The Invisible Umbilical Cord

After I gave birth to X-man, I assume someone cut the umbilical cord. I can't remember if it was the Doctor or MacTroll when it happened. I remember feeling a big relief after 23 hours of really hard labor of finally being able to push. I remember finally feeling useful rather than a big, loud mess that was moaning so loudly I'm pretty sure I was scaring other mothers up and down the delivery area. I couldn't help it. I was in a lot of pain. I was delivering a baby that was over 10 lbs. I'd been working on it for a whole day. And I was doing it without an epidural -- and that wasn't my choice.

Anyway, you're about to put me in a the category of "weirdo" when I tell you my whole agnostic life (from the time I was 10) until now, I've always believed there was a method to the chaos of life. Patterns, really. I'm not sure that one or multiple gods actually controls the patterns. I just think that they exist. It makes me a bit superstitious. It makes me believe that sending good vibes out in the world does make a difference, even if it doesn't directly affect your life.

I didn't know my child before he was born. I didn't know who he was when they wrapped his bloated body up in a blanket and put him on my chest. I had no idea, but now, as I pay attention to the things he does (like I think he's so snowing me on the potty training as a candy earning devise some days and others, I realize he's actually happy to go out of his way to do it even if he doesn't get candy -- like after he brushes his teeth at night) I know things about him.

I see with that secret parent eye in the back of my head when he's about to do something stupid like leap from the arm of the couch onto a blanket on the tile floor -- that he thinks is carpeted under it. 

I feel when he's pushing a chair over to the kitchen counter that hasn't been cleaned up from dinner yet and has a bread knife on it as I carry the laundry basket downstairs, so I can intervene before there's an incident. To be honest, there are physical signs -- like right before the storm of trouble -- I recognize that it's eerily quiet. Quiet in a way that my son, who I compare to a monkey, a rhino or a bull, isn't capable of -- unless he's about to cause some trouble.

What I have been ignoring in all of my faux zen Mommy intuition is that he's my kid. The talent of observation works both ways. 

I couldn't sleep last night. MacTroll kicked me and my clicking laptop out of bed at 1:15 a.m. I went to the guestroom and within 20 minutes there was a child at the baby gate panicked and calling out for me. MacTroll went to him from his room first. He wasn't having it. He knew where I was for some reason. I didn't call to him. I didn't move. There was a vacuum cleaner and a locked door between me and my toddler at the gate. And it hurt to listen to. But at the same time, I've been making an effort to step back and let Daddy provide the comfort. 

But when that didn't work. Daddy opened the baby gate. I opened the guestbedroom door. X-man ran into my arms and I carried him to the bed.

"Scared Mommy! Scared."

"What are you scared of?"

Silence.

"Were you afraid because you woke up alone?"

"Stay with me, Mommy. Big Hug. Kisses. Big Hug."

So we slept in the guest bed, where he had more dreams. Dreams where he wanted me NOT in bed with him. He kicked me and pushed me. "Move, Mommy, Move!" He'd say with his eyes still shut tight. I switched sides of the bed. 

In the morning, when it has obviously been light for a while, X-man will bolt upright and exclaim, "It's light out. The sun is up. Get UP Mommy!"

This morning was no different. Except rather than a headbutt or a knee to my chest, I got a hug before he jumped off the bed and ran back through the open baby gate to the room he was too afraid to sleep in. He greeted his goldfish, Gordie. He greeted his Thomas the Tank Engine train set. Then he sat down and played with his town of Little People. 

I'm not quite sure how he knew I was in the guest room. I haven't slept there in over a month. 

And that is why I believe in the invisible umbilical cord. He has intuition about me, the same way I have intuition about him. We're connected in ways I could never understand or really ever explain. Order to the chaos, through biology and love.