Today is his birthday.

One whole year has passed, and I’m still drunk with love every time I look at him, smell him, touch him, drink him up. He’s all eyelashes and fuzzy butter-soft skin, contented smiles and feet and hands on my breast when he feeds. I can’t remember how I breathed before him.

I wish I had documented it better, every day of our lives together, because it’s so hard for me to believe that it really happened. Smiles and teeth and claps and baby steps and first words and holy hell, where does the time go?

I’m not the same person I was a year ago. Everything is different, easier and harder. Fifty pounds smaller on the outside, and fifty pounds heavier on the inside, right up top under my ribcage. I’m happier and and richer and poorer and so much more exhausted. I have a child and I feel like a child, I’m all grown up and responsible and clueless. I have a purpose and a reason, but less direction. I’m thirsty and I’m full. Everything is different and I don’t know where it’s going or where I’m going, but I know that it’s all for him, for our family. I’ll figure it out, I’m figuring it out as I go one step at a time.  I’m not the same person I was a year ago.

I’m his mama.

I remember every time he wakes up from a deep sleep and cries out for me, for comfort and a snuggle. I remember every time he turns around and stops what he’s doing to smile at me, just to make sure I’m still here. He makes me sing and he makes me dance and he throws his head back when I dip him. He’s my baby, my big boy, my handsome lovie.

Josh is the smartest person I know. He started building computers in the 80s, when he was in elementary school. For fun. When he was at school, he was a hot commodity. My mom would show up in the office to pick him up for appointments and what not, and nobody would know where he was. He would be all over the building fixing the teachers’ computers. This was before school systems had tech people; they used to come get him out of class to help them.

He knows everything there is to know about hardware, software and networking. He’s completely self-taught; I used to get so frustrated, because the material that I was trying so hard to learn in college just came naturally to him. I don’t think anything has ever come to me that easily.

From the time he was little, he’d been building and wiring things. Legos and Construx were his best friends. When he was about 10, a trip to the county fair changed his life. He was stuck on top of the Double Ferris Wheel for almost two hours, I think. Our folks were freaked out, but Josh was in heaven. Those two hours changed his life. From that point on, it was all about carnival rides for him. He would spend hours, days, building these rides out of Construx. Then, he would wire them to a transformer and add lights and movement through the joints of the toys. It was amazing. He had created miniature replicas, sometimes 4 feet tall.

Life wasn’t ever easy for him. He was bored in school, so they tried their hardest to label him with a learning disability. They said he needed counseling. Really, he was smarter than all of them, and they didn’t know what to do with him. He powered through that with support from our parents, but it didn’t get easier. He was different. Kids used to make fun of him, because they didn’t understand him either. There were a few times in our life where I was the one defending my big brother. (I once backhanded a neighbor kid across the face; his dad pulled him to our doorstep in a Radio Flyer so that my mom could see the hand print I had left on his face. He deserved it.)

He got through junior high with a struggle, and then came high school. And freedom. And a car. He met some true friends who loved him for who he was, and I think that’s how he got through high school. His summers, of course, were spent at the county fair. For the first three weeks in August, we didn’t see him unless we went looking for him.

He had no plans to go to college after graduation; it just didn’t interest him. After 12 years of being bored, being misunderstood, being forced to learn things that he already knew or wasn’t interested in, why volunteer for four more years? I can understand his logic, and his decision. So that summer after graduation in 1995, he left with the fair and the carnival rides. Nothing else has ever made him that happy.

I think what he loved about the fair and the carnival rides was the fact that he could do something that he truly loved to do, that made other people happy. People were waiting in line for him to show them a good time. And it was satisfying to him.

He’s never been concerned with material things, ever. A paycheck doesn’t mean anything if he’s not happy earning it. And if he’s doing something he loves, he’ll do it for free, or for a trailer to live in or a car to sleep in. Sometimes he would come home at the end of the season without any clothes but the ones on his back, and his shoes would have holes in the bottoms of them. But he was happy. I’ve always accepted this with love and amazement; how can you not be proud of someone who only wants to be happy, and make other people happy?

