In a small way, Christopher was a miracle child. A couple of months before Sue became pregnant, I was trying to console her because her doctor had found what he called cysts on her ovaries and recommended she get a hysterectomy. That’s a pretty big jump from a possible hysterectomy to being pregnant. I guess you could safely say the doctor’s prognosis was wrong.
Sarah was unexpected too. Just a few months before Sue became pregnant with Sarah, she had a miscarriage and we honestly thought there would be no more children. This time, we were wrong.
I don’t think it would be a surprise to any of my other kids if I admitted I really wanted a girl this time around. I love my boys but we had to balance things out a little, even though Amy joked about wanting to be the only girl. At least she said she was joking.
Anyway, due to Sue’s earlier miscarriage there was a lot of testing and checkups this time around, including several tests that would tell us what the gender was. As I’ve said before, I’ve always viewed knowing the gender of the baby beforehand like Christmas; you ask for what you want but you take what you get. But one day as I was in bed recovering from having my wisdom teeth removed, Sue came back from her latest doctor’s appointment and put a bonnet in my hand. It was her way of making me feel better, and I was ecstatic!
When she was born, Sue spent the night in the hospital. Then next day when Michael, Christopher and I went to pick them up, Christopher was very excited. His Mom was only gone overnight, but at 2 years old, that was too long for him; plus he had a new baby sister. He crawled up on the bed to hug Sue just as the nurse brought Sarah into the room. Sue began to change her diaper before we left and Christopher was watching everything she was doing. When the diaper came off it was obvious to him that this one was ‘different’ than he was. “Mom”, he said, “She’s broked!”
The next day, after her first visit to the doctor, the hospital called. Her bilirubin count was too high and they were concerned she might get jaundice, so they asked us to bring her back the next day and they would keep her for a couple of days to see if they could get it down. I was okay with that. I knew it was the best thing for her, but they didn’t bother to tell us that the only place they admit newborns to is Neonatal Intensive Care. We walked into the office and as I handed her over to the nurse, I could see through the windows at all the little babies in incubators with all sorts of tubes and machines attached to them. Suddenly, this wasn’t a minor thing anymore. My baby was going in that room too. I have to admit I couldn’t hold back the tears. Looking back now, it seems a little silly, but at the time, it was tough. But tough or not, she looked so cute. They put a blindfold over her eyes so the lights wouldn’t damage them and they used a surgical mask to fashion a covering for her bottom. She looked for the world like she was sunning herself in her bikini.
In so many ways, she was the perfect last baby. She very seldom cried. When we put her in her crib she went right to sleep. In the morning, if she woke up before we did, she would lay there or play with a toy until she heard us moving around and then she’d stand up and wait for us to come get her. She never used a pacifier, was easy to wean off the bottle and even easier to potty train. In fact, she only had one night time “accident”, and that was when she was sick.
She did have her dark side though, she was the only one who ever wrote on walls (a lot) and she had the most annoying habit of picking at wall paper until she could rip off little pieces off the wall. It took a while to break her from those habits.
Oh, and she was also very attached to her Daddy. Where ever we went, I was either carrying her or holding her hand. She also had to have the seat right next to me, whether it was at the theatre, a restaurant or church. Even now, she still sits beside me in church; sometimes right against me. And I love it.
My favorite all time picture was taken at Douglas’ wedding. A couple of the groomsmen couldn’t show up so when it came time for the wedding party to dance someone asked if I would dance with Amy. I categorically cannot dance, but there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to dance with my baby, so I said “Absolutely.” As we moved around the dance floor with me trying very hard to stay off her toes I hear this voice yell, “That’s my Daddy!” I turned to see Sarah running out onto the dance floor and she grabs onto my leg. So, I bent down and picked her up in one arm while holding Amy with the other, and the three of us finished the dance. Someone took a picture of us – me and my two girls -- Amy at 20, Sarah at 4.
Sarah’s a senior this year and I am going to be so sad when she goes off to college. She’s going to the same school Christopher goes to so that will be a good thing. He will keep an eye on her so that will keep her save and she’s really smart so she will do fine, I’m just not looking forward to not seeing her every day, even if it’s just to yell at her to pick up her room.
I’ve had a kid in my house since December 26, 1972, almost 39 years by the time she goes off to college. I know I’m going to find myself in her room some days; looking at her stuff, smelling her smells or just remembering. And that’s just because she’s going to college. By the time she’s ready to get married and move away permanently I’ll be a basket case.
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