The Freckle’s Under the Stairs

I like to play favorites with my kids.

I like to say things like ‘You’re my favorite oldest son.’ ‘You’re my favorite daughter.’ ‘You’re my favorite kid in this room right now.’

Or, more simply, ‘you are my favorite kid named insert child’s name here‘.

Eventually Freckles got wise.  He started to say ‘But I’m you’re ONLY one!’.

Which I could have laughed at and left.  Because how terrible would it be if we then told him that actually we had at least half a dozen test Freckle’s before him who live under the stairs because they didn’t meet standard?

I mean, a good parent wouldn’t tease their child that if they keep annoying them they’ll just put him with the ‘other Frecke’s’ and try again.

So obviously, that has never happened…..

……

When Freckles was born, he had a slight disadvantage from the other kids.

I was his mom.  And I had never held a baby before.

I had never fed a baby.

Never changed a baby.

Never cuddled or comforted or spent even 1 minute trying to convince a baby to stop crying.

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

After Freckles was born I made DH show me how to change a diaper quickly while the nurses were out of the room so they wouldn’t think I was incompetent.

My inexperience didn’t stop me in any way from judging other parents, mind you.  Oh, I judged.  And when I saw those posters advocating against shaking your baby, I thought ‘what kind of terrible person even for one second considers something so awful?’

And then, then colicky Freckles came home and months of 6+ inconsolable hours of crying fits showed me….

 I was the kind of person who for one second realized how easy that would be.

As a 21 year old first time mom with no friends my own age and in the very beginning, no support system nearby, I received more than my share of both solicited and unsolicited advice.

Not that ‘don’t you think this was a bad idea’ wasn’t helpful, but…

The best advice I ever got was this:

It’s okay to put him down. 

I know you think you need to fix whats wrong and there has to be a way to make things better and any other mom would be able to make. him. stop. crying.

But you can’t.

Sometimes he is safer crying in his crib for 10 minutes than in your arms that have been holding him for 6 hours and your head that hasn’t seen sleep in weeks.

Put him down. 


Close the door. 


Walk away.  

Give yourself a moment.  Collapse on the floor.  Scream in a pillow.  Cry yourself dehydrated.

 Then go back.

And I have to tell you, the reality that putting him down and walking away didn’t make me a bad parent, saved me.  It saved Freckles.

I can honestly admit, even though you are free to judge me harshly for it, that had I not been able to take those steps I worry how far I might have snapped. That’s a lot of guilt to carry.  But it’s there.

I admit I know what it feels like to, for one moment, think you might do the unthinkable just to make your baby stop crying.  I didn’t.  But just knowing that I could understand WHY someone would… it’s a hard lesson for a young mom to learn.  Especially a young, formerly judgemental mom.

So feel free to start judging me now.

Because it’s been enough years I think it is safe to say he made it.  WE made it.

And my little Freckles, the practice child, turns 10 years old today.

I bet some days Freckles wishes there had been test-kids before him.

I bet he wished that I didn’t learn about every childhood illness, every toddler stage, every new behavior with him.  Then maybe I would have responded with more grace and wisdom and less  

‘for the Love… what the crap am I supposed to do with THAT?’.

Now that he’s 10, I found myself learning that same lesson from when he was a baby.

Since we moved here after school ended for the summer, and it doesn’t start again for another few weeks, Freckles is celebrating this, his double digit birthday, without a friend to share it with.

I wasn’t going to have any of that.

I registered the kids in church camp here before we even moved, completely convinced that a friend would have been arranged and made and available to take to a movie and ice cream on his birthday to celebrate.

Turns out, I can’t force kids to be friends with mine.

But I’m his mom and a good mom should be able to pick him up, understand exactly what he needs and make it happen.  A good mom should be able to make the tears stop and the crappy day’s not happen.

But I can’t.

I have to put him down.

And let him be all grown up about it.  Without my help.

I don’t have to try and buy his happiness with cooler presents than last year.  I don’t have to ask him every second if he’s having a good birthday and I don’t have to try and make friends FOR him.

He’s got this.

In fact, after being taken to the butcher and allowed to pick his own meat for dinner, then heading to a movie, just him and dad….

He’s a happy kid.  

Without my desperate intervention.

This is Freckles.

This year, without even a mention to us, he decided that if he wanted to be the best friend he could be to his classmate who is deaf, he would learn sign language.

So he, all on his own, asked his friend’s translitorator at school if she would help him.  He got printouts of the signs and he brought them home and taped them all over the house so he could practice.  He taught himself to sign.

His words – ‘Sometimes, he gets confused and can’t read lips.  And then he might need a friend who can understand him.  He doesn’t have a friend like that.  I can be that friend.  ‘.

I think that in his own time, he’ll make new friends just fine.

I think he’s growing up OK, despite my lack of practice.

Happy 10th birthday, you’re the best Freckles yet!

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