Our journey began quite simply: a slimy, squirmy baby screaming on my still swollen stomach. My husband Ben was standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder and tears streaming down his face. It would have been touching except for the fact the epidural had stopped working when I started pushing, and the doctor was still between my legs stitching up god knows what. After fourteen hours of labor, two and a half hours of pushing, and threat of a C-Section, our son Christopher was here, one week early: Mother's Day and Mommy's Birthday. Countless friends and family streamed in and out that day to see the baby under the pretense they wanted to see how I was doing. It wasn't until 11:00 that night that my sister called me, apologizing profusely for forgetting to wish me happy birthday while she had been up there. Up until that moment, I was fuming because everyone forgot, but the moment she apologized, I realized I didn't care. She came not to celebrate MY birthday, but the birth of my first born child, and to me that mattered more.
Christopher was our joy that we never thought we'd have. After four miscarriages, the pregnancy with him was non-eventful in terms of medical issues, but psychologically I was fried. Every time I felt a twinge of pain or discomfort, no matter how normal, my heart would race and adrenaline would pump through my body. My heart would tailspin into my stomach. It got worse after I could feel the baby kicking; if I hadn't felt him kick in a while, I would panic. After poking and prodding in the lump in my stomach I assumed was his rear end, I would see a giant lump roll across my taut and stretched belly and a firm kick in the kidneys, and I could breathe again (as well as a six month pregnant woman can breathe with feet in her kidneys). How I lived through nine and a half months of these moments I'll never know. But we settled in as a family at home. I relished in watching him grow, learning to smile and crawl. My husband and I had always wanted two children, and we thought we wanted them close together in age, so we started trying again shortly after his first birthday.
But again fate was dealing us crappy cards, and we were going all in. After four more miscarriages, we were sent in for testing, and our dreams were shattered: I was diagnosed with Factor V(five) Leiden and Lupus Anticoagulating Antibodies (not affiliated with Lupus in the slightest). Long story short: I shouldn't have been able to have Christopher, I should have died giving birth to him, the chances for having another were slim to none, and he was shocked I hadn't had a stroke. I was dumbstruck, and my heart was breaking. I was sitting in the doctor's exam room alone, wrapping my brain around the very real possibility Christopher would be an only child, when he explained that the disorders were causing my blood to clot more frequently than normal, and my body was rejecting my babies. So there it was: my husband was normal and I felt like a freak, incapable of doing what my body should have been doing naturally. I went home with a prescription for a blood thinner and strict instructions to start taking it immediately. I never filled the prescription.
Three months later, I'm standing in my bathroom, wide-eyed and staring at a pregnancy test with a positive sign staring back at me. I immediately called my doc, who put me on Lovenox shots that day, to keep me alive and the baby gestating. I stayed on the Lovenox for the whole pregnancy, injecting twice a day into my stomach, until my stomach was so tight that I couldn't pinch any more fat pockets to inject into, in which case I switched to injecting into my upper legs. They burned like fire, but I had to do this to save me and my unborn child.
My pregnancy started out uneventful, but as it progressed, I started going to the office twice a week, ultrasounds once a week, and non-stress tests once a week. The day after Thanksgiving, two months before my due date, I started having contractions, and had to be admitted to stop them with shots. I was then ordered on bedrest and told he was going to induce to control the blood thinners. He hadn't decided yet on the day of induction, but wanted to keep the baby cooking.
The day before New Year's Eve was my last appointment with him. He told me to check in that night to be prepared for induction January 1st. I was shocked. I hadn't expected him to choose a date so close.
New Year's Eve around 2 a.m. I started feeling contractions. I wasn't to be induced until 6 a.m. so I relaxed, breathed through the contractions. They were manageable, so I never thought anything of it. Before I knew it, it was 4:30 and I wanted to get into the whirlpool to relax, still having contractions. I was waiting for my husband to arrive at 6 before getting drugs. He was still at home with Christopher, getting a last night of sleep before D-Day. At 5:30, I felt funny, and at 5:45 I told them I felt like pushing. They called the doctor, and my husband was called and informed to come in. After dragging me out of the tub (it felt too good to get out), and wheeling me to my room, I was in my bed, still pushing as the nurses carted a warming table and supplies for my doctor into the room. As they yelled at me to stop pushing (which is as effective as telling a toddler to sit still for a picture), I felt his head pop out and before the nurses could get their gloves on, he slid out and I caught him. It was so unreal and so unlike Christopher's birth, I started laughing. With Christopher it was an epidural and so much pain. With Timothy it was calm (except for screaming nurses) and painless, even without drugs. Timothy Leo was born at 6:09 a.m. New Year's Eve. The only thing my boys had in common was they looked like twins at birth, and they were born on holidays and a family member's birthday. With Christopher, it was Mother's Day and my birthday, and Timothy's birthday partner was my cousin Cher's husband Dwayne.
I regret my husband wasn't there for Timothy's birth; to see him born, and cut his cord. He arrived thirty minutes after his birth, and despite his happy face, I could see the disappointment that he couldn't be there for the baby or for me, knowing very well I could have died during birthing.
Ben was sitting in the rocking chair, holding the baby when my in-laws walked in, my Christopher in tow. Now, to give you an idea as to why I shuddered, imagine Marie Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond as your mother in law. I know. I live it. And they only live 5 MINUTES AWAY. This is a mother in law that makes a key to your home, waits until you leave to go to work, then lets herself in and rearranges the kitchen (cabinets and all) because it didn't look efficient (true story). I laugh because the only other option is to cry.
Anyway, Christopher walks over to Ben, and Ben puts Timothy back into his bassinet to spend time with the older, more attention-deprived Christopher. But Christopher bounds onto the bed and peers into the bassinet at his new little brother. I never thought my son, the little 2 1/2 year old that can sing the VeggieTales song by memory, can sing Jesus Loves Me with such joy, and can tell you the name of every character on Bob the Builder (even machines), could be so profound as he put his chubby little hand on his baby brother's sleeping head and say, "I'm your brother. We'll be brothers for life." And in my hormone-crashing state, I cried.
Now we're settling in as four. I only look forward to the same things that I did with Christopher, but I'll be more laid back, and not try to push through one milestone just to get to the next one. I cringe at what Christopher will teach Timothy, whether it's throwing his toy boats in the toilet to see them get sucked in by the whirlpool, or to climb the book case to see what's on top. I hope he remembers, though little, that they are brothers for life; that he'll try to protect his little brother and teach him right from wrong. I know there will be fights, and they won't always get along, but in the end, I know my boys love each other, and when it comes down to it, that's all that matters when I kiss the boys good night, the lights go down in the bedroom, a Thomas the Tank Engine nightlight shining, basking the room in a pale glow, and I hear Christopher say to his brother, "Good night, Tim-fy. I love you." and my love for them is so deep the tears catch in my throat.
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