This Day In History

Thirty-six years ago, my parent's received a telephone call just as they sat down to supper. My Dad answered it. The man on the line stated he'd heard my folks were looking for a baby; his thirteen year old daughter had successfully hidden her pregnancy but had just given birth to a baby girl and they were not taking the baby home. The man said, "She seems healthy and she needs a home." My Dad was afraid to ask for time to think and talk it over, so he said yes and hung up the phone. My Dad is a man of his word.

Can you imagine the look on his face when he turned to my Mom to tell her what he'd just agreed to? My Mom says you cannot imagine the look. She thought someone had died or someone had died. But then he told her and there was much joyful shrieking. They weren't able to eat their supper. They weren't able to sleep. They were more excited and terrified than they'd ever been. They'd never been that far before in their quest for a child.

They went to see me in the nursery the very next day but they would not allow them. My Dad says they could see my bassinet's legs and the legs of a very old and heavy black nurse behind the privacy screen. I was hidden. She came from around the screen and spoke to them through the window. "No, sir. No one can see this baby. Why? Because that's what the orders say... Is this your girl?" He said I was. And she smiled. "Prettiest white baby I ever seen!" She answered one of the looming questions but she lied about the pretty part. Dehydrated and with no prenatal care under my belt, I was a scrawny runt. I also had a big nose.

They returned three days after my birth and pulled up to the front of the hospital. My cousin ran in to the front desk. A couple in their 40's and their teenage daughter walked out of the hospital, crossing in front of my parent's car and then down into the parking lot. The girl had red hair and she wore a green bathrobe. She did not look up. It startled my Mother when the nurse knocked on the car window. The door opened and I was handed to her, along with four diapers and four glass bottles of formula. "Here's your baby! Merry Christmas!" That's what she said.

I was swaddled so efficiently they could not see anything but the tip of my nose. Like I said, it was the biggest bit of me. But when they unwrapped me, they thought I looked just fine. And I would do just fine. And I do. And I have. And this year, this birthday, I thought it would be nice to tell you my adoption story. To tell you about the people who took a miracle baby when there was no room for her at the inn. To tell you about the man and woman who are my parents.

I do not think I am Jesus.
I think I am just very lucky.
Happy Birthday to me.

I Hear Ya

Kids really do say the darndest things.

Logan suffered from O2 deprivation at birth due to what they call nuchal cord, i.e. the cord was wrapped around his neck four times. He and I battled with birthing him for 42 hours. At birth, his apgar score (3) was telling and it meant that he required resuscitation. He pulled through fine but we were told to watch for signs of the lack of oxygen. They weren't sure if it would have a lasting effect or not.

When the time came, they did developmental tests on him and he was only ever lacking in one category. The kid hardly ever talked. I might get one word but mostly he pointed and grunted. He was a quiet baby and a quiet child. When he went to pre-k, his lisp became apparent and he went to speech therapy. His therapist said he was capable of talking up a storm but he felt insecure about sounding funny. So, they fixed him right up. And now, of course, you wouldn't know it at all.

When he was a toddler, his funniest word was his own name. He called himself "Hoagie Zzzzickery" and he pronounced and enunciated it just as I've written. It was the cutest thing. I remember the day he repeated his name to someone correctly. I should have been overjoyed but it made me sad. My guy was learning and maturing. He was not ever going to be a baby again. 

Zoe and Sam have been big talkers from the beginning. Compared to Logan's early years, their ability to make their specific needs known seem a little surreal to me. Zoe is about to reach the age Logan was when he started speech therapy. She will be three on Monday. Before I know it, the little ones won't be making those cute verbal errors anymore. They won't call them "Flutterbyes" any longer. Sam won't ask for any more "Heart Tarts" for breakfast and Zoe won't tell me that she loves to "eat cheese dick" ever again. 

Why do these little errors already seem so bittersweet to me? I don't know. I guess because I'm the mom and the baby will be three years old on Monday.  One day you're birthing them, the next you're diapering them, and then one day, someone states their name correctly, for the record and you realize they really are becoming right before your very teary eyes.

April 7, 1997

He arrived at 5:54 a.m. on April 7, 1997. He was born after forty two hours of difficult and sometimes excruciating labor. He was too early yet too large. Trapped for much too long by his malposition, the cord wrapped like a noose, he finally emerged from my body in grave distress. His body the color of wet concrete, he was a limp shadow of the baby I'd dreamt of. He was finished before he even got started.

But the people in the room that day worked hard and fast to rewrite the end of this story. For reasons unknown to me, my baby was in trouble and then my baby was spared. I waited for hours to have my chance to hold him close and touch his battered golden head.



His father really couldn't have been prouder. If he ever truly loved me, it was on that day. It's one of my nicest memories of him. I can't believe twelve years have passed us by now.



His father called me last night. It seems, while on a field trip to Vicksburg, Logan circumvented a stone staircase by climbing over a stone wall. He lost his footing at the top and fell and broke his leg, continuing a rich and long family history of field trip injuries and mishaps.



It's a simple fracture that doesn't require surgery and will not affect his growth plate. He'll be casted tomorrow and is to be on crutches during the healing process. 

I wish I could hold his hand and tell him that he's been through far worse.

I wish I could be with him for this twelfth birthday.