Fleeting

The first news came when my niece, Lianne, told her grandfather and the rest of us that she might be late with his Christmas present. If he could wait until April, she and her husband Ben were going to have twins. These would be their first, and we were all excited about the news.

Lianne and Ben lived away, and we visited with them at Thanksgiving. Lianne was out of the morning sickness phase and starting to show. They were both so happy and excited. Lianne and Ben's next visit was going to be in January when there would be a baby shower for them in the area. A registry was formed, and gifts arrived, awaiting the shower.

However, the shower was canceled. The twins arrived unexpectantly on Dec. 30, just one day before Lianne's birthday. Little Sawyer and Allison (named after Ward's sister, who passed away a few years ago) were tiny, each weighing just over 1 pound. But they were alive and surrounded by excellent medical care. The parents held vigil round the clock with the babies. The hospital gave them a room to shower and sleep in, although I don't know how much sleep they got. There were ups and downs every day. Allison held onto Lianne's finger, then Sawyer's oxygen level dropped, and so it would go. Lianne pumped breast milk and gave it to Allison on a Q-tip. Ben read to them, The Hobbit and All Creatures Great and Small. However, little Sawyer passed away after being on this earth for just a week. He died in his mother's arms after she baptized him. The parents were consumed with grief, but they had a daughter who needed them, and the vigil continued.

Allison's medical problems persisted, but we heard reports about how she had the family eyebrows and was a feisty little thing. Every day forward brought a new day of hope. We all celebrated her two-week birthday by sending pictures of us embracing life. But this morning, Allison went to join her brother. She was just too little. When it looked like the end was near, Allison and Ben got to hold Allison, and miraculously, all of her vitals improved to perfect. Babies know their parents. Lianne and Ben spent many hours holding her before she passed. A family portrait shows how much the parents were in awe and loved those babies.

Now the long process of grieving and recovery begins. I wish Lianne and Ben strength and pray they can find comfort and peace in the days ahead.

Thankful Monday, July 20, 2020

I am thankful that I had a patient mother.

Today is my birthday which has me thinking about when I was a baby. Of course, I don't remember anything about my first year, but I have the stories I've been told.

Apparently, I was late in arriving. Very late. My mother had to wait three weeks past her due date for me to be born.  My parents sent my older sisters to stay with my grandmother in the next town when the event was eminent or so they thought. My sisters were there so long that my parents visited them on the weekends. My mother had made them a box of surprises for their stay with ribbons attached to a trinket that they got to choose everyday. However, the box emptied before they were back home. During what must have been a very miserable extra three weeks, I am thankful for my mother's patience for my arrival.

Me at 4 months. True to form, I had a cold in
one eye for this appointment.

My mother said that before I came she had time to clean the entire house and she even waxed the kitchen floor. She thought things would go smoothly with me. The house was in order and this was her third child, so she knew what she was doing. But then I came. And I cried. And cried. And cried. For the first six months, I cried so much that I burst a tear duct and herniated my naval. The neighbors used to take me in the car with them while they were delivering groceries to try to calm me. I am thankful for my mother's patience during the very noisy, exhausting time of when I was trying to settle into the world.

Soon after there was finally some quiet in the house (as much as you can have with a baby and two small children), I got pneumonia and was in the hospital for two weeks. The hospital was in another town and my mother spent all of her time with me while the rest managed somehow at home. Once I was back home, my oldest sister remembers the extra care that I still required. For my mother's patience while taking care of a sick baby, I am thankful.

Throughout the years, I have heard various stories about when I was a baby, but never did the stories come with any guilt or resentment. Just another story from my mother like the one when they had to call the fire department to get my sister's foot out of a drain. So for having had a very patient mother who gave me a great start to life despite how hard I made it for her, I am very thankful.

Happy Mother's Day

I come from hearty stock. Thank goodness, because raising babies in my family is not for the faint of heart. Just ask my mother.

She gave birth to my oldest sister, Daughter Number One, as young woman one year after she married my father. She said at that point she knew as much about taking care of a baby as she did about being a plumber (not much). My sister did all of the fun things babies do like cry a lot for no apparent reason and never sleep. But soon my sister learned to talk. And talk. My mothered yearned for quiet.

Two and a half years later, Daughter Number Two was born. She followed in the footsteps of Number One and cried a lot for no apparent reason and never slept. Then she learned to walk. And run. And climb. And to never be afraid. She climbed the banisters, moved the furniture, scared the neighbors, and had the fire department rescue her from a drain. She didn't talk much, but that didn't matter, because Number One talked enough for both of them.

Three years after Number Two, I was born. I just didn't cry for no apparent reason, I cried ALL of the time. I cried so much that I burst my tear ducts. I cried so much that the neighbors took me with them when they delivered groceries. They hoped to provide some relief for all involved. I consumed every minute of my mother's time. Meanwhile, Number One talked and Number Two was “busy.”

My mother was tired, but the kids were happy.

Then the miracle happened. Daughter Number Four was born four years after me. She only cried when she needed something. She slept regularly. My mother was afraid that something was wrong with her. She didn't understand this kind of baby. Meanwhile, Number One talked, Number Two was busy, and I cried easily, but we were manageable now—at least compared to before. For a little while, my mother could breathe and just be very busy raising four young girls. That was until my ailing grandmother moved in. But that's another story.

My husband has a theory that the number of kids in a family is equal to the number of easy babies plus one difficult one. Thank goodness my parents didn't subscribe to that formula or I wouldn't be here. I want to thank my mother, on this Mother's Day, for not giving up when I'm sure she wanted to and giving me a great start to life.