I don’t ever talk about my brother, because I’m too afraid of what other people think. There’s so much judgment, and too many stereotypes, and I don’t think I can handle what people will say. The truth is that he’s a carny, but that’s just a word. He knows everything about everything. He has a huge heart, and a great sense of humor. He loves music and animals. He makes the best homemade spaghetti sauce in the world. I’m lucky if I see him once a year. And I’m lucky he’s my big brother.

Originally published on November 26, 2007

It was kind of like this.

S: Hey Ben, it’s so exciting that you’re going to be a big brother, don’t you think?

B: Yeah. I guess.

S: You’re going to have this little baby sister, and she’s going to be like a princess that you’ll always be able to protect, like you’re her knight.

B: …

S: Well, I was a little girl with a big brother, and I can tell you that’s it’s pretty cool.

B: You have a big brother?

S: Mmm hmm!

B: Wait, I know who it is! It’s Uncle Mark! You guys are ALWAYS together!

S: …

Sarah: 0, Ben: 1

.:.:.:.:.:.

I love that kid, he has such a pure heart. When Asher was tiny, Ben would sing to him whenever he cried. And that vocabulary… He’s the only child I have ever seen speak French before his second birthday.

I think he likes me pretty well, too. Although it wasn’t always mutual. He loves his Uncle Mark, to whom I was clearly a distraction. Once when I came to visit, Ben said, “Uncle Mark, your FRIEND SARAH is here.” When Mark and I got engaged, Ben’s mom said to him, “Ben, when Uncle Mark and Sarah get married, do you know what we’ll call Sarah then? She’ll become Aunt Sarah.” And Ben said with disgust, “GROSS. I don’t even LIKE ants.”

.:.:.:.:.:.

Mark and I were married three years ago today. It’s been almost perfect, always worth it. We’re living and learning together, adulthood and parenthood, figuring it out as we go. I wouldn’t trade a second of it.

He is all my reasons.

Yes, I realize I just posted this picture a couple weeks ago. Shut up. Also, check out that viking beard. RRROW.

If I could open my arms
And span the length of the isle of Manhattan,
I’d bring it to where you are
Making a lake of the East River and Hudson
If I could open my mouth
Wide enough for a marching band to march out
They would make your name sing
And bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings.

.: Death Cab for Cutie: Marching Bands of Manhattan

He has so much personality, such long eyelashes. He’s standing up now, and taking wobbly steps with his push-toy thingy. He laughs uncontrollably when I wear sunglasses, or talk on the phone. He weighs 20 pounds. I miss him when he sleeps at night.

He’s a champion sleeper. At least thirteen hours every night and three good naps every day, this boy loves catch some ZZZs. Of course, he still wakes up to nurse every four or so hours at night, but that’s perfectly fine with me. Because I miss him when he sleeps at night.

He’s such a lover, easy with the smiles. Everyone always asks, “Is he always this happy?” ‘They’ say that the nine-month mark is when stranger anxiety usually sets in. I hope ‘they’ are wrong.

He loves everyone, but he has a special bond with his Aunt Ba. He’s a different baby when he’s with her, more comfortable than with anyone else besides his mama and daddy. It’s because he knew James and Jake when they were in theire mom’s belly and he was in his, and they asked him to take care of her for them. He does.

He appreciates good shoes, like his mama. He loves to dance and sing, bouncing when the music’s playing and LaLaLa-ing when I’m belting it out in the car or in the kitchen or in his face.

His face lights up when Mark walks in the door every night. He can pull himself off of the floor by digging his fingers into his daddy’s beard. He loves books and food and kissing on the mouth and making raspberries. He’s happy, and usually patient. He is his father’s son.

He loves to be worn, and held close. He tucks his hand into my shirt when he cuddles, and wraps his fingers through my curls when he nurses. He giggles til he hiccups when I nibble on his feet.

I can’t believe how much I love him, how much I need him.

How much he loves Sesame Street.

Guess who was named tiny*prints Adorable Baby of the Week? Check him out, yo.

.:.:.:.

And isn’t this the most darling thing you’ve ever seen?

.:.:.:.

