13 Years with Jonah

Early tomorrow morning, at 3:30 am, my baby will be 13.

I can't believe it.

I'm torn between sadness and joy and pride. I am sad because it seems that his 13 years have flown by and that if I blink, he may be all grown up by the time I open my eyes. It seems that just a few years ago we were a pregnant, young couple navigating our way through the maze of first-time parenting. Doctor visits, preparations for a baby, college, work. I was just 22 years old and Jon was 25. We were young, we were unsure.

Today we are not quite as young, just as unsure, but unsure in different areas.

Jonah came into the world in a blaze of glory. As usual, he was in a hurry to arrive. We kept him inside with the help of medications and bedrest for as long as we could, but at 35 weeks, he was ready and there was no stopping him. I had him and one minute later, he was whisked away. He spent some time in NICU, but all in all, he was a tough cookie.

He would occasionally stop breathing, so he was attached to an apnea monitor for his first two months. The alarm would sound when his breathing would stop, and we would fly up out of bed and stimulate him to breathe again. Knowing Jonah as I know him now, I bet he was just lying in his bed bored and wanted some excitement. He probably cracked up at us jumping out of bed and flying to him, smothering him with kisses and holding him tightly for the rest of the night.

He's like that, you know.

He was then exactly as he is now. Constantly moving, as tenacious as a bulldog, a strong fighter. He was born at 5 lbs. 8 ounces, but he was strong as dynamite. And, so was his cry. He cried. A lot. When I was pregnant, Jon prayed for patience. Silly man. I almost socked him when he told me. Jonah helped us develop patience. He helped us grow up. Poor child, he was a guinea pig to us. We knew nothing about parenting and wanted no help from anyone. After all, no one had ever raised this child before. We needed to find out our own ways, our own convinctions, without anyone's preconceived notions for our child.

During his first couple of years, he had his share of injuries, just as now. He grabbed a Weber grill and burned the inside surfaces of both of his tiny hands. He wore bandages and received treatment for a week. A month or so later, he was attacked by a big, old black labrador and swung around by his head. We cried as much as he did. We questioned ourselves and our parenting. We sobbed for him and the pain that he had to go through that we simply could not prevent ~ and for the first time, we understood God's love for us.

Through the next years, Jonah wanted a playmate, a sibling. Well-meaning people told us that we had spoiled Jonah, that we'd held him too much, slept with him too much, gave him too much attention, and that he was going to be 'something' when another baby came along. They warned us that he may try to hurt the baby or poke the baby's eyes out. It never happened. We had Gable and Jonah was happier than we'd ever seen him. He was confident in himself, in our love for him, and he was and is a great brother. Well, except that he was upset that we wouldn't name Gable 'Concrete' when he was born.

Jonah grew and grew. He reminds me so much of Jon that sometimes I forget that I did not know Jon at Jonah's age. And just in the past year, Jonah has made the switch from being my biggest fan to dad's biggest fan. I couldn't ask for a better role model than Jon for Jonah though. Jonah is strong and confident, compassionate and kind. He reaches out to help and love and share. His heart breaks for situations around him, and just as when he was a baby, I long to take the pain he feels away. But I know that his compassion and sensitivity and energy are all shaping him into the young man that he is becoming.

And I am proud of him, so proud of him.

I have always said that one thing I love about Jonah is the fact that he can talk to anyone, eye to eye, face to face. He plays chess with my 90-year-old Grandma and carries on a (loud) conversation just as he talks to his little friend Ben who is three. He talks to us and asks us questions and is not afraid to ask the tough stuff about life and death and God and girls.

And I love his eyes. That's what sucked Jon in first. Back when we were staying in the hospital, Jonah was pretty sick. Jon and I walked down to the cafeteria to get lunch and Jon broke down crying. He just kept saying, "His eyes, those brown eyes." When Jonah laughs, his eyes dance in the light of his smile, and when he talks, they tell a story all their own.

We still face some of the same obstacles that we faced with Jonah during his first years. Are we giving him enough love? Too much love? Enough boundaries? Too many boundaries? Too much freedom? Enough freedom? And we doubt ourselves, just as we did then. We question our parenting skills. I guess at those times it is our responsibility to remind ourselves of the well-meaning people back in the day. They meant well, but really, it is up to us to raise this child. This child was given to us, 13 years ago. He was the best gift, the gift we never knew we needed. The gift we did not seek, but in typical Jonah fashion, he found us, he blazed into our lives, and he brings us joy, pride, and life, all at top speed and high volumes.

Happy birthday, baby. We love you today and forever ~ you are our son and we are so blessed to have you. Thank you for loving us and for sharing your life with us so willingly. You rock!