Biracial

Dear Timothy,

If we were to look at the cells in your body, we would see that you are half your Mama and half your Papa. And in that way, you are just like every other child that was ever born in this world. Although you may look more like your Papa or like me (it's a little unclear at this point), in the end you are a perfect and equal mixture of the two of us. 

But there's something unique about you, something that, although it happens more and more often these days, seems ... different to some people.

You see, Papa and I are not of the same race. This means a few different things, but the bottom line is we don't look "the same."

We both have two arms, two legs, two eyes, a nose and a mouth. We have hair on our heads, hearts in our chest, and everything else that a human being has. So we both look human, and we both are human. 

But we don't look "the same". Our skin isn't the same colour, although it's pretty close. Neither is our hair colour. And certain parts of our bodies are shaped differently. 

I know, I know. Everyone looks different. Two people with the same skin colour can have different sized noses, and different hair colours. But there are certain body part shapes and hair colours and textures - called traits - that, when combined with a certain skin colour, usually mean you are part of a specific race. And for many, the idea of race is a big deal, which it is, because with race often comes language, culture, and traditions, which make up a really rich heritage and form a part of who we are. But some have made an even bigger deal out of race. Such a big deal, in fact, that some races have thought - and still think - of themselves and others like them as much more important than others who are different, and treat those "inferior races" accordingly. 

That's putting it lightly, yes. Many, many horrible things have happened - and continue to happen - as a result of this way of thinking. Broadly speaking, this is called racism. In due time, we'll talk more about racism and its results, you and I, when the time is right.

But back to your Papa and I being of different races. This means something special for you. You, my love, are biracial.

"Bi" means "two" and "racial" obviously refers to race. You are a person of two races. It's what happens when two people of two different races - like your Papa and I - have a child together. 

As a result, you fit into two different race categories, but you don't look fully like one or the other. Think of it like mixing paint: if you mix blue and yellow, you get green; red and blue, you get purple; yellow and red, you get orange.

We believe you are the cutest baby we have ever seen. And plenty of people agree with us, so it isn't just our bias.  But unfortunately the world likes to put people in boxes, and at first glance it isn't quite clear which box you fit into. I imagine that you will often be asked, "What are you?" as you grow up.

I'll tell you right now: you are Timothy. You are my son. You are my race, and you are your father's race. It isn't one or the other, as far as we're concerned. What you choose to accept from either of us, from either of our cultures, is completely up to you.

I've had some wonderful reactions to you, people who have been overjoyed to find out you are biracial. Your grandmother loves to say that her grandchildren are the United Nations. It's all beautiful to see and hear, because it tells us that there is an acceptance and an appreciation of the mixing of races.

Unfortunately, even though we live in a pretty accepting country, there may also be some people who won't react well to you, simply because of the way you look. There may also be some people who will have racist ideas or make assumptions about us as a family, and/or specifically about you. They may assume you are good at something when you aren't, or that you are not good at something when you are, simply because of one of your racial identities. As a result, you may not get the help you want/need because someone makes an assumption about your abilities; "All [members of a certain race] are good at [subject/sport/activity]. He's fine!". And these same people may view you as something ugly or wrong, simply because you are the child of a mixed race couple.

And they will always be wrong.

You know who else was biracial? Your namesake. Yes, that's right; Timothy in the Bible had a Greek father and a Jewish mother. Check out Acts 16:1 if you don't believe me. 

I have absolutely no idea if you could tell he was biracial just by looking at him, or if he faced discrimination or hardship because of it. But what I do know is that someone (The Apostle Paul) saw something other than Timothy's racial identity: his sincere faith (2 Timothy 1:5). Paul took Timothy under his wing, and Timothy became an important leader in the early church as a result.

My son, your racial identity is important and says something of who you are, and I do want to celebrate that with you. But remember: it's not ALL of who you are. Don't let what others think or say about you define who you are or what you accomplish.

Love,

Mama

Time flies

Dear Timothy,

How is even possible that a year has already passed since you were born? Some of the memories of the night of your birth are still so vivid ...

I remember the moment I first laid eyes on you. Honestly, one of my first thoughts was that you looked so dazed - with good reason; your entry into the world wasn't an easy one. And while I'm being honest, I should probably tell you that I was pretty dazed, too, also with good reason.

Still, we all (Papa, you and I) made it through. And then some.

We made it through the NICU stay. Through the feeding challenges. Through all the health scares. Through the sleepless nights, full diapers, poopaloozas, bumps and bruises ...

And the child who has emerged is attentive, inquisitive, smiley, talkative, and oh so chill.

I wish I had a photographic memory so that I can always remember how, for the first couple months, your hair would stick up all over the place after a bath. Or how you pump your legs when you're excited. I want to remember what you looked like when you gave me your first gummy, dimply smile. I want to remember how determined you were to stand up in your crib that first time. And how you somehow always managed to get your little arm out of your swaddle and would wave it around while crying for food.

