I lost some momentum with the story of our lives. I petered off around the exhaustion-blurred haze of Gabriel’s toddlerhood and diagnosis. Though it is more recent, it is the most difficult to recall because of the sheer muchness of it all. If we stop there, though, we miss one of the very best parts: my baby Benjamin.
Gabriel’s school had the sit down with us in late October 2010, which led to the doctor’s visit, flurry of referrals, and sleep-deprived EEG in early November. I remember a weird moth epidemic remnant from the summer, which left winged corpses all over then.
Most of the specialists we had been referred to would not have openings until the spring; the neurologist we had to see right away, but the rest were not pressing. We were suspended in this purgatory of waiting for answers.
Somehow we made it through the holiday season. Things weren't at a huge disconnect for us yet, Gabe being only shy of two, his behaviors obviously immature, his development delayed, but not so glaring or unmanageable. Those that knew of the diagnostic process we were undertaking were highly skeptical, and voiced their doubt. He seemed for all the world like a “normal” little boy.
That January, I decided to take the semester off school because all my attention was focused on Gabe. I never went back.
At the beginning of February, I took one of my semi-regular dollar store pregnancy tests to make sure I was still flying solo. Imagine my surprise when it informed me I had a tiny passenger aboard!
The day I got the positive test I remember vividly. My friends Beth and David came to take Emerald and Gabriel to the mall, where there was a new bounce house play area that had just been installed. They knew Gabe would get kick out of it. We got an afternoon pass and let them play while I talked to Beth about what I had just learned. Before we left, Beth wanted to stop in Barnes and Noble to pick up something.
Maybe he was overstimulated, maybe he wanted to go back to the play place...I'm not entirely sure. But Gabriel had his first big meltdown. He grabbed shelves full of books and was pulling them down; bright red in the face, sweating, hysterical, squalling like a fire engine. When Emerald throws a temper tantrum, I get angry and irritated. This wasn't like that. I was scared because I had no control.
All the way back home, I worried until I was ill about how I was going to handle him AND a new baby.
The pregnancy itself was not bad. We told Michael's family a couple of weeks later at his mother’s birthday party. We got a picture frame that had a grandparent quote and inside was a sonogram. Beth made cupcakes that said “boy or girl” on them. Everyone seemed happy by the news.
There was no sickness this time around, and the only craving I recall was hot dogs. As I do not eat hot dogs, I sat in the parking lot of Wienerschnitzel with the windows rolled down so I could smell the air. I had terrible acne, and for two weeks I had a carnitas monster burrito from freebirds twice a day.
In the mornings I would get up and do pregnancy yoga to make room for my big baby Ben. Next to me, Emerald would mimic the motions, down to sending love to the “baby” in her tummy like I did. Gabriel crawled beneath my legs and under my arms, laughing as he wove his way in and out, trying to knock me down.
Early on, I asked Michael what he wanted to name this baby. Right away he said “Benjamin Reilly”. It was a name we had liked for Emerald, and the name of a Spider-Man character (Scarlet Spider, clone of Peter Parker. Look it up--good stuff). If it was a little girl, we decided on Gwendolyn Fern.
Toward the end of the pregnancy, I was dreadfully uncomfortable. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. I was too hot all of the time. Every night around 11 pm, that tiny fetus would get to doing loop-de-loops and barrel rolls inside me and I would lay there feeling every bit of his bony body. His head was stuck down in my pelvis and it hurt to walk, to sit, to stand. I was enormous.
He was born at lunchtime on Labor Day Sunday, one of two that day. The other was an emergency, but we were planned.
Everything was going so smoothly when gradually I fall asleep. They had sedated me, and I didn't know why. They pull out the baby and I hear the nurse say, “where was she hiding that thing?” I am confused and a little offended; what's wrong with my baby. Michael whispers in my ear that he was 7 pounds, 14 ounces. I am relieved because this enormous weight has been lifted off of me and I can breathe again. I slip off to sleep.
Michael and my little Benji baby left; I was in a drug relaxed state, in and out of consciousness. There was a carousel of blood, and the doctor saying there was a bleed somewhere. They had to fill my bladder to check for leaks.
