Twelve. 

I was twenty four years old the day Cole was born. Looking back, I was a baby. I got pregnant the summer after college having never worked an adult job. I spent that summer, fall and winter loving every moment of being pregnant. I was fascinated by the process. I read every book I could find. I educated myself on choices I knew new moms needed to make for their newborns. 

Always gravitating towards a more organic way of life, I was the black sheep in the small military town in lower Alabama. People thought I was crazy for wanting a natural child birth. A neighbor exclaimed that she prayed to God I’d only have girls because I didn’t support circumcision. I did my homework. I became a student of child birth. I became a student of how I wanted to birth and raise my baby. 

Moments after Cole was born, he was taken away from me to be treated for fluid in his lungs. After six hours of labor, I sat in a room alone and lonely. Every inch of me needed my baby next to me. Cole recovered quickly and was nursing a hour later, but in that one hour my instincts came to life. This was the moment I was born. Giving birth to Cole welcomed me to my true self. Cole became my compass. 

Cole has always been my compass. He has always been my guide. 


Today, on Cole’s twelfth birthday, there is a change in our relationship. When he was a baby, he was comforted by my nurturing. As a toddler, kisses and hugs made things better. As a boy, distractions and giggles made his worries disappear. He’s not a boy any more. He’s growing and maturing. He’s establishing who he is as a person. I’m establishing who I am as a mother. 

Cole has delivered me to where I belong, and now it’s my turn to guide him. It’s my turn to teach him all lessons he taught me. It’s my turn to be his compass. Nurturing, kisses, hugs, and giggles have been replaced with conversations and walks. We discuss breathing and what it feels like to be overwhelmed. He laughs at my guiding breathing instructions, but when I’m not looking I see him dileberately inhaling and exhaling. 

In so many ways Cole and I have grown up together. Our lives have always been parallel. As he transitions into teenage years, I’m transition too. He’s finding his wings as I’m finding freedom in mothering. Together we are learning to fly. 

Happy Birthday to the little boy who taught me how to live and love. Happy Birthday to the baby who made me a mother. 

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