Late to the game as always, I just signed up for the March of Dimes March for Babies. I walked last year with Team James & Jake, and on Sunday I’m proud to be doing it again. I’d like to say that I’m prepared this year, but no. I didn’t train at all to walk six miles. Everything worth doing is worth suffering for, right? That said, I would be so grateful if you would donate to our team. You can just click right over there on the big purple widget and git ‘er done.

Our lovely team leader Beth is an amazing photographer, and she just opened an Etsy shop showcasing some of her best work. This is good for you, because duh: beautiful prints, and good for us because all proceeds from every sale made by April 30th will be donated to the March of Dimes. Everybody wins!

Still, it wasn’t immediate; we weren’t sure who he was until the day after he was born, when my husband looked at him, cradled in his lap the way my husband holds all small babies, and said, “He’s Asher William.” It was, like him,  perfect.

Asher comes from the Hebrew word osher, meaning Happy. He is the happiest boy you’ll meet. So many times I’ve heard, “Is he always this happy?” or, “What a beautiful smile!” It’s infectious and contagious.

He’s my joy bringer, my little bundle of pure honey.

.:.:.:.:.:.

My gram died today.

Five days ago she was admitted to the hospital, three days ago we learned how sick she really was. Tomorrow she was going to be transferred to hospice.

We’ve been at the hospital every day, even though there wasn’t much we could do except be there. I wasn’t sure if it was ok to take Asher with me, but it was the only way,  and I needed to be with my gram and my family.

I’m so glad we were there, because my perfect boy, my joy bringer, affected everyone whose eyes he looked into. Even strangers in the ICU waiting room, families so visibly distraught, looked away from him with softer faces and relaxed shoulders. I heard a woman say, “I can’t help but smile back at him.” It’s his gift.

I think that’s why we were there, to be the break from grief that everyone needed.

He emanates love and happiness, and glows with joy. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have this boy in my life.

But we all need him now, so much.

It’s getting easier. I’ll get there, and I will be so full of joy and gratitude when I do, for being able to have this life and this time and all of these moments with my boy.

Last Tuesday I quit my job. I don’t know what to say about that. It’s been a long time coming, I guess. I had been with the company for almost eight years. Eight years of terrifying lows, dizzying highs, and creamy middles. This break-up feels something like a divorce, punctuated with the hurried cleaning off of a desk and filling of a box. I hate, hate the way it ended, but a good part of me feels like this is the beginning of the rest of my life. It stings now, and feels terribly irresponsible, but I know that this will be a good thing. The right decision. Maybe because, for now at least,  I’m home with my sweet baby?

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll have to do something.  Freelance, contract, full-time, oh my. I am loving working with my ladies at ruby & roja design and One2One Network, and I’m excited about the potential of those opportunities. For now, I’m just going to hold Asher tight and sniff his head every couple minutes.

Thursday I left on a jet plane for Nashville, to join my wimmins at BlissDom for a long weekend of blogging, bonding and blisstinis.

Friday night I was sitting in The Pink Slip lounge when I looked down to see that I had missed a call from my dad. He knew where I was and what I was doing, so I excused myself to call him back. He was calling with bad news, news that could have waited until I returned home on Sunday if my family wasn’t so damn wired. There was a death, a sad, unexpected tragedy that he was afraid I’d learn about online if he wasn’t able to tell me first. Mike, thirty three year old Mike, husband to my cousin Kendra and father to amazing seven year old Hannah, died from complications of a back surgery. I don’t even have the right words to express how heartbreaking this loss is. Mike was an amazing father, giant like a teddy bear, quiet and strong, deliberate with his words with a gentle, easy sense of humor. Almost four years ago we were vacationing in Florida together, lounging in the pool, when Kendra, in Mike’s lap, said, “Hey Sarah! Look at Mike! It looks like he’s wearing a sweater!” He just smiled that big silent smile, shrugged and rolled his eyes, never relaxing his arms around her.

The funeral was Wednesday. After a weekend of unnaturally warm Chicago sunshine in February, the sky opened up today and it poured for hours. Like Toni said, “even the sky was crying.” I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that he’s gone.

