About a year ago this time, Bryan and I visited a specialist to look at Binja’s foot.  More specifically, his lucky foot.   We were warned at that point that we had a long road ahead of us.

About the point Binja started crawling, we returned.  What had once been a “what if” scenario involving leg-lengthening and bone-stretching was now moved up to “when”.  Although the doc seemed to think it was unnecessary, I begged for Binja to have a brace made so that his foot could be stabilized and maybe the difference in length could be compensated.  The doc relented and we had one made.

When he first got the brace, he just stopped using that leg entirely.  It was hard to watch.  But as time went by, he relaxed and got used to it.  Then he was unstoppable.  He was EVERYWHERE.  In every room, at every bookcase, cruising at a speed that baffled me.

Everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) asks me, all the time, when I’m having another kid.  Kinda like my set isn’t complete until I’ve got a pair.  Which is silly, I know, but I’m not sure I can definitely say one way or the other.  And the big reason?  Binja gets my full attention until we can get the foot thing taken care of.  He deserves me fully-committed until the big issues are conquered.  I have, many times, said “not until this one’s potty trained”, but what I really mean is “not until this one is walking on the lucky foot”.

We’ve gotten through this marvelously well, I think.  We joke, perhaps wildly inappropriately, about his handicap.  Hell, the day after he was born, his Uncle Kevin visited him in the hospital and declared that he’s got the part of Tiny Tim wrapped up.  But behind our humor, there is always an ounce of fear and a pound of determination.  We WILL get through this, Binja.  You will NOT be alone in this.  I’ve learned to say “My son was born with a foot deformity” matter-of-factly and emotionlessly, maybe with a tinge of compassion that, yes, I know this is awkward to listen to but yet I don’t need your sympathy, we’re fine, thanks. 

And I can’t lie.  There are still a LOT of times that I fear for him.  Jesus.  It’s hard enough being a mom, but being a mom knowing that your child has a handicap to overcome?  And wanting to walk that line of tough love and letting him figure things out on his own but OHMYGOD wanting to protect him from all the evil and do it all for him?  There are just not words.  There aren’t.

My child (and my family) is blessed with having many extraordinary, loving people around him.  I know that it will probably read “It takes a village” on my tombstone because I preach it at every opportunity, but I do so because I’ve seen the product of it.  And it eases my mind tremendously to know that regardless of the world’s harsh climate, he’ll have a warm place to come home to.

And yes, in case you were wondering, there is guilt.  Stupid, unfounded guilt that shouldn’t exist and I know that and is irritating all the more because of it.  Guilt that I should’ve somehow known that his foot was growing wrong.  Or, more astutely, guilt that I DID know and just brushed it off.  I spent the last three months of my pregnancy pointing to one spot under my bra where I felt his feet never move.  Permanently glued to that rib.  And when I mentioned having another baby to Bryan over pillow talk the other night, he joked, “Why?  Another broken foot baby?”  And it wounded me terribly.  He didn’t mean it that harshly, obviously.. a side effect of us making inappropriate remarks to get through it is not knowing where the callouses end and the flesh begins.  But yes, I fear, beyond any science or reason, that it was a defect in ME that did this.

But enough of that.  Ask me what I want for Christmas.

What do you want for Christmas, Sarah?

Today, my child walked.  As if he’d been walking for months.  My father stopped by while running errands, and my child walked circles around him.  With grace and control and with two feet that worked the same way.

I am crying as I type this.  I got my Christmas wish.

Dear Binja:

I am two days overdue in your letter this month, the one that marks your existence on this earth for a full year.  I’ve actually been putting this off because I don’t think there are words for it.  My heart is simply too full, and I feel like it might burst within my chest if I try to explain your first year.

I was giving you your morning bottle on Saturday while watching “the monkey” on PBS, and a commerical came on for the Celtic Women’s Christmas special.  This may have been routine and unimportant for most people, but it hit a special chord with me.  See, I specifically and very vividly remember that playing in our hospital room your first day of life.  I had this tiny blanket of shiny black hair, and I knew nothing about how to care for it or love it or anything, but music?  Music, I knew.  So that special played three times during our hospital stay, because at the very least, I knew I could sing to you.

Since then, you have taught me to just be patient and try.  Try anything.  Try anything and see what happens.  Sometimes we have a success.  Sometimes we don’t.  But trying never hurts.  And as you get older, I’m having to train myself to let you try.  You are now getting to the point where you can do things I never believed you would: eat real food, walk a couple of steps, make fishie noises.  And I’m learning to let you try.  You taught me that failure is only a bad thing if you didn’t make the effort with gusto.

Gusto is a word that is perfect for you.  If you were a girl, I would say you were likened with your momma’s moxie, but gusto sounds more manly.  You don’t do anything small.  You were among the first in your class to roll over, to pull up, to clap, and now to toddle.  We worried that your lucky foot would hamper your movement; you made a mockery of the term handicap.  I can only pray that you live the rest of your life with such passion.  I promise to help you do that.

Your father and I have approached your birthday from completely different angles, and I think that’s to your benefit.  Your father mourns the passing of a baby; I celebrate the arrival of a young man.  I can’t wait to see your personality develop further, to see what evokes those huge belly laughs out of you, to hear you speak your first words, to run after you as you dart toward the lights.  I’m not naive enough to think there won’t be struggles, but I somehow think we will pull through with flying colors, Binja.  We are a good team.

Every night when you and I get home, we play in the hallway.  At first, you were hesitant to leave my side, but day by day, you grew braver.  You would wander into the various bedrooms, just enough to see that there was no danger in there, and then you’d alligator crawl back.  Over weeks of trial and error, you determined that you could crawl on hands and knees and play in any room you wanted to, never even looking back to see where I was.  But now, your favorite game is to play hide and seek with me, peeking around corners and toddling furiously down the wall to find me when I’ve hid.  It was lesson for me, to let you explore on your own and realize that, with that freedom, you would come back.

You are, without a doubt, the most amazing accomplishment of my life, baby.  Thank you.

Love,

Momma

Wow.  Binja, do you realize that in a mere 30 days, you will be 1 year old?  I cannot believe this.  Quite frankly, I’m not going to.  I’m not accepting this fact until two weeks prior to December 7th, when Ra will undoubtedly start asking me about your birthday party, and I’ll do an “OH CRAP” moment and then throw a whole bunch of crapdash stuff together.

(I kid.  I actually have been planning the party, believe it or not.  I wanted to document it here, in case it NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.)

This month has been a lot of fun in your development.  While before you would scoot around, mild-mannerly, at your leisure.. now you have PLACES TO GO and PEOPLE TO SEE and CRAP TO GET INTO and you move at 90 bajillion miles per hour.

(All of these pics were taken within 35 seconds.  SERIOUSLY.)

(Random shot of Zombie Baby that I made and then had nightmares about for weeks:)

You have two favorite spots in the house: wherever the dog is..

And wherever your brother is:

You have also gotten quite sassy, and of course WE HAVE NO IDEA WHERE YOU GOT THAT FROM, but you are quick to flash us some Blue Steel moments while crawling about.

You also had a slight growth spurt, and suddenly nothing fit you anymore.

And this was also the month of putting shit on your head.

Perhaps my favorite part of this month is that I got some pictures with you.  I’ve avoided having my picture taken since your arrival, but this month, I actually managed a few.  So let it be documented: I am, in fact, your mother and not some stalker who slaps shit on your head.

(Random cameo by AndyZ)

It’s easy to get sentimental, but I’ll save that smooshy stuff for next month.

When you turn 1 year old.  And, some would say, stop being a baby.

(But you’ll always be MY baby.)