"You must be so relieved."
This is the most common thing people say when they meet Augie: that we must be so relieved.
Relieved to not be pregnant anymore? Ab-so-lutely. I rather enjoy seeing my toes again.
Relieved that he is here? Heavens yes. Nine months is a long time.
But this is not what they mean.
Relieved that it didn't go like Avram's delivery?
Relieved that Augie doesn't have Avram's medical diagnosis?
If I say "oh yes, of course," what does that mean?
Does that mean I think that Avram's quality of life is lesser, that his arrival was less sweet, his path an undesired one? Does that mean I wish Avram wasn't...Avram?
If I say "no," well, I sound like a crazy person.
We prayed for a healthy baby with Avram, we prayed for a healthy baby with August.
Were our prayers only answered once, or were they answered both times?
If once, then what happened the other time? Did we do something wrong...did Avram? Were our prayers not sincere enough, not frequent enough, not pure enough?
If once, why would God only answer our prayers for one of our boys, but not the other?
Is that how God works?
I don't believe so.
So how does He work?
I believe He hears, and I believe He answers. I believe He loves both of my boys. I believe He is gracious, and compassionate, and close to the broken-hearted, and just.
I believe, but I do not understand.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
{when three became four}
Friday, August 10th was a cold and rainy day: by August's standards, anyway. Avram had spent the night at Jason's parents house, and we were getting ready to meet them for breakfast at Cosmo's.
As we were puddling around the house I said to J, "This would be a good day to have a baby. I could have a baby today."
An hour later I was eating two eggs sunny-side up, trying not to let on that I was having contractions every ten minutes.
Two hours later, I was sitting in my doctor's office, five centimeters dilated and contractions coming every seven minutes. "I'll meet you at the hospital," she said. My dad had driven me to the appointment. When we got back in the car, the man couldn't have stopped smiling and giggling if you'd offered him a million bucks.
Dad dropped me off at home and took Avram with him. Jason and I changed our clothes, ran through all our lists one last time, packed our bags in the car. We put our seat belts on and looked at each other. Jason prayed.
By one pm, Jason and I were nervously, giddily staring at each other in the hospital room. We would meet our second son today.
The hours creeped by: through contractions and phone calls from excited family members and joking with the nurses and snacking on lemon Italian ice. I made Jason take meal breaks. I distracted myself with HGTV and some custom-made playlists.
The contractions grew stronger and faster: the nurse said it was time to push.
Three pushes later, and there he was.
August Rhodes was born at 9:58pm, six pounds 15 ounces, 21 inches long. Kicking and crying and limbs flailing everywhere, like a butterfly.
All brand new and all familiar at the same time: meeting him for the first time but feeling like I have known him my whole life.
Jason beamed like Christmas morning as he handed August to me: this wide-eyed, peaceful, glowing bundle of life. He nursed right away: this novel task he faced like a seasoned professional.
There was no anxiety or fear, no tension or concerned voices. Just...peace. Augie slipped right into our lives that Friday night, just like he had always been, like it was exactly where he belonged:
With us.
Our family of four.
As we were puddling around the house I said to J, "This would be a good day to have a baby. I could have a baby today."
An hour later I was eating two eggs sunny-side up, trying not to let on that I was having contractions every ten minutes.
Two hours later, I was sitting in my doctor's office, five centimeters dilated and contractions coming every seven minutes. "I'll meet you at the hospital," she said. My dad had driven me to the appointment. When we got back in the car, the man couldn't have stopped smiling and giggling if you'd offered him a million bucks.
Dad dropped me off at home and took Avram with him. Jason and I changed our clothes, ran through all our lists one last time, packed our bags in the car. We put our seat belts on and looked at each other. Jason prayed.
By one pm, Jason and I were nervously, giddily staring at each other in the hospital room. We would meet our second son today.
The hours creeped by: through contractions and phone calls from excited family members and joking with the nurses and snacking on lemon Italian ice. I made Jason take meal breaks. I distracted myself with HGTV and some custom-made playlists.
The contractions grew stronger and faster: the nurse said it was time to push.
Three pushes later, and there he was.
August Rhodes was born at 9:58pm, six pounds 15 ounces, 21 inches long. Kicking and crying and limbs flailing everywhere, like a butterfly.
All brand new and all familiar at the same time: meeting him for the first time but feeling like I have known him my whole life.
Jason beamed like Christmas morning as he handed August to me: this wide-eyed, peaceful, glowing bundle of life. He nursed right away: this novel task he faced like a seasoned professional.
There was no anxiety or fear, no tension or concerned voices. Just...peace. Augie slipped right into our lives that Friday night, just like he had always been, like it was exactly where he belonged:
With us.
Our family of four.
picture by the ever-wonderful Betsy King
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