Blissdom was fantastic. I wish I could have enjoyed it more, but with my mind in another place and Asher’s onset of the BlissFlu, it was just a struggle. I missed most of the sessions, hanging out in our room with an unhappy baby, and I can’t deny that it was hard to put on a smile and network. So if we met and I was a flake, this is probably why. Let’s do it again in July at BlogHer, hm? It’ll be better, and I’ll be cooler, I promise.

It starts the night before the race at smaller track outside of Indianapolis where they hold a series of races called The Night Before the 500. Original, no?

Those blurs are called midgets. Tiny roller-skate-looking cars.

That hand stamp says NHRA, ya’ll. We’re not in Kansas anymore. (Actually, we might as well be in Kansas. Ha!)

These high school kids were selling raffle tickets. Their shirts say “We do it in the community.” Geh heh.

Mmmm Bop.

Sunday morning started out rainy and sucky. It cleared up early, pretty much by the time we all got to the track. My dad has great tickets and gets us into pit lane and the garages, where I got to see Dario Franchitti.

Oh, Dario. Why must you be so Scottish?

Then we watched to Parade of Stars. There’s the wee one from Hall and Oates.

Not him, the other one. (p.s. I was named after a H&O jam)

And Ray Liotta. This one’s for you, mom.

And Rupert from Survivor. Signing some girl’s hump.

And this guy. We still don’t know who he is, but everyone else seemed to.

And Peyton Manning. He’s surprisingly fast. And also, I think that’s Moses right there in the mid-ground.

McDempsy on the Jumbo-tron. He’s an elusive one, Patrick Dreamy is.

<warning: tearjerker> As a Memorial Day service before the race began, members of the US Army walked the track from the Pagoda to Gasoline Alley as a serviceman played ‘Taps’. The crowd was dead quiet, all standing, and as the trumpet got quiet at the end, someone up in the stands shouted “Bring our troops home!” Men cried and hugged in the stands. Whoa. <end: tearjerker>

You wish you had our awesome seats. Pagoda and balloon release, people.

This guy, explaining the finer points of Indy Car racing to his son, was kicking it in Sponge Bob boxer shorts.

Dario’s wife, Ashley Judd. Whatever. She can have him.

Although it was sunny in the beginning…

It was pouring by lap 113. Good thing we had ponchos.

All this kid had was a Nordstrom bag.

We took off at that point, power walking 2 miles in the rain. (Good Training.) Two hours later they dried the track and ran 40 more laps. Dario won. Did I mention he’s my favorite?

This morning, as I was trying to get out the door, just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.

I bribed my department into starting an hour early by promising them McD’s breakfast this morning . We were all going to come in at 8, eat, and hit it. I was ready to walk out the door on time at 7:30, but couldn’t find my belt. Because I didn’t want to fight the plumber-look all day and I only have one belt, I had to tear shit up looking for it. (Found it.) Then the cat yakked on the carpet, and I had the privilege of cleaning that up. Then when I did get out the door, I realized I didn’t have any cash and would have to stop for that too. Except… (wait for it) …I left my debit card on the coffee table. Then I had to grab stuff for our lunches (which ended up being Hot Pockets, jello, pistachios, applesauce, dried fruit and a turkey-and-stuffing-freezer-dinner) before running out the door a third time. I was 30 minutes late. I hate being late.

I knew that it couldn’t possibly get any worse, so I was going to have a great day. Right? How could it get any worse?

Then, my BFF called to tell me that her gramps, just diagnosed with lung cancer this week, had a seizure and ‘coded’ earlier in the morning. Wow. So, I’m an asshole. He’s stable now, thank God.

My husband’s response to my email, wherein I declare myself a horrible person for saying the day couldn’t get any worse:

When you said that the day couldn’t get any worse, you were referring only to the specific context of being unprepared to meet the day in the way that you would have liked.

In the existential sense, it can always be worse. That goes without saying and is generally omitted when we refer colloquially to the course of our lives.

So, you’re off the hook, basically.

This is only one of the reasons why my husband is perfect. Tonight when I got home (at the end of a day that got increasingly worse), he hugged me, parked me in front of my computer, put a popsicle in my hand, and hooked my iPod into the Bose stereo where now I’m listening to Jose Gonzales. I’m so lucky.

And, tomorrow will be better.