THE GREATEST THING I NEVER DID... TWICE!

Skitch and Sons

THEN & NOW:

    The greatest thing I ever did I didn't really do. It more honestly just happened to me, and it happened to me twice. I named the first one Cory and the second one Will.

    In 1987, I celebrated my twentieth birthday out in the hot Louisiana sun, on a sandbar near a blue lake. It was a double birthday party for me and a little guy named Troy who happened to be the son of some friends of ours. I watched Troy's mom, my friend Sharlee, with her two little boys, and I thought about how blessed she was. I had been married for two years and my young husband and I fancied ourselves ready for parenting from the get go. We had taken no precautions to avoid such a state, and yet here I was, two years later, coveting my friends sons. It occurred to me that day that I'd never actually prayed for a child. I believed in the power of prayer. I closed my eyes, listening to the laughter, feeling the wind, and still seeing that unforgiving sun through my eyelids. I prayed. I told God that I was ready to have a child, but that in this, as in all things, His will be done.

    That night, long after my husband had gone to sleep, I remained awake, staring into the darkness with my hand on my stomach. I knew. I just knew I was pregnant and my child would be a son.

    I had three days of morning sickness. On the third day I forced myself to get up, to eat, to pretend that nothing was wrong with me. I told myself repeatedly that I could choose to feel better. I focused on moving, and doing and eating, and the next day I woke up feeling fine. The positive thinking that my sister Lila and cousin Wanda had inadvertently taught me years ago worked. I cannot say this would work for everyone or anyone, but I can promise that it worked for me! The power of my mind was an awesome and beautiful thing.

    Now that the sickness was gone, I loved being pregnant. I felt I was born to be a vessel for the child inside me. As long as I held him there, I never felt alone or lonely. I talked to the babe. I read to him. I was in no hurry for him to come outside where I would have to worry about him falling and skinning a knee, or getting his heart broken, or coming down with some terrible illness. I felt I could protect him best right there, beneath my heart.

    The doctors told me the baby was due the second of February; then they said the ninth. So, I never knew if I was two or three weeks overdue. Co arrived at 10 am on a late February day. He was seven pounds and eleven ounces. I had a delivery that was quick but almost as rough as my pregnancy had been smooth. Still, I could remember none of the pain or fear when I looked into those eyes! They were bright, aware, and the clearest blue I had ever seen. His hair was startlingly red. Though I had told a few people that was going to have my own "Opie Taylor" from the Andy Griffith Show, I had never truly imagined that my baby would be born with red hair. I knew I had wished the red hair right onto his head. They laid him in my arms and I was enraptured. I thought, "My very own dragon."

    When my mother-in-law called from out of state. I told her, "He has red hair! Where the heck did that come from? I'm surprised your son hasn't accused me of something horrible already!"

    "Don't you dare take any of that," She said, "My daddy had the reddest hair I've ever seen and that baby comes by that hair honestly!"

    I was unable to rest for hours after he was born. I should have been sleeping, but I could not seem to tear my gaze from him. I could not stand to close my eyes. I looked deeply into his, knowing I would die for him, and I had a spiritual epiphany. I thought, "This is my child and I am God's child. God loves me as much as I love my son! Maybe God is capable of loving me even more than I love my son!" This thought was quickly followed by the realization that God sent his son to die for me, and hot tears rolled down my face.

    Cory grew and so did my love for him. I, who had originally wanted eight kids, was now afraid to hazard even one more. Surely I could never love another child the way I did this one? Surely I would have to pretend that I loved my second child as much as I loved my Dragon?

    As planned as Co had been, Will was just that much of a surprise. I suspected I was pregnant. I went to the doctor and found out that my suspicions were correct. I was three weeks pregnant. I cried so hard I was almost sick. I was financially unprepared, mentally unprepared, and physically unprepared. But what brought me to tears was the fear that I would never love this child as much as I did my first. I determined that no one would ever know my secret shame, that I would pretend to love my second child just as much as I did Cory. But for nine months, I carried that fear almost as surely as I carried Will. I loved this new baby within me, but I was concerned that I would never love him or her as much as I did Cory.

    This pregnancy was also smooth. I had a slight weak stomach, but no morning sickness, and I immediately loved the little guy. I loved the feel of him growing inside me. I smiled when he hiccuped, and I rubbed his little elbows and knees when they pushed against my skin. Being pregnant was still a joy. He was safe and I was helping with a miracle! I began to think it would be easier to pretend than I had thought, but I did not yet stop being convinced that I would never love this one quite as much.

