Happy Birthday, John!

Four years ago this morning, I woke up with a baby in my arms.

John Matthew Clark was born at 1:17 a.m. on September 12, 2007. He weighed a robust 8 pounds, 3 ounces, and if I’m remembering correctly was 22 ½ inches long, although to me, measuring a baby for length seems a bit subjective.

The day before, I finally gave in and agreed to an induction on my doctor’s advice. My due date was supposed to have been the 1^st of September. It’s funny the little things you worry about when considering the day your child will be born.

I was reluctant to induce that day in particular because I did not want him to be born on 9/11. Dr. Early gave me the option of waiting until the next day to induce, but I feared that would result in me having a baby, not on September 12, but instead on the 13^th, which didn't seem like such a lucky day to me. So, as it turned out, we agreed to do the deal about 1 o’clock in the afternoon on the 11^th, which resulted in John being born about 12 hours later on the 12^th…sandwiched right in between 9/11 and Friday the 13^th.

So, today John is four, though his capacity to worry is sadly far beyond his years. Last night before bedtime, he told me shyly and sadly “Mom, I love you. I hope a great sickness does not sweep through our town.” I’ve known for a few months that John greatly fears that his parents (and his mother in particular) will die. He watched the Veggie Tales Story of St. Nicolas last week, and “a great sickness swept through Nicolas’s town” and his parents died. I can certainly relate to this fear, as I lived with this very real fear about half my life. It’s heart-wrenching to see John coping with this same fear. And I can’t lie to him; he’s too smart for that.

So, yesterday, while the rest of the world was commemorating the 10^th anniversary of 9/11, we were celebrating John’s 4^th birthday, just one day early.

I will freely and self-consciously admit that when it comes to my kids’ birthday parties, I have a weakness. I just can’t help myself. When I start planning, I always intend to keep them small, low-key, and requiring a minimum amount of effort from myself and those I con into helping me, but somehow, it never works out that way. (Thank you, M.A. I know that I have no business throwing a party without your help!)

It starts with selection of the theme so that the cake order can be placed with Lynda the cake lady. I tell Grandma Cleva what the theme is, my idea for the cake; she tells Lynda, and she brings it to life. And, it typically snowballs from there.

It amuses me to think over in my mind the theme of each birthday party, year-by-year. John’s first birthday party was rubber duckies, complete with a swimming pool full of little rubber duckies. He splashed in the pool with a rubber bib over his shirt because we had to keep the dressing on his Broviac catheter dry. I also made ducky-shaped mints and ducky-shaped chocolates.

Birthday #2 was an M&M theme, and the pool that held the duckies a year earlier became the site of a corn scramble…a great way to get rid of the parade candy acquired at the Corn Fest earlier that day.

Buzz & Woody took center stage when John turned three, and this year, for John’s fourth birthday party, it was all Thomas, all the way. I was lucky to find red, green, and blue gingham fabric on the $1.50/yard rack at Wal-Mart, which made the perfect Thomas tablecloths. I even made Thomas-themed pennant-flag banners. Patrick went crazy when he saw them for the first time. He was thrilled.

John got an insane amount of presents, including trucks and trains, books and clothes, and even a tiny little bicycle from Grandpa Dennis. And some age-inappropriate gifts from Uncle Ben, specifically, real live ammunition for the .22 that Ben got him before he was born.

The weather cooperated fully, and we roasted weenies at noon and feasted on homemade chocolate ice cream and cake. And the kids all played NICELY together and shared the loot fairly well.

We even had the honor of hosting a collection of students Matt’s cousin Jonathan brought home with him from Benedictine College in Atchison, Kansas. Some of them had also attended John’s 2^nd birthday party, too. I think there were four of them besides Jonathan, but I can’t be sure. If I’m remembering right, Jonathan brought home a total of nine friends from BC for the Corn Fest weekend, but some of them had left for home the night before. He seems to collect people, has followers perhaps. We were thrilled to have them, and they seemed to have a good time.

So, my children are admittedly spoiled when it comes to their birthday parties, and this is most evident by the fact that John & Patrick really don’t seem to think their birthday parties are that big a deal. After all, there is a “Happy Birthday” banner that has now officially hung in my kitchen for a full year. I never got around to taking it down after John’s 3^rd birthday party. So maybe it’s obvious to them that every day is somebody’s birthday.

I know my tendency to make a big deal of my kids’ birthdays was at least partially formed by our experience with John. At his diagnosis, I feared he wouldn’t see his first birthday, and every subsequent birthday is made that much sweeter as a result. John was a fabulous host yesterday, making sure his friends had their party favors and cups to drink their tea. He patiently (at my insistence) thanked each person for their gift before moving on to the next present. We are so very proud of him.

And, in case you’re wondering Patrick’s first birthday party featured a shamrock theme, inspired (duh) by St. Patrick and some old shamrock bedsheets I found at a yardsale to use for tablecloths. His second birthday party will feature Bob the Builder. It’s not till February, but you just can’t start planning these things too early, especially since tax season can get pretty hectic in February.

***I can't believe I forgot to mention it, so I'm adding it here. When John opened each present, he gasped and exclaimed, "I wuv it!" and "Just what I wanted!" (regardless of whether he had ever thought about wanting that particular item or not.) It was just too darn cute! 

