Six Months - An Addendum
Dear Will:
In my life, I have had two consiglieres.
Sidebar: Of course my son knows what a consigliere is. We watched The Godfather together when he was a week old.
Also, you’re gonna tell me this kid doesn’t know what a consigliere is? This waste management consultant of a child? OK.
As an adult, I favor the wisdom of Springsteen.
But during the wartime of adolescence, I heeded the words of Sonny Corleone and sought out a Sicilian to serve as counsel - Madonna Veronica Louise Ciccone.
Lately, I find myself returning to the same well to draw water.
My RA has returned and it has brought hell with it - my right thumb joint has irreversible damage, my feet, knees, hands, elbows and shoulders ache and due to an insurance snafu, I haven’t been able to get the medication I need.
Thankfully, I’m on a stop-gap solution now involving a heavy dose of steroids and Plaquenil but for the past month, it was really hard.
Waking up in the middle of the night to feed you was hard - I was terrified of being unable to pick up the kettle, of spilling hot water and slipping on the tile.
Reading you bedtime stories was hard - I couldn’t hold you, hold the book and turn pages.
Picking you up was hard - my thumb would stiffen up and it felt like it was trapped in a vise.
But what am I gonna do? Not feed you? Not read you bedtime stories? Not hold you? Of course not. You’re my kid. I’d figure out a way to pick you up if my arms were broken.
So, what does Madonna have to do with this?
When I find myself in times of trouble, Madonna comes to me - speaking words of wisdom:
“Pain’s a warning that something’s wrong.”
That simple line from The Power of Goodbye kept echoing in my head.
Something was wrong and I needed to get it fixed, not just for me, but for you.
I played through the pain because I had to but Will - there is no honor or nobility in suffering unnecessarily. It doesn’t make you a better athlete, artist or person. It just makes you the guy in pain.
Playing through the pain didn’t make me a good mom.
If anything, it drew me away from my responsibilities as a good mom. I couldn’t stroke your hair while you were feeding because I couldn’t bend my wrist. I couldn’t play “Spot Nick Fury” when we read Spiderman in Europe because my fingers didn’t have that kind of dexterity and I couldn’t bounce you up and down and up and down as you love to do because it felt like Bam Bam Bigelow was squeezing the shit out of my shoulders.
And for that, little one, I’m sorry.
As your mom, one of the most important responsibilities I have is to encourage you to learn as much as you can and impart as much wisdom to you as possible.
We covered a lot of the basics when you were 22 weeks in utero - learn how to cook, get a library card, adopt don’t shop, wear sunscreen, it’s morally just to punch white supremacists in the fucking face, don’t drink cheap gin, keep your passport up to date… - but here’s a little more for you.
You are the most important person in my world and I will do everything I can to shield you from pain. However, you are not the most important person in the world and the world will do everything it can to cleats-up tackle you every now and then.
It’s gonna happen and it’s gonna suck.
BUT - here’s the thing.
I will always be here for you. I might not be able to take the pain away completely but I promise I will make it suck less.
You do not have to remain mired in pain. We are better when we aren’t held hostage by our anguish - be it physical or emotional.
Look, there’s always gonna be some asshole trying to convince you that life is pain. And you know what? He’s partly right - life is pain.
But it is also hope, excitement, creativity, passion, determination and contentment.
And I promise you that your life will be all of these things and a wild, unfettered joy that sounds like a Clarence Clemons sax solo.
I love you, little one.
Mommy xx
