In exactly one week two very important events will be take place -- the final installment of the Harry Potter film series will hit theaters and my son will be a whole year old. "What is the connection between the two?" you might ask. My answer is simply that they have brought magic into my life in two very different but special ways.
'Twas the year 2000 (insert hilarious Conan-ism here) on a chilly day in December in my home sweet SLO Town (I was on holiday break from my Sophmore year of college) when I stumbled upon my brother's copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Thanks again, Josh!). I had eyed his collection of four Harry Potter books during previous visits home and had heard all the buzz they caused throughout the Muggle world, but I hadn't the time nor interest to dedicate to finding out for myself what all the fuss was about. Until that day when my boyfriend (Sidebar: whenever I mention my boyfriend you can safely assume it's my hubby, David, because he's been my boyfriend for almost half of my life) was working, my friends were shopping and my family was busy with last minute holiday prep. My parents had lit a fire in the fireplace and as soon as I curled up next to it and opened that first book, I was hooked. I don't know if it was the fact that as I read the fire crackled in the background or that I'd occasionally get whiffs of the piney Christmas tree (I'm sure the holiday aura contributed to the magic of it all), but I was so enchanted that I read the entire book that night and the next two books over the course of the next few days. The story of a downtrodden boy destined for greatness and a life he could never have dreamed up (I am REALLY summarizing here), sparked something in my heart. J.K. Rowling is a genius and the characters she imagined into reality are ALL so amazing (I could go on for days, people). I read the fourth book when my friend Amanda and I traveled to London (it only seemed right) and purchased books five, six and seven within 24 hours of them each hitting the shelves. There's just something special about being so invested in Harry's story, to be "in" on all of his adventures, to feel what he feels; I hadn't been that affected by a book (let alone a series of books) in a long time. To this day, seven books and multiple reads of each later, I still get that ol' feeling whenever I pick up one of them up (or watch one of the movies; they're not as thorough as the books but they are beautifully cast and very well done). I have always been passionate about reading and have treasured many a book in my lifetime, but there will always be a special place in my heart for Harry (and company). Don't take my word for it; you have to read it to believe it.
Fast forward ten years and I can guarantee that if Harry Potter doesn't make you believe in "real" magic, parenthood will. It's not the same kind of magic that happens when you're transported into a great book or when you meet that special someone or the kind of magic that happens when you and that person vow to love each other for the rest of your lives. It's baby magic . . . and it's truly life altering. There are so many [unsolicited] things people tell you before you have children and a million more when you're expecting a baby. But one thing no one ever mentioned to us is what a privilege it is to be someone's parent. I mean, seriously, people have babies all the live long day but it wasn't until I had my own that I realized what a miracle parenthood is. A miracle that happens every minute, but a miracle just the same. While the thought of it can be rather daunting, and some days (today) are much harder than others, I feel so fortunate to have the opportunity to mold a little person into a full fledged human being. It's true what "they" say about your heart living outside your body once you become a parent. Cade is a part of me and David, rapidly growing and learning (and growing some more) in front of us and relying on us for ever-y-thing all the while. I look at our lil' man once a day and can't help but think "We made you?" or "I still can't believe 'they' let us bring you home" and wonder how anyone could take such a humongoid responsibility so lightly?! I also think about the overwhelming/intense/immense/why-am-I-trying-to-describe-this-it's-impossible amount of love that washed over me the first time I held my son and kissed his teeny tiny cheek. My heart swells [multiple times a day] when I think back on the last year or when I watch him playing by himself; stacking his rings (genius!), throwing them around and then collecting them to start the process all over again. And when he catches me staring, he'll look up at me in that special way (that only our parents know) and one of his Classic Cade smiles slowly spreads over his sweet face, I become 105% pure Mama Mush. All of the above (and then some), my friends, is baby magic.
