Marking a milestone ... delayed

Today was supposed to be my son's first birthday party, a couple of days after his actual birthday. Then, the afternoon of his birthday, he started acting like something wasn't quite right. I checked his temperature and, sure enough, it was almost 102. The poor guy was sick. Because he has had recurrent ear infections in the past, I took him to the night clinic, but found out it apparently was only a cold. But by Friday afternoon, I could tell a party was not a good idea. He was still feverish, fussy, and miserable, so I called it: I canceled his party. And I was surprised at the reaction that followed. Not our guests' reaction--they totally understood. My own reaction.

Soon after I canceled the party,I felt a bitter disappointment tighten my throat. I'd had no idea how much I was looking forward to it, and I had to dig within myself to figure out why.

It's because this year was hard. Exhausting, transformative, beautiful, overwhelming, gigantic--and hard. And after that, darn it, I wanted to party. To celebrate that we survived this incredible, and incredibly trying, first year. To thank the family and close friends who helped us get through it. For me, it's a ceremony of sorts, commemorating the first year, the loved ones who surrounded us, and the strength within and without that helped carry us. And to have it suddenly canceled felt like a great loss.

Turns out I didn't have to feel that loss for long--it looks like we've successfully rescheduled it for later in March, when it will be closer to a happy-13-months party than a first birthday party, but oh well. We will still celebrate, and remember, and reflect. I'll be able to look across the room at my own mother and marvel at all she had to carry, emotionally and physically, when I was a baby. Because now, I understand. Now, I've been there too.

I'll look at my husband and remember all the many sleepless nights we shared, the worries when he was sick, the frustration and irritation and harriedness of the early days, and marvel at all we survived. We are all survivors.

And I'll be able to look at my son and express the gratitude for that year of babyhood, for seeing him grow, for the gifts within the stress and worry and sleeplessness. For the gift of being his mother.

That's something I want to celebrate.