It was so cold last night as I put my little Nic to bed.
The a/c downstairs is working overtime and of course each bedroom has it's own personal "mayor" which adds to the basement chill.
All my other babies were successfully in dreamland but Nic. He wanted my head close to his and he also wanted me to do "chichchie" which is another word for "chickie" which is a Jones tradition. Chickie is where you softly pinch chubby skin and in a very relaxing and lovable way you pretend to nibble what you pinched. I can just hear my Nana nibbling on my five-year-old cheeks. I tell you, it works magic on sleepyheads and Nicholas is a sucker for it.
I chickied him for a few minutes and his big brown eyes shut down. I watched him. He slept so peacefully, nothing like it really. His heavy checks lay on his little hands on the pillow. His white hair lay quietly near his eyes. He breathed softly and I listened. What a beautiful sound. And to think I may not have ever been able to hear that again-it takes me to my knees in gratitude!
No matter the pain, I have breath and my children can feel my love.
Remembering back to my hospital room I lay eager and anxious because it was the day my sisters were bringing my children to see me for the first time in 5 months.
How would they see me? Would they accept the new me? Would they still love me?
I had more emotions that day then I ever had in my life.
Lucy walked in my room holding my baby-except he wasn't a baby anymore. In fact, I had missed his second birthday-asleep in a coma.
He had on a red shirt and a little black cap. His hair was parted over nicely and he looked so much older.
My first thoughts were "Oh my little baby, come here and let me chickie you!"
He held on to Lucy clutching her hair around her neck. He wouldn't let go and all I could do was lay a hand on his shoes.
It was one of the hardest moments of my life.
He didn't recognize me and called Lucy mother. It was OK though, he needed a mother and I am thankful it was her.
Nicholas visited me a few other times after that-always confused, and so was I.
Months after and when I was home living with him, he was still baffled and often went to the front door crying for mother. All I could do was talk to him and try and convince him that she was me. I was her. I was mother and always would be.
I used to talk to Nicholas while he lay sleeping begging him to remember me.
"I had you" I would say "and I pushed you out and you were really big and you slept right after, I didn't see your eyes until the next day. You used to sleep with me a lot. I used to read 'Goodnight Moon' to you every night before you went to bed. We would nap together on my bed and you loved to ride on the back of my cruiser. Remember I used to bathe you and hold you on my hip every second of the day...remember son please, please, remember me. "
I cried so much then.
It wasn't until I began doing chickie on him that it started coming back. He realized that I was his mother and that our spirits are very recognizable… that we share the same blood. My touch was the same, my voice the same and my heart the same. I loved him more than ever. The eternal bonds of motherhood and children are sacred and very real. It may have taken a few months for it to come back, but it did, and in part,
I owe it to "chickie".