Our Boys

I can remember the day so clearly.  My best friend, Jen, had told me she was going to find out whether she was expecting a little boy or girl and that she’d let me know as soon as she left the doctor. I was at work and checked my phone a dozen times.  I finally texted her a pink heart, a blue heart, and a question mark, unable to wait any longer.  After a bit she texted back a blue heart and then right after that she said, “I hope that you’re okay with it.”  And with that my heart broke a little.  Here she was on one of the most exciting days of her life and she was worried about my feelings; I hated myself a little for that.  I hated that I had let my grief push its way to the forefront of yet another amazing moment and it wasn’t even my moment.  I quickly responded, “OF COURSE it’s okay!” And truly, it was. But I would be lying if I didn’t say it hurt something awful too.   The hurt wasn’t born of jealously-not an ounce of that-but that our beautiful baby boys would never play together; that we would never take a picture of them together and look back at it in wonder that they’d ever been that little, as there is no doubt in my mind that Jen and I will grow old together.  

I love me some Oliver; we all do.  Sean gets such a kick out of him and Kennedy has loved him like her own baby brother from the moment she first held him.  And so I was feeling pretty sad that we didn’t get to make a vacation happen with them the way with did last summer and so I made plans to head to Boston for a day or two with Carter since K would be at gymnastics camp.  

So after Kennedy’s first week of camp we made a visit to Long Island.  It was filled with family, boat rides, and pool days.  It was great and needed but all of it was overshadowed by the fact that my baby boy looked at me, while I was putting on makeup to head to a bridal shower and said, “Mama.”  I swear to God I almost cried ever drop of mascara I’d just applied. To hear that sound come from the mouth of a little boy has been something my heart has been desperate to hear for the last three and a half years.  He is a snuggly, mushy little mama’s boy (which I mean in the most affectionate way) and he soothes my soul in ways I can’t begin to put into words. It was a great long weekend but it took its toll on the little girl and so we skipped camp this week.  

I went back and forth about bringing her with us but decided not to, which she was not thrilled with me about.  The thing is, it would make it a very different visit and I felt like I needed it to be low key and low maintenance, neither of which describes my fiery, wild-haired girl.  She was entertained by her grandparents and did just fine through FaceTime calls and some whining.  The little man and me?  We did just fine too.  

The second we arrived to Jen and I saw Oliver’s little face light up as he shouted over the pouring rain, “Hi Baby!” I was done.  Jen parked the car for me and I made my way up the stairs holding one boy in my arms and the hand of the other as he chatted to me.  The second we walked through the door Oliver directed us to sit on the floor and he talked Carter, showing off all of his bog boy moves.  Carter was enthralled by him, laughing and trying to mimic the sounds and clapping.  Separated by one year and one day, they had not yet met face to face as life just got in the way, but they acted like old friends instantly (except when poor Oliver got close enough for a fistful of hair from the Ultimate Hair-Puller). Watching them, my heart was literally fluttering.  Though in this scenario Oliver was the big boy and Carter the baby, my brain allowed my heart to remind me he would have been sandwiched between my boys in a different life and I smiled to myself thinking of the noise level with three and how they’d have been thick as thieves. Just like that, our boys were together.  And it was everything I needed it be all of these years.  

We had a great visit that ended too quickly but we had a little girl that missed us and wanted us (mostly “her baby”) back home and so we got one last picture of the little men together and headed back to New York.

We decided to add another big milestone to month ten for Carter and took him to get his first haircut. While the mullet has always made me laugh I find it less funny on the heads of my children and so I thought a good trim was in order.  I went off the suggestion of a friend and brought him to an honest-to-God Barber Shop in the town next door; the kind where the barber’s were sitting outside waiting for men in need of some grooming.  A guy that could have been Sean’s doppelgänger was “up” and instantly started talking to Carter, making him feel at ease and let him touch the buzzer and combs.  My big guy- my last baby- he never fussed or cried once.  And though every snip of his baby hair’s made me want to scream STOP!!  I knew it was really Time I wanted to stop and not this sweet man cutting his hair.  In a month and a half he will be One and I’m just not ready to be there yet. So he is still my baby.  My baby with a pretty damn cute ‘do. 

As if there just wasn’t enough emotion coursing through my veins as we got in the car Kennedy asked why we were taking Carter’s hair home in a bag.  I explained that we’d done the same for her and that I had a special box to put it in.  Naturally, her mind always loops in Jack when I say “my kids” and so she asked, “Did you keep Jackie’s hair too?”  I could barely breath but managed to squeak out “No” as the tears started welling up behind my sunglasses.  When she asked why, I couldn’t give her a good answer because I was too busy asking myself the same question Why?! Why didn’t I ask them for a lock of his hair? He'd had so much.  It was dark blond and it was beautiful and I suddenly wanted to touch it more than anything in the world.  Grief is funny that way; it comes out at unexpected times and swallows you up.  And so, as I do whenever my heart calls out for Jack, I did my best to take in every second of time with his baby brother and sister, believing that he lives through them.

