on the clock, you are up demanding food. It makes me tired. It makes me clumsy. And yet, having had the ‘model child’ so jaundiced he could barely open his eyes, who we had to dance around the house in his diaper to get him to eat just a touch of food, despite the sleepless nights and bleary days, I know I’m blessed to wake to your tearful sniffling demands for food. [Oh, and? You owe me a high-end car at some point for this record-setting sleepless month]
Before you were born I had tiny specks of worry. Tiny! Tiny like grains of sand on Canyon beach. I worried I couldn’t love another person the same way I love your older brother Waleed. Now that you are here I’ve found this only half-true. I love you as much. But not the same way. It’s like this: I love the Godiva cake at Morton’s Steakhouse. I dream about the way the warm chocolate pools into the plate when you crack open the hard exterior. I adore it for its sweetness and the chocolatey perfection that it is. Then there’s Cheeseboard Pizza in the heart of Berkley. Wow. Now that is a pizza. The veggies and herbs baked on a perfection they call dough? I dream about it regularly. The best pizza I’ve eaten bar none. Godiva cakes. Cheeseboard pizzas. I love them both. And yet they are different and their difference is their beauty. A silly analogy to be sure, but it encapsulates it so clearly: how could I love you both the same exact way when you’re both so different. Beautiful and unique.
And the other unique person in my life? Your older brother? Words can’t explain what its like to see you both together. He loves you so much. He sings to you. Plays peek-a-boo with you. He holds you in his lap [with careful supervision] and he kisses you each chance he gets. I thought he would be jealous of you but all he does is love you with a warmth that melts me to my core.
Speaking of love, in your one month of being you have spent each day surrounded by not only your parents and brother, but by your grandparents, your mamus and khala and dear friends. Every day you’ve been alive you’ve known only love. Pure, simple, sincere love. And tonight as I look at the full moon outside our living room window, the same full moon I saw the night you were born, I have one wish for you, and that is that you are always surrounded by love such as this because through rainstorms and dark clouds that life inevitably brings, love like this lifts you up, it gives you a reason to keep on keeping on. Love is a gift, it is a blessing. It is undoubtedly the most powerful thing there is. What better thing could I ever wish for you?