Sacrificing Friendship for a Newborn

My great friend and I had so many memories growing up together.  We shared so many experiences, events, and places that we were inseparable.  We stuck together like glue and I didn't want to go anywhere without him by my side; I was happy to have him in front and lead the way.  He was that kind of friend.

We met when I was a teenager during those awkward years called puberty and I haven't regretted being introduced in the 20 years since.  He has been a confidant who didn't question my choices, both good and bad, and didn't judge me with each of my life's turns.  He was that kind of friend.

During the cold winter months in the northeast he'd join me to throw snowballs, build snowmen, and swing our limbs to make angels on the ground.  In the summer he protected me from the sun, making sure I wasn't alone in wearing gallons of sunscreen just to play outside for 30 minutes.  He curled away from humidity, but put up with it to be in my company.  He was that kind of friend.

My friendship lasted many winters, springs, summers, and falls...

But 20 years of great friendship has a way of eroding when communication decreases, geography gets in the way, life events occur, and shared experiences don't come as easily.  My friend and I survived all of these except my most recent life event and the impetus for this blog.  He was that kind of friend.

My son is now one month old and doesn't know right from wrong, right from left, and write from well, anything in the world.  He curls his toes, wrinkles his forehead, and smiles without thinking.  He's surprised by sneezes, farts, burps, sneezes, and hiccups.  He also grabs without purpose; something my friend could not stand.  He was that kind of friend.

I paid the price whenever my son came in contact with my friend.  My son would grab, tug, and pull on him and it hurt me.  My son slobbered on him, spit up on him, and even peed on him.  My old friend deserved better.  Call it jealousy or what you want, but my son had no trouble making me pay the price for my 20-year friendship.  I had to decide between my son, my comfort, and a friendship's value.

I chose my son and my comfort and shaved my chest hair.

A Magic Trick That Works Without Explanation

My son is now three weeks old, doing well, and I have no clue why.

Oh, we're feeding him on demand, changing his diapers, giving him skin-to-skin contact, spending quality tummy time, holding him in our arms, singing and talking to him, watching him sleep during the day and night, and laughing with each sign he has his father's petulance for flatulence.  These are all things we should be doing as first-time, or anytime, parents.  I get that.

What I don't get is how he's a functioning newborn.  How all of his organs and body parts create and process his blood, urine, and stool.  How his lungs and heart pump blood and receive oxygen over and over and over again.  How his brain works to make him cry for food, a diaper change, or an extra blanket.  How he has tiny bones that allow him to curl his fingers and toes.

How his eyes focus on our faces or a picture on the wall to bring him relief.  How his fingers, arms, and legs move independently and randomly.  How other times his fingers, arms, and legs move in unison to grab my chest hair, support his leaning when being burped, and kickoff his blanket (he probably doesn't mean to do that last one).

How he turns his head to feed and snort like a warthog when he wants more.  How his mouth works with his throat to take food while breathing through his nose.  How he learns to hold his head up for a millisecond more each day, turning it side to side to either see his mom's smiling face or the window shades.  How he gets hiccups at least once a day and is not bothered.  How he can go from a crying baby shaking his lower jaw to one that's calm, sleeping in my arms, and even more precious than the day before.

I know he and these things can and will change, some good and some bad.  I'm just amazed that any of this happens at all.