Friday night was Tu B'shevat

the Jewish New Year of the Trees, of the Trees' Birthday as we sometimes teach children and it is George's birthday, too; he was born on Tu B'Shevat (the 15th day of the month of Shevat) in the Hebrew calendar. I've written an essay and maybe I'll post it separately about his complicated birth and my feelings about it and how sacred it felt to have my baby come into the world on a day celebrating trees, nature, life; he was a baby who barely made it into this world.

But now he is 7! And Saturday night I had two hours alone with George when Fred took Junie to a pajama party at her preschool and it was cold out and had started to snow and first George and I put on our winter coats, hats & mittens and took a really fast walk around our block, letting the snow fall on our cheeks. Then we came back into the house and I thought I would read him some books (I'm trying to read him at least 3-4/day to help with his auditory processing difficulties and attention) but George just wanted to snuggle on, to put his cheeks right up against mine and then to burrow his head against my chest. It was so snuggly,

just the two of us at home, no June, no Fred, no music, no TN, no phone ringing, just us, Mommy & George huddled inside and the snow falling out our wondow onto our little front lawn, onto Union Avenue. And as I held him

I imagined him, my baby, in the incubator, me outside, looking in, wanting to rip through the tubes that helped him to eat and breath so just so I could hold him that way, him againist my chest and then I thought

this is enough Georgie, for 7 years I have carried this weight, I have carried this feeling of separation, that you are there and I am here and I can't get to you, I can't hold you close enough

I want to let it go, go. And there in the quiet, with you against my chest still, I cried for a while and you looked at me and I imagined that plastic wall of the incubator dissolving

there I said it, that there's a piece of me that had never gotten through that pain. I've said it

and maybe if there weren't other obstacles in your development, maybe I would have forgotten that feeling of separation years ago, but as it is, when we struggle to communicate, that helpless feeling of you being so close to me and so far away from me simultaneously is still there.

I held you and it was silent in the house except for my tears releasing and falling into your hair and your breath, the sound of it warm, against my cheek

I said, this is the beginning, George, this is our new cycle of 7 years, everything is possible, honey. Everything is possible.

The Jeep pulled up. Fred and Junie clammered up the steps and Junie entered the house regaling us with tales of the Hat Man who put on a show for the children and of the children she played with and the cereal she ate for dinner at the pajama party.

And Fred took George up to bed while June put her sweaty arms around me and took her turn for cuddle time.

And then the next day, Sunday, George was playing around with his finger in his mouth and I peeked in and saw what was bothering him: a new tooth! His first grown-up tooth, how do you like that, right after Tu B'shevat, the holiday of trees, nature and growth, a tooth grew right there in Georgie's mouth as if to say

yes, mom, I'm not a baby anymore. We're done with that. I am a 7-year-old, Mom--
a 7-year-old.
****
and today I went to Fox Chase for my 1 year mammogram, my first since treatment ended (did I mention I drank a big snifter of Maker's Mark last night?) and guess what, everything looks fine normal.

Great news, wrote my Dad, after I emailed the family. Live long and Prosper.

(Thank you, Dad).