I’ve wanted to be a mother since I first understood the word, ‘mother.’ My yearning for a baby goes back pre-memory, and I had a lot of expectations built up around that role. When I was finally pregnant with who would become Oliver Erwin Kiker, I was filled with dreams, ideas and goals for this wee boy, and visions for the kind of amazing mother I would be.

Oliver: sweet, fierce, beautiful, smart, tender Oliver, reset all of that. On the very first day of his life, he taught me that all of my ideas about having a baby were completely, totally different from the reality of having a baby. From nursing to changing diapers to sleeping (oh how I missed sleeping) nothing was as I expected it to be.

Those first few months, I floundered. I pretended. I cried. I nursed and listened and asked and played and searched his eyes for what he needed from me. Jason and I learned to hold him, and to bathe him, and to feed him, and we gradually grew into a family.

We’ve had a FLICKR site since Oliver was born, tracking his progress and the progress of his two younger sisters, Allyson and Eleanor. When I was thinking, today, on Oliver’s 6th birthday, about the day I finally realized we were a family. It was a completely random day — if it weren’t for our other site, I would have no idea when it was. Only that he was young, and it was before Allyson was born (they are 19 months apart).

Oliver had learned that his mouth would make crazy sounds if he made a sound (ohhhhh) and held my hand while smacking my hand against his face. It delighted him. It delighted me. It made us feel together, and funny, and competent, and loved. It was a beautiful sound, and it make me ‘break into blossom.’

March 23 was not the day I expected Oliver to be born, and after his birth things didn’t go the way I expected they would go, and that is part of the thousands and thousands of things my beloved son has taught me over the years: Things don’t have to go as expected to be wonderful, perfect and right.

As he’s grown up, and become his own kid, he’s also taught me that children listen to what you tell them, and act on it. When he started to want to wear skirts and dresses, two years ago, Jason and I told him that he shouldn’t, that people would talk about him, that it ‘wasn’t done.’ He listened, and then said, ‘but momma, why should I care what people say?’ and ‘why isn’t it done?’ When we finally ran out of excuses, he began to wear dresses.

Oliver and Allyson on a slide

He still does, most days, although today he chose pants and a shirt with a glittery pink belt. When the 13 kids at his party split into gender lines, he was outside, playing soccer with the boys. When they talked about Oliver, they didn’t talk about what he wears, but about his Legos, his charm, and his laughter (which is a bellyful awesome one).

He’s right. It doesn’t matter what people say, and here in Seattle at least, it is done. It’s hard to limit myself to just two lessons from Oliver, but the lesson of life turning out better than your best-laid plans and the lesson of asking ‘why’ are just two reasons why this boy is someone I am so deeply glad to know.