Precious Lord, Take My Hand

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted…right at a month, I believe. Yes, I’ve been busy, but that’s not really the reason for my absence. I try to never use “too busy” for an excuse for anything. I firmly believe that a person makes time for the things that she wants to make time for. It’s been more a lack of inspiration, than a lack of time.

Oh, there have been plenty of things I could write about, but nothing that I got excited enough to write about. And, I figure if it doesn’t interest me to write about, it probably doesn’t interest you to read about. Or if I did get excited enough to write about it, it was something that was beyond my boundary of comfortable sharing.

But today, my baby turned one, and it occurred to me if ever there is a day to document, it would be such a day. So, I’m taking the opportunity to document this day. And, I’m taking the opportunity to document this day one year ago, since the poor child still has no completed (or started) baby book. In fact, the closest I have gotten to documenting his growth progress is small scraps of paper tucked in the top drawer of my dresser.

So, let’s start at the beginning. May 2009. Surprise!

Me: (sobbing) “I’m pregnant” (I really don’t know what I said exactly, but I think this is an accurate paraphrase.)

Matt: (half-asleep) “What? You’re kidding!” (not sobbing)

Me: (uncontrollable dramatic wailing)

Matt: (clearly disappointed at my reaction)

Ladies, here’s a tip for you. It turns out it really doesn’t do a lot for a guy’s ego to have their wives throw such a fit over a surprise pregnancy. So, when faced with this situation, feign excitement, or at the very least, pretend you’re crying because of something sad you saw on Fox News.

There were a number of really good reasons I did not want to be pregnant just then.

(1)   John was still in therapy for his cancer, and we were not yet sure if more treatment would be necessary.

(2)  The chemo drug John was on was Accutane, which has been known to cause birth defects when the mother is exposed to the drug. We had to cut open the pills and squirt the contents into John’s mouth. (turns out, they don’t make Accutane in drop form)

(3)  We were exhausted. John, at 20 months, was a very demanding toddler. Almost entirely non-verbal and incapable/unwilling to entertain himself. Plus, there were a number of cancer-related worries that just tend to wear a person down. His daytime napping was non-existent, and his nighttime sleeping pretty much required a parent in bed with him.

(4)  I had started my own practice, and my first solo tax season would be January-April 2010. February would be my busiest month. My due date was February 15. If there is a worse day of the year for a tax preparer to have a baby, I don’t know what day it would be.

We did want another baby, but we had it planned for about 3-6 months later. But our plans were not God’s, and our reasons were not His.

Looking back, it seems that the timing of this baby was providential. Patrick was 8 months old when he lost his grandmother. What if he had been born three months later? Six months later? Three months prior to Patrick’s birth, it became obvious that mom was very sick. By the time he arrived, she had completed a cycle or chemo, or maybe two. But even while undergoing treatment, she was still able to hold him, love him, play with him, feed him, and sew a beautiful blankie for him. This would not have been possible just a few months later.

I think about this and remind myself that I am not in control. And that the One who is in control knows better than I do. This is knowledge is a source of comfort, not a source of anxiety. At least I try to remind myself that it should be.

²⁵ "Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? ²⁶Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?
  ²⁷Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?
  ²⁸"So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; ²⁹and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ³⁰Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
  ³¹"Therefore do not worry, saying, "What shall we eat?' or "What shall we drink?' or "What shall we wear?' ³²For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. ³³But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. ³⁴Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

Matthew 6:25-34

The Big Day

A few weeks prior to Patrick’s birth, we had scheduled a labor induction for our due date. I was opposed to this in theory, but practicality won out. Knowing my labor history, i.e., lack of any spontaneous labor 10 days after John’s due date, it seemed likely we were in for a repeat. Had I had it my way, I would have definitely waited an extra week, possibly 10 days, and maybe even 2 full weeks past the due date waiting on Patrick to exit spontaneously. But the demands of the season (tax season was in full swing) meant that I needed to be able to precisely schedule my week of leave. I will admit this desire to “do it myself” had less to do with any health concerns for unborn baby Patrick and rather was simply my own pride.

Shortly before 8:00 a.m., Monday, February 15, 2010, we arrived for our amniotomy. Check Wikipedia if you don’t know what an amniotomy is. A few minutes after 8, the procedure had been done and we were waiting for something to happen. The Winter Olympics were on TV, but the picture was so staticky that it was fairly non-interesting. To me, that is. Apparently, when there’s labor going on, black-and-white ski jumping is riveting for other people in the room. Matt.

Finally around noon, things started, labor progressed, and at 4:50, the doctor told me I could start pushing. The song playing was “Precious Lord, Take my Hand,” and at 4:57 p.m., Patrick W Clark emerged, weighing 7 pounds, 9 ounces, and stretching out to 22.5 inches in length. The song playing was “Then” by Brad Paisley. Yes, ladies, that’s right it took only 2 songs, and I didn’t feel a thing. Quite a switch from my first labor experience with the, dare I say, non-effective (or at the very least used-up-by-the-time-it-came-time-to-push-for-over-an-hour-epidural). He was extremely skinny with droopy folds of skin bagging down from his knees to his ankles. Like John, he had dark eyes, though less hair and thinner, shorter eyelashes. We noticed immediately that he did possess the sweet, cuddly disposition that had not accompanied his older brother upon arrival 2.5 years earlier.

Ok, that’s it for tonight. I have to get up extremely early in the morning. I’ll talk about PW’s first birthday in a day or two. Promise.