In the early days, the pain was searing when other babies sailed through their milestones while we struggled just to keep Collin healthy and make it through the days. Over time and through healing, I've come to terms with the fact that, though Collin's firsts are not the same as other kids', they are no less exciting or beautiful.
We've had lots lately. First time mowing the lawn with Daddy. First marshmallow roast. First campout. And something about celebrating these surprisingly meaningful and joyous occasions all in a row made me remember what I think of as our first first.
Collin was not quite a year old. It was between two long hospital stays. We were still raw from the terror of Infantile Spasms and starting to accept that the new seizures were not going away. We hadn't seen a laugh yet and smiles were rare. Then it snowed. Collin had a beautiful snow suit that was buried with the other unused baby gear behind his medical supplies. I dug it out, zipped him up in it, took him down the front steps, and laid him right in the snow.
He wriggled. He flashed a couple of small grins. But what grabbed my attention was that he kept raising his eyebrows. Over and over. My scared mama heart kept analyzing it, trying to figure out if it was another new kind of seizure. But soon I realized that he was taking in this new experience. He was appraising the situation with what looked like mild amusement.
And that's when it hit me: my baby has a personality.
It sounds obvious, but it was a revelation to me. For almost a year, I hadn't been able to distinguish symptoms from side effects from "normal" behavior. I was fully focused on caring for Collin, but had not gotten to know him. And here he was. In spite of everything, here he was -- warm, alert, funny.
He still makes that face all of the time. On the lawn mower. At the campfire. In the tent. His eyebrows reach high and a gleam comes into his eye. I'm liking this, he says. I'm interested. I'm here.