My son J is active and constant and noisy and boisterous and ... how many other adjectives can I find that virtually mean the same thing. My girls are 16 and 18--eight and ten years older than J. He was a surprise--the kind of surprise that sent me reeling into a depression so deep that I curled up in a blanket and lay in bed for days--then basically refused to admit to myself that my life was about to change. For you to really understand why this affected me so deeply, I need to explain a bit. Our first child was born with Trisomy 18--a chromosomal disorder that results in an early death. Most of these babies die in utero. C, however, lived to be 18 months old. Because we didn't expect her to live, we quickly became pregnant and so, when C was only 13 months old, S was born. And then two years later, D was born--my sweet, easy-going child who always makes me look good as a parent. Honestly, I'm not sure I ever really had time to develop my own individuality or focus on my own emotional well-being because my days were filled with babies and diapers and feeding schedules and sleeping schedules and a demanding husband and errands and housecleaning and all of the things that young moms do. And so I dreamed about the day when my girls would be 8 and 10 because, in my mind, that spelled freedom. Freedom at last. The ability to do something that I wanted to do--to do something that didn't revolve around two beautiful and wonderful and adorable little girls that I loved completely...but nonetheless I missed my own individuality. Who was I? A mom? A wife?? But who was
I?
And so, with this thought in focus, about the time my girls finally reached the age where they were both in school and I could begin to focus on myself a bit--selfish, I know--I found out I was pregnant. And I had an IUD, for pity's sake! I wasn't supposed to get pregnant! Odds were 1 in 1000!!
But...it was true. And so I reeled emotionally. I couldn't believe it. Anger, denial, frustration--all of these emotions swirled together into one giant mountain of chaos in my heart. A good friend of mine assured me that he (as we knew rather quickly that it would be a boy) would be easy, mellow, quiet, calm--all of those traits that would allow me to just sit back and smile in this role of mother to a baby/toddler/child. I clung to those words. Surely God would smile upon me and give me an easy child. Our oldest, S, proved a challenge in many respects. She kept me exhausted with her many antics. I couldn't bear raising another difficult child. I needed peace. I craved peace.
And so, one evening in late June, J was born. He came out with eyes wide open and soundlessly took in the world around him. No screaming. No fighting. Only a silent seeking of what this world had to offer. From the moment I laid eyes on this beautiful child of mine--so alert and aware--I loved him. Loved him completely. But I must say...he has been anything but easy, calm, passive. Quite the opposite, actually.
But of course...I wouldn't change him. Not for the world.
