Being Fionn's Mommy

Today it hit me like a ton of bricks. I'm a real honest-to-goodness Mommy. Or a "Mama" as my Fionny calls me.

Now you might be saying to yourself, "Geez, Casey, you've had just a little bit of time to think about this. After all, the kid is about to turn one year old in just a handful of weeks."

Yeah, yeah, I know. I mean, obviously I am aware of my status as a mother on a day-to-day basis. The novelty and shock of it all kind of wore off around 280 diaper changes ago, if you want to know the truth.

No, what I'm talking about is that feeling of deep connection that comes from loving a child and knowing -- just feeling it from within the innermost crevices of your heart -- that he loves you too.

The first part of that last statement is not new information to me. I have obviously loved Fionn from the moment I first held him and have felt this love grow stronger and stronger every month as he thrives and changes before my eyes.

But the second part...the him loving me part. Well, I have to admit that I have struggled sometimes with this concept. I mean, I know Fionn loves that I give him food. In fact, I jokingly refer to myself as The Lunch Lady sometimes in our house because there are moments I feel like that is who I am to Fionn -- the provider of his milk and even his solid food, for the most part.

But love that is separate from our nursing relationship? Separate from the fact that I tear his bread into teeny tiny little pieces for him?

I don't know. I just wasn't convinced of it.

And then Mother's Day arrived. And I just...I felt it. I guess I allowed myself to feel it. He loves me. My kid loves me.

Okay, this is where I should post some amazing picture of the two of us from today. A picture that demonstrates the reciprocity of our love for each other and the deep bond that has formed between Mother and Child.

Yeah, I got jack. All I got is this picture of my son yawning as I attempt to read a book to him at the wedding ceremony of our dear friends, Nate and Maya, this past weekend in New York City.


But you know what? That's just fine. Because I just know that he loves me. Picture or no picture.

Today wasn't even that special. I mean, not in a Mother's Day sort of way, that is. In fact, it kind of sucked if you look at the logistics. I was woken up at 5 am by my son who wanted to nurse. I didn't sleep great the night before, so I felt anything but refreshed and ready for the day. Oh, and Fionn had a surprise (of the #2 variety) for me in his diaper. Awesome.

Did I mention that I was trapped in a tiny hotel room in New York City, and my wonderful husband (who, I must say, bestowed upon me a wonderful hot stone massage the previous day -- thank you, Conor) was not exactly spry nor even seemingly conscious until 10 am due to the festivities of the night before?

So, by all accounts, I was flying solo.

It should have really sucked, right? I should have been miserable. But somehow...I wasn't. I was with Fionn. He was with me. We had breakfast together in the hotel lounge, and he tried his first bagel. In fact, to paint an accurate picture, my Fionny tromped around the dining room with his first-ever bagel clutched tightly in his little hand, smiling his infectious grin at all the other hotel guests who had the misfortune of being up at the crack of dawn like ourselves. He was like a one man parade, my Fionny. Just basking in all the attention...and carbohydrate goodness.

But there was a moment when he turned back to look at me, to make sure that I was still there, and...I could just feel it. He feels secure, my boy. He feels loved. He is attached to me. And it is good.

Yep, that tender moment lasted for all of 2 seconds. Then my Fionny made an illegal u-turn right into the hotel kitchen, and I was off to the races with my rascally boy once again. Cue my withering-yet-bemused sigh.

So, you ask, besides chasing down a loose cannon...what does it really mean to be Fionny's Mommy? Well, this past weekend it meant the following:

Apparently, as Fionn's mom, I get first dibs on the leftover crust of his pizza. And not just any pizza, folks. Yes, that's right. It was Fionn's VERY FIRST PIZZA EVER! Here's a pic of Fionn shoving his crust in my mouth. Oh, how he loved his mozzarella and mushroom pizza. Loved it. Yet still...he delighted in sharing it with me. Aw....my little sweetie.


Of course, he made sure that he took care of Numero Uno first. Don't get me wrong.


Being Fionn's Mommy also means that I get to dress him up in adorable outfits to attend weddings. Exhibit A: Plaid jacket and boat shoes. How do you like me now?


Ah, so fun. And finally...being Fionn's Mommy means that I get to hold him close and know that he is my little boy. I get to take in his twinkling eyes and dimples and feel a warm surge of pride to see that he is happy and healthy. And maybe, just maybe, I have a little something to do with that.

Well, me...and this handsome devil too.


I will try to write another post later this week to recount more stories from our fabulous weekend in Brooklyn with Nate, Maya, and so many other dear friends.

In the meantime though...Happy Mother's Day to all mothers out there. I would like to give a particularly heartfelt shout-out to my fabulous, fun, charming, beautiful mother who is a constant source of inspiration and support for me. I love you, Mom!!