I don't want to forget how you are so excited to see me when I come get you after a nap.

Life is made up of moments. And I want to remember them all because those moments are fleeting.

Life as I knew it has changed forever since you came into our lives. We - your Papa and I - have been changed ... for good. And we are so glad you are here.

Happy Birthday, Little One. It's time to celebrate YOU! And in a small part us, because we kept you alive. That deserves some serious celebrating, too!

Love always,

Mama.

I'm learning, too...

Dear Timothy,

You are amazing. Full stop. You figured out early enough how to hold your own bottle. You crawl everywhere and get into some pretty tight spaces. You can pull yourself up. You know how to chew food - even with so few teeth. You smile and laugh like crazy, and you're a cute little mimic when you want to be. And you make some really fun sounds.

But there's one thing you haven't learned yet: to wait patiently for your food. The whole eating thing is something that we do at least 3 times a day, if not more. It's always the same routine: I pop you in your high chair, tie a bib around your neck and give you some puffs to chew on while I prep the rest of your food. You know this; you've done this so many times. But you get so anxious to eat that you start making noise. Sometimes you scream, and other times you cry. And once I start feeding you, it's like the food can't come fast enough, so you start screaming/crying between bites. It's like I'm starving you or you've never eaten before in the almost full year since you were born.

Impatient much? The food is coming; it has always come. And it will continue to come whenever I put you in your high chair.

One day recently, I asked myself how a child as smart as you could so easily forget that the food will always come. After all, you can recall how to make noise with the door stopper, you can put food in your own mouth with about 85% accuracy, and you know that your reflection is your reflection and not another baby. So what's so different when it comes to food?

That's when I heard it: "You do the exact same thing."

I knew exactly whose Voice that was, and I knew exactly what He meant.

Timothy, your Papa and I are finding ourselves in a place of unknowns right now. Decisions will need to be made at some point, but other pieces need to fall into place first, and we need more information.

So we wait.

We've both been here before, Papa and I. And every single time, things have worked out so much better than we could have imagined, because we believe in a God who looks out for us and helps us. And yet, every single time I even remotely sense there's an unknown on the horizon, my go-to is to worry, as if God has never come through for us before.

Whether we like it or not, we are human. And forgetful. But the neat thing is that God is patient. He will continue to work things out for our good (Romans 8:28), whether or not we believe it.

And yes, I will continue to feed you. Well, until you figure out how to feed yourself; then you're on your own.

Love always,

Mama.

New Baby, Sad Mommy

Dear Timothy,

The other day, I came across a series of books, one of which was called New Baby, Sad Mommy. It talked about what moms go through when they have a baby in kid-friendly language, and it got me thinking again about all that I've been though in the past 10 or so months since you arrived.

You know, I am so thankful that you are such an easy-going, chill child. I'm also thankful that you probably won't remember the first few months of your life, with the exception of who your mama and papa are.

Your arrival was highly anticipated and a joyful event. Translation: you were wanted before you were born, and your birth made many people very happy...

Many people, that is, except me.

It's not that I didn't want you; I did. Both your father and I wanted you, and we worked hard to get you here (that's a story for when you are much, much older). And it's not that I didn't want to be happy; I did want to be happy. But my body and my mind went through so many changes while you were growing inside of me and during your birth that my body needed some time to heal and recover. So being happy while I was healing was really hard.

One thing I want to make clear is that it wasn't your fault. I don't blame you in the slightest for what I went through. My body just didn't handle the pregnancy or the delivery super well, and so I struggled for a while. But I did my best to feed you when you were hungry, keep you warm when you were cold and comfort you when you were upset. I did the best I could in those first few months, but it wasn't easy.

You may be little, but you already know what it's like to not have something feel quite right. Sometimes it's a fever as your body fights off a virus or reacts to a needle. Other times, a tooth is coming in and causes you pain. Or maybe you're too warm or too tired, or else your stomach needs to be filled. You might not know or understand what's going on, but you know something's off and you're uncomfortable.

You might think I can do anything and that I know everything, but you'll soon discover that I can't and I don't. And I certainly didn't fully know what was going on inside of me after you were born. Like you, I just knew something wasn't right.

But unlike you, I needed a long time to figure things out and to feel better again. There was no adult version of cuddles, Motrin and food to quickly soothe me. I talked with a lot of different people, I took some meds, I prayed when I could, and I slept. I slept a lot. You and I used to nap together until one of us started kicking instead of sleeping.

As it turns out, time was one of the biggest healers for me. I think it was sometime a few weeks ago where I was able to identify that I had had a few good days in a row, and that something was different. I was more ... me.

And that meant I could enjoy you more and more, and become a better mama to you.

And that's what I'm trying to do now.

We'll keep on figuring out this mama-son thing, you and I, together.

Love always,

Mama