And So It Begins….

And so it begins, for the third and final time.

Today was my youngest son’s first tutorial for his bar mitzvah. As I wait for him to finish his lesson, I ponder the ways in which it is all so different this third time around. When my oldest son began his bar mitzvah lessons we marked the date of his first lesson on a large paper calendar as if it was some sacrosanct event. In contrast, a half an hour ago my iPhone startled me a bit as an alarm went off reminding me that D had a bar mitzvah lesson. Without that reminder and a nudge from the child himself, this lesson might have been forgotten. And, isn’t that just the way it’s always gone for my sweet, delicious third son.

When I was pregnant with my second child I worried that I wouldn’t be able to love another child as intensely as I loved the first. It turned out that my worry was unwarranted. Each son, in his turn, captured my heart fully and completely. I love each of them with the kind of love that would gladly coopt their pain as my own, and although the depth of my love is no different, I am a different parent to my third child than I was to my first.

The oldest son, of course, got all of the firsts, which has been both his blessing and his burden. I can sense that burden in the seriousness of his character and in the way he worries about all of us. The middle son, with his big personality, divined early on that as neither oldest, nor youngest he needed to declare himself. And, so he has. Loudly.  He has always demanded our attention and we are not likely to forget that he’s in the room. My littlest man is a quiet diplomat who has a gentle soul.  He doesn’t demand attention, or carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and sometimes I’m afraid he gets a little lost in the shuffle.

His parents are older, wearier, more likely to let things slide but we are also wiser and more weathered. Although, of course, I knew the first time around that a thirteen year old was not a man I truly didn’t realize how long it would take for that chrysalis to turn into a butterfly. I didn’t know that the years before a man emerged from a boy would be filled with such joy, such angst and so much agonizing push/pull. I didn’t know that I was capable of holding my breath for four hours while my son drove to college by himself the first time. And, I didn’t understand that even when they largely resemble men, complete with facial hair and deep voices, inside they are still little boys.

And this is what I think as I sit here listening to the sweet murmur of my baby’s voice. But, I also think that today is a beginning of sorts and a day worthy of blessing and I silently whisper, “Blessed are you God who has preserved me, sustained me and allowed me to arrive at this day and help me God to find the wisdom, patience and fortitude to love and guide this child according to his unique talents and abilities.”

And so it begins, for the third and final time.

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