Mama, I'm cute … you should see me ...

Little Guy: Mama, pei wo yi xia xia (stay with me a while), ok?
Me: Ok.

That's usually how we transition from bedtime routine to lights out. The room is dark but not pitch black as each of the boy's nightlight provides just the right amount of light for us to see each other. We each share what we're thankful for and I kiss them good night. Buddy likes the same number of kisses as his upcoming age. Little Guy and I kiss through the beams of his crib like it's a game. Then, I lie down and hang out for a while. 

Usually I end up repeating "be quiet" and "lie down" (specifically for Little Guy) so many times I wonder why I'm in here. Other times, I have to resort to a little threat of "I'm going to leave the room if you can't lie down and be quiet".

On this particular night, I had just settled myself on the ABC mat in between Buddy's bed and Little Guy's crib. Buddy shared a thought ...

Buddy: Mama, you know what?
Me: What?
Buddy: I'm cute … I'm really cute. I can see that in the mirra. You should see me in the mirra. I'm really cute!
silence as I thought about what to say … 

[Cutting out to the conversation in my head]

Growing up, I was always taught to be modest. Whenever, an adult gave me a compliment, my parents always responded with "no, no, not at all" or "oh, you're too kind" (accompanied with the appropriate amount of hand gesture to wave off the compliment). That probably did teach me modesty. But, it also added this vocabulary to my inner voice: "hmmm… maybe I'm not that good at [fill in the blank]". The self-doubt.

It took a long time for me to realize that to be modest is different from denying and down-playing my own talents. 

[Returning to the scene from that night]

Me: Yes, you're really cute! You can show me in the mirror in the morning. Ok?
Buddy: Ok!

I really meant what I said … Buddy is really cute (of course, I'm biased!). The thing is … this is the first time he's said anything like this about himself. He makes such sweet comments about Little Guy and other kids easily. At the same time, he often shies away from similar attention even in a kind look or smile from us or his grandparents. 

The thing is it's not important what I think. It's important what he thinks of himself. I imagine we will touch on modesty at some point but not that night. That night I wanted him to go to sleep with a bigger than usual smile because he saw something special in himself. 

A Letter to Buddy, Who Turns 5 Today ...

Dear Buddy,

Five years ago today, you came into my life. You gave us … I mean all of us, including our doctor, a scare because you firmly decided that you would not be coming in the way I had hoped. Labor was going so well … you wanted to enter this world fast … that was until you realized the way through which you’d have to go to enter this world. That was exactly when the contractions got stronger and you thought better of it and said “no, no, no!”

It was truly a miracle that you are here. You see, your heart rate failed to come back up despite all sorts of positions I was in, and the stomach massages and coaxing from our doctor. Then, an onslaught of doctors and nurses flooded to our delivery room. There was no time for paperwork … consent had to be given verbally. It had already been a few minutes since your heart rate dropped to a dangerous level and we needed to get you out. Soon, I was being rolled out of the room towards the OR. On the way another doctor and more nurses came to my bedside. They smiled at me as they introduced themselves - think they were trying to keep me calm. My mind was still grappling with the gravity of the situation and my emotion hadn't caught up. The last thing I could remember clearly before someone tried to put an oxygen mask over my face was our doctor saying “this is going really well for your first baby … let's have this baby", which was a signal that we're ready to push.

After that, things were blurry and somewhat in slow motion for me. I had no idea how quickly I was being rushed to the OR … from what your baba described afterwards, it sounded like a scene from ER (a popular TV show long before your time). There was no small talk. Everyone was focused on getting you out. Your baba was told to get his camera and wait outside until he’s called while someone threw him a set of scrubs. It seemed like everyone, including me, was holding his/her breath until, finally, we heard you - you cried with all the capacity of your little lungs. The tenseness melted away in the OR and I sensed smiles across everyone's face. The first person to ever speak to you was our doctor. She said “you scared me, baby”. 

I couldn’t name you right away because I felt that I needed to really look at you and sense your name. I’m sure it was all post-partum hormones. Seriously! It’s not like I can know you well after only 3 days filled with feeding struggles, reading your cries and analyzing your poops. Frankly, after 5 years together, I am still getting to know you. You amaze me everyday with your kind heart, thirst for learning, determined focus (when something engages you), creative and inquisitive mind, and sensitive soul. You have such an intuitive notion of right and wrong, and show such courage to share your ideas. I love it when you start a sentence with “I have an idea …” because your eyes are so big and bright, full of light, as if the idea from your beautiful mind can’t wait to burst through them.

On the day you were born, you made me a mother … more importantly, each day since, you’ve challenged me to grow in ways I didn’t know I could. Thank you! 

Happy birthday my baby! Here's to many more years of getting to know you and learning together.

Love,

-Mama