jennethink: THE KID TURNS EIGHT!

Happy Birthday Kiddo!

Today you are eight years old. EIGHT! I suspect every parent is somewhat shocked to realize how old their child is on their birthday. Doesn’t it go by in a blink? You are EIGHT! In some ways, it doesn't seem possible and in some I’m shocked I’m shocked. I’ve been pushing you towards eight for almost a whole year. I’m still waiting for you to glom onto the halfs and how important they are. Since March I’ve been announcing you are 7 … AND A HALF and you always correct me “I’m SEVEN, Jenne.” At Christmas I kept telling people you were “Almost eight!” and you would come back with “I’m SEVEN Jenne. SEVEN.” You even spelled it for me once, “S-E-V-E-N, Jenne.” “Thanks for spelling it. I wasn’t sure if that was the seven you were talking about.” “You betcha, Jenne!”

You are as impenetrable as that blasted hermetically sealed plastic packaging all your toys come in.

This has been quite a year for you. I’m amazed at how much you’ve changed and grown. I’m always so proud of you and your accomplishments and I just adore the woman you are becoming. You are so gracious and kind. You are so loving. I want to die when I see you run across the airport to embrace your Aunt Beek or Mommé. When we are on the phone and you ask about Sam and Julie and other friends of ours I just marvel. You are so compassionate and caring. At the same time, I laugh so hard when your other side comes through and you look at the dog and tell your daddy matter-of-factly, “Ginger is a nice dog. Too bad she’s gonna die soon.” Or when you remind us that “Poppy is getting old, you know, he’s gonna die.” How can you be so comfortable with the topic? I cringe when we turn on the animal planet channel and a gazelle is getting devoured by a lion. You don’t. “Does it bother you to watch this?” I ask. And you launch into an explanation of the circle of life that boggles my 37 (& a half) year old mind. But then again, you do that all the time. The other day while I was lying in bed recuperating from chemo I heard your father tell you it was the VERY LAST TREATMENT and I listened intently to hear your reaction. You didn’t let me down. “YAY!” you shouted, “Now Jenne’s hair will never fall out again! <pause> Unless she gets cancer again. She could you know, Daddy.”

Jeepers, Kid.
My little realist.

But you are right. I could. And in some ways, I wouldn’t fear it as much the second time because I know you will handle it. You knocked my socks off, Kid, with how well you dealt with this whole cancer business. And I know it wasn’t easy for you. I got a lot of attention (not to mention cards and presents) that is usually directed toward you. There were so many times I wanted to just make it all go away and so many times my heart just broke like when you would ask me, “Is tomorrow chemo?” and you would sound so defeated and sad because you knew the whole house was going to change. You knew we couldn’t have bacon for breakfast because the smell made me nauseous and we couldn’t watch tv because the noise bothered me and we couldn’t go out because I was sick. You were there through the tough stuff. Through the sickness and pain and hair loss. And when I got upset and cried, “How are we going to play Beauty Shop when my hair falls out?” you responded quickly with, “Well, we’re just going to have to play Rub Jenne’s Bald Head, I guess.” And we did. We played Rub Jenne’s Bald Head and we played Build Yourself Out of Legos and Make Over Magic and Scarf Tying Class and a hundred other games that can be played from a bed. You always make me smile, Snoopy. And your perspective is just what the doctor ordered.

When you came into my life four years ago, I read every article I could find about step-parents, step-children and bonding. The general consensus is it takes as many years to bond as how old the child is at the point at which the step-parent enters their lives. So if the child was 6, it will take until they are 12 to feel bonded. You were four. That means THIS IS THE YEAR WE BOND which seems so totally and utterly ridiculous as I feel like you grew out of my own skin and I would take a bullet for you and I have felt that way for – what seems to be – ever. Bonded? You couldn’t bond me tighter to you with superglue. But maybe, again, it isn’t about how quickly I bond to you, maybe it is about when you’ll feel bonded to me.

You can take your time, honey. I’m not going anywhere.