I think Rain must have been six months old before I let anyone else hold him for any significant amount of time. I can’t adequately describe the need I felt, immediately following his birth, to protect him from the world. Looking back, I can see how I may have overreacted, but as a brand-new mom, I was ferociously defensive. I maintain that this was an unavoidable biological phenomenon – a built-in neurosis that would help to ensure survival for this sweet, pathetic little creature, whose only line of defense was to crinkle up his wrinkly face and cry for help.

This feral type of mothering did eventually loosen its hold on my mind and, we began to slowly and gently unveil the great big world to Rain’s large, deerish eyes. He took an immediate liking to it, and as I watched him develop and grow, it began to dawn on me, that I couldn’t possibly provide him with all that he needed to flourish. I had to come to terms with the fact that, though I was his mother, and forever bonded to him, he would need more than I, alone, could give.

This became exceedingly clear once he fostered serious interests in wildlife ecology, sailing, and the Vikings, to name a few. He has a knack for seeking out the experts in their fields from within our community of family and friends. It is not uncommon to find him discussing the lesser known things about the platypus with his Grandma Celeste, the detailed steps of tying a bowline or a cleat hitch with his sea-captain friend Loren, or his favorite Norse myths with his Ama Jane.

I love eavesdropping on these conversations. I get to experience Rain from afar – to hear him think out loud, form questions, problem-solve, converse about things he is interested in with other people, learn what kinds of things make him laugh. It forces me to acknowledge the bittersweet fact that he is separate from me – complete with his own likes and dislikes, his own thoughts, his own dreams. It comforts me to know how many people he has in his life to love and protect him, and help to raise him.

As a new parent I thought it was my duty to learn everything there was to know and to do it by myself. Now I know better. Rain has taught me, more than anyone else ever could have, that raising a family is like raising a barn – it takes a village.

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