Monday, August 28, 2017

This morning, everything is gray and I can't find my computer mouse.

The probability it is in Dylan's room is so high that I don't even bother trying anywhere else. I open his door quietly, though Kindred has Masha & The Bear on blast in the living room. He doesn't even stir, as bedtime was probably so late that it was actually early. Almost immediately, I see the mouse on the dresser, but I linger to get a better look at him. It still seems impossible that he is grown. I search his face for the little boy he was, but instead I just see both his father and mine. They are there in the eyebrows, the cheekbones, the scar above his left eye. I don't even remember how he got that one, but he spent his childhood climbing everything. Pushing boundaries, ever the prankster, those qualities are theirs as well. I wipe a curl back off his forehead and he furrows his brow. Slowly, I back out of his room before I wake him.

I was just a little older than he is now when I met his father. It took about six months before I learned that life-altering lesson of what happens when a teenager gets lax on birth control. Even though I was crazy about the man, when the test was positive, I knew I had to go back home. Many reasons, many interpretations of the same story, but I believed it was for the best. So, I packed my stuff a couple of weeks later, kissed his father goodbye, and drove the almost 900 miles crying and talking out loud to Dylan.

Nothing was conventional about his arrival. I was induced over a three day period which concluded with about four mega-contractions taking me from a 7 to 10. It was a brutal 20 minutes that brought him earthside. Within minutes of his birth, I was told words like "heart murmur" and "immediate transport to Vanderbilt NICU in Nashville". Those words did not make sense. I hadn't even gotten to really hold him yet, how did I already break him? When the ambulance arrived, they wheeled his incubator in so that I could see him before they left. Wires attached him were hooked to monitors that spoke an indecipherable language of beeps to the professionals. And, suddenly, it was time for him to go. I howled as my Grandma laid her body over mine, possibly grounding me to this mortal plane. My heart, no longer confined to my chest, was on its way south. My mama was going with him, which brought minimal comfort. I wanted to be there with him more than anything I had ever wanted in my life. So much so that early the next morning, I woke up, got out of bed and, once again, started packing my stuff up to be with Dylan. When my nurse said I couldn't leave until the Dr came to check me out, I informed her that he had best to hurry it up because I was still leaving. I didn't even bother with getting my prescriptions filled, which meant that I walked in six inch painful shuffles. But, eventually, I made it to his side. And, we spent our first night together on a couch bed.

In truth, we've grown up together since then. It has been through many trials & tribulations. Thankfully, he just rolls with it. Dylan is a true Gemini. I am a Gemini rising, so it helps that I speak his language. Unfortunately, sometimes that language comes in fiery outbursts. Primarily because he is more me than I am prepared to deal with. I feel for my husband...stubborn, stable Taurus...holding the pillars of the house up as fire(me) & gusts of air(dylan) invite chaos around him. We once had a British neighbor, who has been around the world a few times, and he told us that Dylan would be really going places in this life. He said Dylan had that spark one needs to get out there and really live...a curiosity, a thirst, and a genuine personality. I believe him, wholeheartedly. If we can only get young Gemini to focus his energy. 

Back to present has interrupted me as I attempted to put these thoughts down. So, at this moment, Dylan and Kindred are in the play room. She is building a tower of blocks, but having some engineering difficulties, and he has offered to help her several times. The Goat refuses. I hear him ask softly, "Will you just let me help you?" and she, uhh, well...she just blew a raspberry at him and kicked him out of the room. He paces around a few minutes. "Can I come back in here now?" is immediately met with "NO! You're still in trouble." The entire exchange feels more like a continuance of a time gone by. It will be an interesting relationship to watch, these two.

Though I have been begging him to keep his feet on the ground since he gained upward mobility, he's the wildcard. And, I knew it before we even met. 
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