Title: Three Firsts.
Rating: G
Summary: Very short. Three small "first" moments between Kirsten and each of her children
Seth was ten months and four days the first time he glanced up at her from the high chair with what she can only describe as startled recognition, pointed a stubby finger in her direction and proclaimed "Mama!"
She was young and everyday still trying to hide the fact that she had no idea what she was doing, wondering if she was really cut out to be raising a baby. They had a nice house but could barely afford furniture to fill it, hardly out of college and trying their very best just to make it. Sandy had that unflappable optimism that she tired to play along with, but deep down she couldn't help but to worry.
Her father kept offering to send checks and it was getting harder and harder to refuse them. She had grown up so differently and despite her college rebellion, it had been a good way to grow up; she was terrified that she wasn't going to be able to offer the beautiful brown-eyed boy anything.
But in that moment, he'd looked at up at her, his mouth a mess with mashed sweet potatoes, and everything had snapped into place. The spoon fell from her hand and she found herself leaning over the plastic chair, peppering his face with kisses.
"That's right Seth. Mama, I'm Mama."
Of course she could do it; she had to, she was his mother.
Sophie was nine months and two weeks, clapping her hands gleefully as Kirsten made a face at the foul smell coming from the Huggie as she undid the Velcro straps holding it together.
"Oh honey, you made such a stinky," she exclaimed in what Sandy referred to as her 'baby voice', "Don't worry, Mommy's going to clean you all up."
The other new moms that she'd met in the neighborhood (real new moms unlike the 'six pack pack') teased that they had never seen anyone so enthusiastic about changing a stinky diaper or so tenderly amused at spit up on her favorite blouse. She never told them about what a surprise, what a gift, Sophie was. She never mentioned the earthquake or the long hours in the hospital spent wondering. They had no idea what it had felt like to hear the doctor utter those words, "your baby is just fine Mrs. Cohen."
Sophie's delicate blonde curls were just now coming in and her big blue eyes were dancing with curiosity as she watched her mother intently. Kirsten cleaned her daughter's bottom with a wipe and reached for a fresh diaper from the shelf below the changing table.
"All clean!" she'd grinned when the diaper was in place.
"Mam!" Sophie exclaimed in return, as if answering back.
"Yes! Mama," Kirsten pointed a finger towards herself, "Mama."
"Mama," Sophie answered back again and Kirsten swooped her into her arms.
"Oh my beautiful Sophie, I'm so glad you're here."
Her little gift, her precious little gift.
Ryan was 20, home early on a Friday afternoon because his English class had been canceled. Kirsten was chopping peppers for dinner at the counter when he entered the room with Sophie slung over one shoulder. The toddler was giggling uncontrollably as her brother finally deposited her onto her feet, not without one last tickle before he let her run back into the living room and to her dollhouse.
He was home for dinner usually twice a week and slept at home most weekends. Despite having his dorm room, part her had known that he wasn't quite ready to leave them yet. There was Marissa and the pain associated with her, which she knew he still carried constantly. He was still taking it one step at a time; his steps were just considerably bigger than those he'd been stumbling through the previous year. And despite his mature personality compared to Seth's, she knew that unlike her other son Ryan still needed a little bit more parenting from them. After all, they had years to make up for.
"I'm starving," he'd declared quietly, more to himself than to her, as he pulled open the refrigerator and stared inside.
"There's some leftover spaghetti in the green bowl, on the bottom shelf," she'd offered over her shoulder.
He made a noise of interest in his throat and retrieved the bowl, crossing the kitchen with it towards the microwave.
"I saved it just for you," she'd smiled as the microwave buzzed to life.
He leaned on the counter, watching the bowl rotate.
"Thanks mom," the words were casual and she found her hands stilling, the knife half way through slicing a chunk of red pepper. She expected a nervous apology, him diverting his eyes and stumbling over his words as he disappeared with his food.
Instead when she finally glanced in his directions he was smiling at her, shrugging as the microwave beeped loudly. He popped it open with his thumb and then looked back at her.
"I mean it, thanks mom."
She waited until he was out of the room before swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. Yes, his steps were getting bigger.