    The ultrasounds could not get a clear picture of my baby, but I thought Will was a girl. At one time I had prayed that I would never have a daughter. I thought life was entirely too hard on females, and I wanted my children to have an easier go of Earth than I had experienced. I loved the idea of having two sons, but I had so many clues about the sex of this child. Strangers would walk up to me on the street and tell me I was having a girl. My family all thought I was carrying a girl. My pregnancy seemed different in so many ways that I thought I must be carrying a girl. The doctor said the heartbeat sounded like a girl. How wrong we all were!

    On the night of my due date, I went into labor. Will has always been fairly prompt. I had another quick but rough delivery. He was born at 10 am that morning, one day after his due date. Eight pounds and fourteen ounces of pure boy. The nurse rubbed his head and told me excitedly, "His hair is silver!" And it was, as silver as a wise old wizard's could ever be, and his skin was wrinkled to match. She laid him in my arms, and I looked into his beautiful, crystal blue eyes and fell instantly and irrevocably in love. My heart exploded with love and my mind exploded with ideas. I thought. "He is perfect! I love him to the depths and breadths of my soul! I will not have to pretend! I will not have to lie! My heart is boundless! Each child I have will only increase the size of my heart! Ah, my Little Wizard, what a spell you have weaved for your momma!" I finally understood what people meant when they said, "I love you as much, but differently." I finally understood how God could truly love all His children! Cory was unique and worthy of my love. Will was unique and worthy of my love. I knew that I had a heart that was a remarkable and magical thing. I know that we all do. I cried long and hard, but this time with delight and relief. What a joy. What a miracle. My second son! And oh how very much I loved and love him!

    I fell in love with two sons, and with the idea of having the big family I used to dream of. My father had gotten sick while I was in the labor and delivery room, and my mother thought it was because he had been so concerned for me. As I held my new son, named after my father, Pop told me, "No more babies for us, Little Girl!" I smiled and told him I loved him, but I had it in my mind, for the first time ever, to deliberately disobey him. I wanted eight kids! I had dreamed of eight kids more than once in my life: triplet girls, two other girls, and three boys. My husband had thrown eight cents between my legs the day after I had the first of those dreams, a nickle and three pennies. I'd been such a lonely child. I wanted a big family. I wanted those eight kids. 

    A few months later, however, reality set in. My husband was not working. We were surviving off charity from relatives and the government. I could not be one of those people that brought child after child into the world to struggle as hard as we were having to struggle. I could not be so irresponsible that I had child after child I could not take care of on my own. I cried when I made the decision. I cried when I signed the papers. I cried when I went under the knife. But I had surgery to keep me from having anymore wonderful babies. 

    Now my sons are adults. I've loved them more every day of their lives, equally, but differently. Some days, I deeply miss the sweet little boys they once were, but if I had them back again I would miss those gentle men that I have now. I would not trade who they are for anyone, not even for who they were. No mother has ever been more pleased and proud of her sons. No mother has ever been more blessed than I. Motherhood has shaped me in so many wonderful ways. It changed my life. It saved my life. Before my sons were born, I had never worn a seat belt. I ate mostly bread and potatoes. I hated orange juice and peanut butter. I was anemic and lethargic. Being pregnant flipped a switch in my head. I somehow knew that they would not do what I said; they would do what I did. And I wanted healthy babes. So, while I was pregnant, I began to force myself to eat more protein, to drink orange juice, to wear my seat belt. By the time Cory showed up I'd forced a lot of healthy food down my throat and I had developed the habit of wearing a seat belt. By the time Will came along I found that I actually enjoyed peanut butter, and orange juice, and a dozen other things that I'd never bothered to acquire a taste for before I became a mother.

    My Dragon and my Wizard are on their own now. Both my sons have good deep hearts and intelligent minds. They both have a love of laughter and spread joy wherever they go. No mother could be more proud. Cory has a fierey temper that he struggles to keep dominion over, but with it come passions that serve him well in whatever he undertakes. Will, my Liam, is slow to anger. He seems ever shrouded by magic and a smoldering common sense that is growing into wisdom. They are blessed, my blessings. These days, they don't often need me. Sometimes I suffer with that dreaded "empty nest syndrome." I have built so much of my myself and my life around my sons that I often feel adrift, lost. But I know that, just like always, they need me to blaze the trail. I am obligated to show them how to "do" 40 and how to be happy at 50. They need me to show them, if I can, how to grow old gracefully, and someday, how to die. I also realize that gifts from God are timeless. I was blessed to be their mother. My time with them was a gift that no one can ever take away from me. No one can ever rob me of the fact that I am their mother and they are my sons. So, it is good that the greatest thing I never did - twice, was not to my own credit. My deeds and accomplishments are temporal. Whatever I do shall eventually pass away. What God does shall never cease to be.