One hundred percent of me knows that there are several songs from the soundtrack of my life that, for the rest of their days, will make my kids instantly think of me. For the strangest reason the one above will cause their heads to pop up for a moment as neurons fire flashes of me in their mind. I hope it's always comforting. I hope it brings back reassuring moments of their life when they felt most secure. Please let it always be one of those little signs...affirmations of how much they've always been loved by their flawed, weird, complicated, yet adoring mother.
It began in the middle of the night in late 1989 with sixteen month old McSteamy draped over my heavily pregnant belly. He'd been sick and was needing extra undivided attention. We were both exhausted, a little teary, and I was trying to lull him back to sleep. His little face was nuzzled into my neck, arms thrown around me, clutching my housecoat with chubby hands and tensing up when any movement from me might indicate our cuddle time was coming to an end. He needn't have worried. That night I was specifically thinking about how the impending birth of my second child would affect him and was in no mood to miss precious time with the baby boy who owned my heart.
We would soon meet his much anticipated sibling. It was still the era of gender reveal happening on the big day. I was very excited for her/his arrival, and had wanted them to be close in age, but the coming change in dynamic filled me with a conflicted fear that night. The depth of my love for each of them was without question. It was fiercely embedded in my heart from the beginning and nothing could ever shatter it. What was in doubt was my abilities. Could I give both of them the time, attention and nurturing they each deserved? Was it selfish to want more children when this one so obviously needed me? Worst of all was the thought of how painful it would be for them when I let them down. How would I be enough?
This is something every mother of more than one child has experienced, I assured myself. Beating back panic and fighting the odd sense of guilt, I patted his diaper-clad tush as the freshly bathed scent of him soothed me, and we rocked in the darkened room while the silent house slept on. I grappled for a new song to sing, and for whatever reason, this is the one that came to mind. He slowly relaxed and drifted off to sleep as I sang the unlikely lullaby. A long time passed before he was put back into his crib. Of course, he can't remember. I'll never forget.
Over the years I continued to sing it to all three of my children as a lullaby and when they needed reassurance they would always be my baby. The story has been repeated often, becoming another thread in the fabric of our family lore. Naturally there are more stories about my babies, and of one of their babies, which I'll add here along the way.
I love you, beyond...xox
This Dad built his son a playhouse with an elevator and the baby's reaction is pure joy.
— Danny Deraney (@DannyDeraney) September 22, 2022
🎥 Imgur/Tourmalin pic.twitter.com/zTlWxKf7fc