A Super Hero

Well, I have sat here for 40 minutes waiting for the perfect words for the perfect opening to come. Alas, I am too nervous and excited to find them. So forget the perfect beginning, I have wanted to have a blog ever since watching “Julia & Julia” years ago.  Then my little sister starts the loveliest blog ever and I am inspired afresh.

 The truth is, the internet and myself have a real love hate relationship. I refer to it as “the infamous interweb” and it refers to me as “dummy”. Sufficient to say, we do not always get along, but in the spirit of advancement we agree to disagree.  I love the idea that something I write can strike a chord of sympathy in another human soul and in that moment of connection we share something poignant and powerful; we are partners in the struggle to live, and live well. I will never set the world on fire but I can share my little bit of light. So without further ado, I give you the inspiration behind the name of my blog.

Meet Mason

            “Where are you mom”, came a high plaintive voice from upstairs. I found him wrapped in a blanket, peeking his eyes out from his little Buzz Lightyear toddler bed.

 “I Scared mom”.

 It is in times like these I am able to take the wee body in my arms like days of old, where he will sit still and lay his head on my shoulder just as he used to when a babe and I can comfort and soothe. The comforting takes a different form during the day and I am somewhere classed between a sergeant and a playmate. It is five years since I have known him and adored him. Five years I have labored over him in every way, tears, frustration and all.

            But he calls me a super hero; a super hero mom and you just can’t beat that.

            Mason was born with extra flaps of skin in his esophagus. The  Doctor’s call it something long and technical but all I needed to know is that it was obstructing his air passage and that surgery was if not absolutely necessary then at least a sound idea. He was four months old when we took him in very early one morning and I watched as they tried several times to get a tiny iv in his tiny wrist. A brave mom still cries at that; and I have been a brave mom.

Mason had Laryngomalacia, which on its own is terrifying for a mom but coupled with Acid Reflux, which he had a terrible case of, made for a combination that caused a baby born at 9 pounds 7 ounces still to gain merely ounces in four months. My whole life became about feeding. And still after 5 years I have a constant running list of all that he has eaten at the end of every single day.

 It doesn’t faze him much.

He knows by now that his mom is just always stuffing food in his mouth and he opens it if not obediently at least resignedly. The kid has just never been into food. In the beginning it was probably because between breathing and eating, breathing took priority. And now it is probably just a little bit of habit and a little bit of not wanting to take the time to eat because he has so many other important things to do.

            I cried when he was born. I cried more than I count when he would throw up every bit of milk I had worked so hard to get in him. I cried when he brought me his little front baby tooth that had broken off because all the acid from vomiting had eaten away at his little collection of teeth. I cried when he had to get them pulled. Sounds like a lot of tears but you should see how much I have laughed. He has been my teacher these five years. He has taught me to be brave.

It has not been easy being Mason and I have to say nor has it been easy being Masons mom. Most recently Mason had eye surgery. Not laser surgery but the full blown hour and forty minute lord knows how they go about it, surgery. That was a long hour and forty minutes for me. So the first 24 hours were really rough. He couldn’t open his eyes without horrible pain, at which point he would scream something awful. So without being able to open his eyes, he got loud, very loud, as if he had to try and be heard because he didn’t know how far off people were. I talked to him constantly in an effort to help him keep his eyes closed. For a kid who just isn’t himself unless he is flipping over the couch or hanging face down off his chair when eating, this was tough.

 A couple mornings later he had a rough start, but with a little Tylenol and a little food he started picking up. Then he looks at me with his half open eyes, all bloody and puffy and gives me a true sunshine smile “I feeling better mom”. That is how Mason has always been. I’m not the super hero, he is.

 I will wake up in the morning to his little crooked smile. I will spend time being sure he sits at the table and eats breakfast. I will patiently answer his favorite question “what’s this mom?” and laugh when he answers that question himself (which he often will). I think I will revel in my current role however difficult it is, knowing that someday he will eat heartily and much, without my encouragement. He will have less questions and more answers. He will no longer come in my room and say “I cuddle you mom?” And my heart will probably hurt just as much over the loss of those things as it does because of their presence. Thank you God for giving me this special part in an every day miracle: my little Masons life.