Dear Z.,
Today is your first birthday! What a magnificent achievement for you, to enter this world and to become human in a million little ways. Also, congratulations on your incredible work in beginning to adapt to this crazy world, with all of our language and looks and things that move.
You’ve come a long way, Z. Longer than you may ever know. Just learning to breastfeed took nearly half your lifetime. Not to mention the hernias, the ER visits, the surgery. Your mama was determined, though, and called in all the baby folks to help when you arrived.
Without a lot of generosity and wisdom offered to us by the midwives, doulas, lactation consultants, cranio-sacral practitioners, pediatricians, tongue-tie doctors, NICU and emergency room nurses, baby surgeons—and your mama’s deep intuition—we might be in a different place right now. I don’t know anything about that place, I just know it would be different from here.
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You are a blessed human, mijo. A couple of weeks ago you were the light of the party at the lodge in the forest with our friends. You were never alone for a moment, and you seemed to thrive in the connection soup. You have more aunties and uncles than I’m aware of at this point. I’ve heard many smitten remarks about how in love with you these humans are.
So it made sense to me how unhappy you were the day after we got home from the lodge, and it was just you and me and mama and Quyana in our quiet house again. I didn’t take it personally. You know what you like. I respect that. Just like at breakfast time, you eat the meat first and can’t wait for your cup of bone broth. Get it!
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I am grateful to you for being the catalyst that has brought members of our disparate families together in a way that seemed impossible before you arrived on this planet. I am grateful for the wild and strong ways you express your joy and curiosity and pain. It is such a beautiful practice for me to hold space for you, whatever you’re going through, whether teething or your deep desire to topple a heavy plant pot. It is also a practice to hold boundaries in ways that really engage with you and your experience.
For example, recently, you were set on grabbing a full glass of water from the window stool, behind the couch. I playfully grabbed your ankles and slid you back down the cushions to the pillows below. It quickly became a game. I was shocked by how much energy you had to keep going up when I’d pulled you down more than a dozen times. You laughed when your body landed on the pillows, and like some kind of hunter you just kept climbing.
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Another evening, I laid on the couch, stressing out. My tools had been stolen from work, and that was a hard thing for me. As I complained out loud, you sat in the hallway making farting sounds with your mouth. I couldn’t help but bust up laughing every time you did it. I tried once to keep taking myself very seriously. It didn’t work.
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I love seeing the synapses in your brain firing as you learn and develop. It is so much fun. At the table, you’ve begun raising your hand—or hands—up in the air, fingers out like you’re holding a palantir, or making an offering to the sky. Makes sense to me, Z-bird. We raise our hands as well.
Mealtimes have become as they should be, I suppose: bites of nourishment interspersed with random offerings to the sky gods. It’s not even a game anymore. It’s just what we do.
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Today I thought of something I wanted to say to you in a letter, for whenever it may become relevant for you: when you meet humans throughout your life, you can be sure that they will tell you who they are. Sometimes, it’ll be clear within moments; with others, it can take years. Perhaps the clarity you receive about a person arrives through conflict, or when one of you reaches a certain point of success, or failure.
When others tell you who they are, listen. You have choice in all of your relationships; your personal boundaries and your ‘no’ are some of the most powerful tools you’ll have in this life. Use them well. Practice often.
What do I mean by, “who they are,” exactly? People may tell you their name, what they do for money, or with their free time, and perhaps conflate what they do with who they are. They may share with you their reactions, even, to words you say or events that happen in their lives, and that can be good information, but I speak of something else.
Humans announce who we are with our choices around who and what and how we prioritize and sacrifice.
How you respond to different things also represents who you are to others. It is also in how you choose to move through life gathering information, considering as many relevant pieces as you can, and listening deeply to your heart—and your gut.
Consider slowly. Do not mistake woundedness for evil. Be open to the grace of those around you. And do not expect those whose grace you admire to carry it always.
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All that’s way too much for your first birthday, I know. Just trying to fit it all into the time we have.
I love you so much, boo. You belong here in a big way, with me and us. May your second year on this planet be one of learning, remembering, and discovery. May your journey toward shared language—and walking—liberate and empower you.
All my love,
papa Sean
Happy birthday my grandson.
As it happens, Z's birthday was yesterday, the 1st.
Late nights writing and scheduled for the wrong day!