Birthday Boy

Two years ago tonight I shuffled down the hall  of my house into the bedroom with the newly assembled crib and dresser.  There were no sheets on the mattress. No curtains.  No bumper.  No letters spelling out a name hammered to the wall.  I remember standing in the doorway of the near empty room with my hands clasped over my very pregnant belly and feeling the flipping, kicking, bouncing baby inside me.  The baby that never stopped moving.  Never stopped jabbing at my ribs.  Never let me forget that It was in there.  I recall looking down at my strangely moving belly and saying, “After all this.  All this you put me through. I can’t wait to meet you.  Whatever YOU may be.”  I shut off the light to the room that soon would house my newborn and walked into Hannah’s room where she lay peacefully sleeping.  Ellie tucked under her chin.  Thumb still resting in her mouth.  I sat on the side of her bed and gently combed my fingers through her hair, tears running down my face.  This was the last night that she’d be my only child.  This had been the last day that she had me all to herself and I could give 100% of my heart to her.

Neither one of us knew how life would change.  She was only excited.  I was a mix of excited and petrified.  Probably more of the latter.

In my bedroom, my suitcase was packed.  I had a C-section scheduled for the next day.  I knew by 3:00 the tomorrow we would be a family of four.  Another girl or a new boy was still a question.  Not knowing was weighing on me.  I hoped for a girl only to make the transition to a family of four a little less daunting.  I knew how to Do girl.  Taking on a boy seemed scary to me.  Would I feel that same bond?  Would he want to hold my hand and lay his head on my shoulder the way Hannah did?  Would he snuggle in my arms and make my heart melt?  Would I be able to change a diaper with a penis inside it?  (Oh come on, it was a legitimate fear).  Would Hannah be sad to not have a sister to grow up with?  Could they be friends?

I was scared.

I lay on the operating table with the surgeon pulling and yanking at my insides until I felt the final release of a small body being removed from my abdomen.  I held my breath and waited for those three words.  It’s A Boy I heard and looked up at Tim’s glowing, ecstatic face.  I heard him say, “Wow. I have a boy. A son.”

I cried.  I tried to pass off my tears as tears of happiness.  Thrill that I had a healthy child.  Happiness that after 3 miscarriages, an ectopic pregnancy and 10 months of raging hormones, emotional breakdowns and a failed IVF cycle, my miracle had arrived.  But really, I cried because it was a boy.  And that scared me.  And boy did I feel guilty.  And unappreciative.  And undeserving.

I was in a fog as everyone came to greet my new son.  My parents.  My inlaws. And Hannah.  The new big sister ever so gentle and doting on her new little brother.  I watched in awe at how naturally she whispered in his ear.  Touched his huge precious ears. Felt so proud.  And happy.  I wondered if she may have even been happier than me in those moments.

That night as I lay finally alone in my hospital room, just me and my new little boy, his tiny head resting on my breast, his chest quickly raising up and down rhythmically, I kissed his forehead.  I stroked his teeny hands.  I rubbed my cheek on his silky soft hair. I told him I loved him.  I thanked him for the gift of his life.   I felt my heart grow as he lay with me that night. I realized that I would in fact have room in my heart for him.

And today?  Today I look at Luke and I wonder how I ever doubted feeling the love from a son as much as a daughter. I can’t believe I cried tears of sadness when I heard he was a boy.  This boy has not only found a place in my heart but has OVERTAKEN my heart.  I can’t get enough of his giggles.  His enormous, loving eyes.  His enthusiasm for music and silly jig he does to any beat.  The way he grabs onto my pointer finger when he’s feeling shy.  The way he works so hard to imitate my words and then claps even when the wrong sound comes out.  How he copies every move Hannah makes.  How he grabs her from behind wrapping his small arms around her waist in a loving hug.  How he examines his cars and trucks from every angle and then feeds them with a spoon.  I melt every time I hear him say Mommy.  I want for his happiness.  I yearn for the day we can have a conversation and he can tell me what’s been in that tiny head of his through these months of no words.

My feelings are indescribable.  Beyond words.  I love my guy.  My blonde little guy.  My crazy, whirlwind, monkey boy.

Happy Second Birthday Lukey.  Here’s to a happy and healthy year.