Henry’s first birthday

Tiny hands reached up. One sturdy little leg bent at the knee as the other pushed him high enough to reach the next step of the flight of stairs to the upstairs bedrooms. Intent on conquering this mountain the one-year old ignored the adult following close behind him. He never wobbled or wavered in his ascent. Why should he? Others might celebrate his first birthday with cake and presents, he intended to mark it with a demonstration of his prowess.

And we let him. We followed him up the stairs and even tried to show him how to come down, but he mostly wanted to go up. Grandpa, Grandma, Dad and Mom tired of his climbing long before he did. His Daddy pulled a small trunk over to the foot of the stairs to block his way.

The little man ignored the trunk. He found an opening at the side just large enough for him to squeeze his way into the stairwell. His mommy scooped him up and put a second barrier across that opening.

Such a contrast from last year when this 17th grandchild arrived. We already had 16 grandchildren, but we still drove for hours just to be totally fascinated by a tiny person who randomly waved his hands and feet and tried to focus his eyes enough to study our faces.

Last year he collapsed readily into a cuddle. This year, he wanted down. This year he wanted a hand to grasp as he stepped confidently and happily back and forth across the room. He would practice all day long at walking if a big person would just hold his hands to keep him upright. Several times that day, I walked around and around the circle before I decided that was enough practice time for me – if not for him.

For his first birthday we arrived late in the night, long after his brother and sister went to bed. He was awake to greet us – from the safety of his daddy’s arms.

“I want him to get a good look at you tonight so that he will recognize you in the morning,” my son said. We chatted while the little laddie studied us from the safety of his father’s arms. For a couple seconds he started to lean toward me, changed his mind and snuggled against his daddy’s shoulder, looking up every so often to see if we had left yet.

The next morning, I walked into the kitchen where he sat in his high chair playing with an array of canning rings and jar tops. He looked up, grinned at me and waved a jar lid. A couple minutes later, he dropped the jar lid and reached his hands up high to say he wanted down. His mom unfastened his belt and plopped him down on the floor. Tucking a leg under him, he sort of sat and crawled quickly across the floor to check out the toys.

Last year, he came into the light of the world, looked around and decided to stay. While we waited for him to come home, I made meals and took his brother and sister to visit him at the maternity ward. He looked great, but the doctor sent him to a pediatric heart specialist. Something did not sound right.

We learned that eating is hard work for newborns. With a small heart defect, just nursing sapped his energy and worked against him gaining weight. In June, the doctor said he needed heart surgery. He just did not have the energy to eat and grow strong. We worried as we studied the three months-old’s a pale-face. He looked so small for such a big surgery.

He went to the hospital. His brother and sister came to Arkansas to visit family for nearly two weeks. After surgery, the Facebook picture of him with his glowing pink cheeks announced the operation’s success.

So yes, even though he is the third child, even though we have seen plenty of first birthday parties, we joined his family and toasted his first birthday.

Sitting in his high chair, he did not have a clue at all that had happened. He just wanted his mom to give him more food and hand it over to him right now.

He wondered what that flickering thing was on the top of a stick on his cake. As he reached an inquisitive finger to find out, I snapped a photo of him holding his right forefinger in a perfect “I’m one” announcement. His sister quickly blew out his candle.

That night with his birthday cupcake on his face and inside him, he dared to respond to coaxing and take his first independent steps. We smiled because he had done it. He smiled because everyone around him shouted for joy.

Last year he established his birthday. This year we celebrated that one little flickering candle that represented so much.

 

 

(Joan Hershberger is a staff writer at the News-Times and author of “Twenty Gallons of Milk.” Email her at jhershberger@eldoradonews.com)

 

 


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