My summer vacation is winding down with my return to work starting in August.  Time off never feels like enough but there has been some pretty good moments to carry my through until our beach vacation down south the end of August.  Until then, I will soak in the sun and the chaos.  You do the same, my friends. 

The Last Baby

For the last seven months there has been a thought swirling through my head.  I guess it would be better described as a realization than a thought; but in any case, I can’t shake it.  I’ve gone back and forth about whether it was something I’d write about or share but I figure I’ve literally shared just about everything else with you that this shouldn’t be the exception.  From the moment they placed my sweet, chubby Carter Fitzgerald in my arms I have not been able to stop thinking, “this is my last baby.” 

In all honesty I haven’t thought about it very often lately, but as we stood on the beach in North Carolina two weeks ago, visiting Sean’s dad for Easter, Carter’s first beach visit on a windy afternoon, it came rushing to the forefront of my mind; “This is my last baby.” And then suddenly it has been all I can think of.   Everything I am doing with him, everything he does for the first time, it all comes back to the same thing “This is the last first time I will see this.  This is my last baby.” 

Now, I know what you’re thinking because almost every time I’ve uttered that aloud in front of someone I hear the same response: “Oh, you never know! You may decide to have another one some day!“ But here’s the thing, and the is where I have been unsure if I should share: There will be no more babies.  Not that I give birth to.  Not that I will carry for nine months.  Sean and I made a decision about nine or ten months ago that this would be the last pregnancy.  My amazing OB talked with us in great lengths about it all and in the end I decided, for a number of reasons, that I would have my tubes removed.  You may be wondering if I grappled with the finality of it at all and I swear to God the answer is no.  I didn’t need to think about it at all-I knew deep in my bones and from the bottom of my heart that it would be my last pregnancy.  You see, I barely made it through with my sanity.  I felt like I had worked so hard to put myself back together into someone resembling the “old me” but the whole time I was pregnant, the fear built as I wondered what would it look like on the other side for me-would I end up a disaster again?  And so, I knew.  And I delivered my healthy baby without issue, heard his cries and could breathe again, and when the doctor asked one final time if I was sure, I said yes.  And I was.  I am.  But it just means that now when I think, “This is my last baby,” it’s true; I guess I just never anticipated all of the emotion that would come with this.

No baby is perfect, but this boy, he is damn close.  He’s happy, barely cries, he’s quiet, and, up until about two weeks ago, was sleeping through the night like a champ. And the way he looks at his sister, my god, could melt you to a puddle on the floor.  All of this, and so much more, makes you feel like you could have twenty more kids like him-that it would be easy, that you’d want to keep going back for more.  Don’t get me wrong- Kennedy makes my heart beat.   She kept a fire burning in me even when I felt like life was over-but I knew from the minute she started walking at eight months she would challenge me in all of the ways for a very long time to come-I could never handle another Kennedy; the world could not handle another Kennedy.  

The other day in the car I asked Sean if Carter made him feel like he wants another baby.  Now my husband is not a man that oozes with emotion so to ask him “feeling questions” can be perplexing.  He starts talking logistics: cost, where would we put another-we only have three bedrooms, etc., to which I, perhaps too emphatically, reiterated, “FEEL! I asked do you FEEL like you want another baby?” He simply said, “Yes.” I quickly responded with, “Well we can’t,” before I let any kind of regret creep into my mind because the fact is we are just both so in love by this sweet baby, our rainbow, and that’s what that whole exchange was speaking to.  Even if we were to have had any more kids they wouldn’t be like Carter; we all know there are no two kiddos alike.  But truth-be-told I'd be lying if I said I didn't from time to time worry we made a mistake.  It's enough to send me into a full blown panic but then in the next instant everything we went through with Jack and the memories of losing him come rushing forward and I am reassured that it was the right thing for me.  That, if anything over these last few years, I know myself well; I know what is best for me and I know what will keep me together and whole for my husband and babies.  This is my last baby. 

But here we have him, the last baby.  And so I find myself watching his every move so closely, committing everything I can to memory; wanting so badly to make sure I can remember it all clearly down the road, the further away we get from these moments.  I watch him play with Kennedy and think: He is everything she’s waited for. I’m so thankful and relieved we were brave enough to even try for him to begin with.  

I love every moment of him.  But there is something somewhat paralyzing in knowing that a baby is your last, like you don’t want to move forward but rather stay in these moments for as long as you possibly can.  So when I’ve found myself dwelling in this head space these last few weeks, I try to remind myself that though he may be the last baby, and we’re going through so many last Firsts, there is so much life ahead of us; so many firsts to look forward to-for both of my kids-and many more lasts too; and that it’s all ok.  Just as there is so much magic in all of the firsts, there is in the lasts too; maybe even a bit more.