I drifted away again.
A little while later, I feel the doctor's hand on my shoulder. I swim back up to consciousness. Not sure why I'm still in the operating room; why haven't I moved to recovery? The doctor tells me there were some complications but it was under control, but that I shouldn't get pregnant for five--he glances down at my abdomen, and corrects-ten years, if ever again. I give him my most winningest smile and say that I was OUT of the baby making business.
In recovery, I was back there for so long. The nurse with the pretty eyes said that I could sleep, just sleep. Family would keep me up, but back here I could sleep.
When I finally did emerge, I didn't realize how doped I was--I grandly and expansively told everyone how much I loved everything and everyone. I was so happy. My baby was so perfect! Beautiful! He had this dark fuzzy hair and he was chunk chunk chunky. I was quite pleased with myself.
The drugs took a while to wear off. When they finally did, Michael brought me up to speed on how concerning the day before had actually been.
The surgeon had seen a “window” where a former scar had separated, thinning the muscle of the uterus enough to make it transparent. He had run his finger across it, and it ripped open beneath his touch. The dehiscence was severe enough that they were able to get the baby out through the tear without cutting more open. As soon as they saw that, I was quietly sedated so they could control the bleeding and try and repair the damage.
I had no idea. Everything had been so calm and peaceful. The recovery was much more uncomfortable than the previous two, but this was my third.
He was so good. His newborn cry sounded like someone had described crying to him but had done a poor job; he just said the word “wah” in this deep throated absurdity.
Because of gestational diabetes, he had a narrow lower body with a proportionately larger head and chunky shoulders and arms. It was kind of funny to look at, but he was beautiful.
The first day we had him home, I set him in the bouncer to get some water. When I returned less than a minute later, Gabriel had flipped the bouncer upside down--Ben was happily cooing facedown in the carpet.
That was the only sign of aggression we saw from Gabe to Ben for several years. Ben would play too rough or hurt Gabriel, and time and again, Gabe would kiss his hand and put it back in his lap. Gabe wasn't above stealing a pacifier or bottle, but he was always exceedingly gentle with his baby brother. During OT, we would put a pillow inside a laundry basket with Ben laying on top and let Gabe push him up and down the hallway, both of them laughing all the way.
Emerald took delight in Ben. She wanted to feed him, hold him, change him. She was the first to make him laugh. She'd read stories to him and share her food and toys. Everyone she met, she would tell them about her new baby brother, of which she was so proud.
Benny is and always has been a joy to be around. He's so kind and tender hearted. Whenever Emerald gets in trouble, he comes in, shaking head to foot terrified but firmly telling us to leave his sister alone. If she can't have tablet time, he offers to give her some of his.
This post is largely influenced by my Benjabuddy’s 6th birthday, which was yesterday. The kids ask me what they were like as infants. I tell them Emerald was “Chill”, Gabriel “Curious”, Tula “Gassy”. Benjamin, my darling little one, was “Happy”. That would change to “Reckless” when he got a bit older, but as a baby, he was my cheerful fella. We would go to the store and get coffees buy-one-get-one-free (decaf for him) and walk around the store singing. He'd always loved to sing. He’s babble back to me “a doka doka? A doka doka doka doka”, intonation of speech but utter, adorable nonsense.
People ask me if it was a bigger adjustment to go from one to two, or two to three kids. As close as I had them together, everything was essentially assembly line--feed three, bathe three, dress three, kiss three, one right after another. Ben just slipped into our lives like he had always been there.
(In answer to that question, I say every addition is an adjustment and every change has a learning curve.)
I wasted so long worrying, worrying about how I was going to handle this new baby and a possibly autistic toddler, how I was going to manage with all these changes. A lot of good it would do me; life was changing, whether I wanted it to or not. I couldn't have foreseen or prepared for how difficult it was going to be, that's for sure. But I would have never gotten to see how good and gentle Gabe is with babies, or what a wonderful teacher and guide Emerald would make. Benjamin has brought so much joy and love into our family, hope when we needed it most.
God knew just what we needed when he sent our little Ben.
