First love

February is just around the corner, and if you ask your average American what that means, they'll most likely think of love, Valentines, red roses, and chocolates. Orthodox Jews do not celebrate St. Valentine's Day, not that we have anything against love, chocolates, or roses. We do have a problem with saints, though. In fact, in ancient times, Jews did have a holiday devoted to love and matchmaking. It occurred at a more reasonable time of the year, in the heart of the summer, called Tu B'Av, or the fifteenth day of the month of Av. How anyone's hearts can turn to thoughts of romance when the objects of one's desires are bundled up in sweaters, coats, hats, and scarves - hardly the attire to inspire the heart's fancy - is beyond me. But it happens.

Rather, I should say, it has happened.

Yesterday, my seven year old son came off the school bus with an enormous, toothless grin, and an unfamiliar twinkle in his eye.

How was your day? I asked, happy to see him so cheery.

"The best EVER! I'm in love with D--!" He blurted out, before he could catch himself.

Motherhood has many challenges. These days I'm mostly struggling with sleep deprivation and frustration. My sweet, angelic baby has turned into a mischievous, naughty, trouble-making imp. She tears through the house causing as much damage as she can. I have emerged from my room to find her sitting on top of my kitchen table trying to pry open a bag of cookies. Earlier this week I found her covered in something sticky and blue. The evidence of a half-eaten lollipop stick was still stuck to her little hands. Later that day I traced a trail of discarded chocolate bar wrappers to her room where she was holding the bar, half-eaten triumphantly in her fist.

We don't allow our children to eat lollipops until they're three or chocolate until they're two. What infant needs (or more importantly, can truly appreciate) sugary, chocolaty treats? I feed her plenty of fruits and applesauces and even the occasional non-chocolate cookie, but I've been saving chocolate for her second birthday, as a really special event to savor. I still remember my son's second birthday, and the expression on his face as his grandfather fed him his first taste of chocolate ice cream. He was beside himself with joy. My son was also pretty thrilled.

But my baby's a smart and stealthy little creature. She just pulled a kitchen stool up to the pantry, climbed up, and helped herself.

That's not even the worst of it! The sweet beasty has been playing havoc with our sleep cycles. She alternates sneaking out of bed for two hours after bedtime and running around like a crazed lunatic with waking up in the middle of the night, jabbing her sharp little fingernails into my mouth, and then running around like a crazed lunatic.

I have not been coping well with the sudden transformation of my sweet, gentle, lovable infant into the toddler of terror. But chasing after psychobaby all day is nothing compared with the shock of hearing your son declare his true love for the first time.

"Mom," he asked, his big green eyes open wide with sincere wonder. "Do you know what a crush is?"

Do you have a crush on D--? I asked, tentatively, fearfully.

"I'm going to marry her."

I looked at my moon-faced angel with the smattering of freckles over his nose and my heart did a glorious swan dive. Simultaneously I shared the joy of the first true love with the anguish of a potential of a broken heart. I both marvelled at his maturity and good taste - she's an adorable, pint-sized doll bursting with smarts, kindness, and personality - and I panicked with the fear of unrequited love. Gabriel Garcia Marquez's association with the scent of bitter almonds came to mind. I shuddered. He's a baby! I thought to myself. This can't be happening so soon, can it?

My husband took it like he takes everything, from dealing with his irrationally hysterical wife to receiving his first semester grades, in stride. "It will just fizzle out in time." He advised. Why, I wondered to myself, did he tell ME? I'm so ill-equipped to handle this! I would have loved to foist the responsibility of coping with the first pangs of pre-adolescent puppy-love onto my husband, but my son urged me not to say a word. This was our special moment. Thanks, I guess.

Motherhood is a double-edged sword. The trauma of feeling incompetent and wholly ill-prepared for the enormous responsibility of being THE mommy are often challenged by reality. When my baby is crying and looking for comfort, she comes to me. When my son seeks guidance and support, he comes to me. It doesn't matter that Daddy is more level-headed or logical, their emotional compasses point due Mom, so competent, prepared, and capable I have to be.

As they say in Israel, "ein breira", there's no choice. I just say as little as possible and consult with my husband afterward.

All of this is running through my head as I think about this past weekend. My husband's brother and his lovely, elegant wife came for a visit with their newborn baby girl. The kids were so excited to host their uncle and aunt, and especially their new little cousin. We also invited my husband's cousin along and she brought her thirteen month old daughter, too. My house was bursting with the happy squeals of cousins at play, and the cooing and bleating of the new, beautiful baby.

The cousins, both new and experienced parents, sat around the dinner table talking about sleep deprivation and parenthood. I moaned about how exhausting my children were even when they let us sleep. My husband's cousin glanced at her precious toddler and commented about how wonderful and joyous having a child was. Her comment took me back to when my son was a baby. I would always tell people that the biggest surprise of being a parent was how wonderful it actually was. When I was pregnant, or even cuddling my newborn to my chest, people would talk about how hard being a parent was. I heard about colic, sleep deprivation, temper tantrums, and even diaper rash.

Nobody ever bothered to tell you about the feeling of love so strong and so deep that your heart ached from it. Nobody told you that it was possible to sit and stare at this small, new life that you created deep in your body and brought into the world, and be overwhelmed by the miracle of its creation. Nobody thought to warn us that we could fall so hard for this tiny, magical creature that was so completely dependent upon us for its nurturing, care, and life. And when my second and third child were born, I was blown away that I was capable of feeling such an intense depth of feeling for more than one.

A wise person told me that when you have more than one child your love isn't divided, it's multiplied. It still rocks my world to have discovered this to be true.

But I had forgotten all of that when I blurted out my parenting trials and tribulations to the new mom and dad, who thankfully looked far calmer and wiser as new parents than I had with my first. I had turned into one of the complainers who had looked so tired and haggard to me when I was still glowing with the love of my newborn in my arms.

My feelings about my son's first crush are mixed, but I'm not going to let the complainer in me forget about the joy and wonder of my first love. My husband is right that it will simply fade away with time, but the memory of it will, hopefully, stay with my son forever.