Life was less complicated then

When he was six weeks old, he smiled up at me for the first time. He was wearing striped green pajamas without the little footies, nestled in the crook of my arm, on a couch not yet lopsided and sunken with wear. It was Mother’s Day, so I called it my gift.

When he was three months old, he clung to Sahary like a tree frog when she visited, sleeping for hours against her chest in the carrier. He stayed in there all day most days and I’d joke he’d never learn to do anything but hear our heartbeats, tangle his little hands in our long curls, snoring nasally like a locomotive.

Life was less complicated then.

When he was eleven months he did what we called the booty butt dance, because he led with his behind in bopping to reggaeton beside his older sister.

When he was two, he slept with his older sister on a floor mattress, Montessori-style, in a bedroom across from ours, and I reveled in thinking he’d never know a life without memories of Eliana intertwined.

When he was three, and Ezzy was born, we discovered his knack for puzzling, and his ability to quietly sit, stare, observe, manipulate, move. Knowing I had my hands full with a newborn, moms from the school would lend us new ones, stacking race car and animal puzzles in his cubby to bring home at the end of the day. And yet.

Life was less complicated then.

When he was four, he ran up the stairs of our new home, the one we were so proud to be able to provide, and announced that the middle room would be his. When he was five, he learned to bike without training wheels, having completely skipped over that step to keep up with his sister. When he was six, he fell in love with Legos and fantasy series, art and drawing – in interesting, opinionated ways that simultaneously allow me to see myself in him, but also see this big, complete person he’s becoming.

He’s stretching out.

This cuddly, animal-loving child, our only boy sandwiched between sisters. His youngest years are a blur – a whirlwind of scenes causing my heart to twinge. Last year, when he was seven, I had ‘heard of a new thing called Zoom,” that we “could try to use” for his birthday. I set my laptop at the end of the dining table, grinning at all the little squares of people we love from around the world, as his sisters pushed him into the room while covering his eyes. I have it on video.

“Surprise!” came the cacophony of voices from the device. He grinned, curious and slightly confused, and we made do – hearts warmed by the coming together of all our people to celebrate this child.

This morning when I laid in bed for a beat, in shadows, before getting up for the day, these moments ran in my mind movie reel. Life was less complicated then. Less heavy. Was it young parenthood, less knowing, less perspective? Is it the state of right now, this 2020-2021 band, that we will look back on one day and name darkness? I don’t know.

What I do know is this. We still rally. We will always rally. Life may have been less complicated then, but this love endures, expands, embraces.

Happy 8th birthday to our dear boy. Ehsan Noel, we love you.

Slice of Life, Day 25