July 6, 2011--The Beginning

July 6, 2011

The beginning--(I would say "of the end," but I'm not that cliche.)

Long before Max was born, he was an idea in our hearts and minds.  I had considered a second child for quite some time, but I really started yearning for Max around March of 2010. If you ask Scott, he'll tell you that he'd yearned for Max since shortly after Ethan was born. It took me longer because, I'll be honest, Ethan was a difficult baby.  Ethan slept for no longer than two hours at a time, just long enough for me to hit a deep sleep or get some cleaning done before sitting down to relax.  He cried inconsolably for long periods of time, and nothing we did seemed to work for very long.  He spit up so often that we started using onesies and even our own clothes as burp clothes.  And my husband is a laundry freak; he does at least three loads a day.  In hindsight, Ethan probably had some colic, but he also had very inexperienced parents.  I've always been a very patient person, but parenthood did not highlight that virtue.  There were moments, however, when Ethan would smile and laugh uncontrollably.  He was an observer of everything; he could sit and stare in amazement at the same stain on the wall for hours.  He also brought us intense happiness.  The kind that hurts sometimes because it's so powerful.  From the moment we held him in our arms for the first time, we felt that burst of love that every parent knows.  For me, it was an explosion of the love, pride, affection, and protectiveness that I'd been building up for 10 months. Suddenly, in that moment, it became real.  I had a real person to shower with all of those emotions that I'd felt from the moment of conception.  When I remembered those feelings, how could I not want another child?

Max became a real possibility for us in 2010.  There were several reason why we waited so long:  we had our hands full with Ethan and didn't want to neglect him or a new baby, we both finished our graduate degrees and started new jobs that required a lot of work time at home, and our house wasn't big enough to accommodate a new baby and a guest bedroom. We sold our house, settled into our new jobs, and got Ethan ready for his role as a big brother.  We wanted to get pregnant in July or August so that I could spend my entire summer off from teaching with the new baby, and besides the last part, that's exactly what happened.  My pregnancy was completely uneventful.  Everyone assumed that I wanted a girl since we already had Ethan, and I told them that I didn't care as long as it was healthy. Secretly, I wanted a boy, but most moms realize that you don't share those desires with other people just in case they don't come true.  Scott and I recognized Max as a male at our first sonogram at about 11 weeks.  The woman operating the machine wouldn't confirm it, but we saw all the evidence we needed.  We both cried.  We were crying tears of happiness at that point.  I worried incessantly during my pregnancy with Ethan, but I was a bit more relaxed with Max.  I didn't consume an ounce of caffeine during my first pregnancy, but I allowed myself 12-24 ounces of caffeinated beverages during my pregnancy with Max.  I question decisions like that now, but at the time everything seemed fine.  Max was growing rapidly, and I had absolutely no complications.

A little side note--I am a worrier.  I worry about strange things.  I worry that a plane will lose a wheel in the airspace above our house.  I worry that Ethan's cold is really meningitis.  I worry that my steering will somehow malfunction on the highway and send my car and its occupants down an embankment or into a median.  I worried that Ethan would die of SIDS or some other sudden, unpreventable condition.  I worried that he would fall and hit his head just right on the corner of a window sill.  I have spent so many hours of my life imagining every freakish scenario that could possibly lead to serious injury or death of every person I love, including myself.  Yet, I didn't worry a lot when it came to Max.  I felt confident in him and in his ability to survive.  I don't know why, and I can't explain it, but I just felt sure that he would be okay.  How silly of me.

Another side note--I am the queen of digressions.

Max was born on May 4, 2011.  Of course, I had worried about him being born on May 5, Cinco de Mayo.  "Imagine how he will celebrate his birthday in college!" I told my coworkers. We decided on the middle name Cobb because Scott's mom's maiden name is Cobb, and my maternal grandpa was known to everyone as Cobb.  I actually thought Cobb was his real name until I saw his gravestone.  Max weighed 8 pounds, 4 ounces at birth, which was huge to me since Ethan was under 7 pounds.  He was also 21 inches long whereas Ethan was barely 18 inches.  Max was born with a full head of beautiful black hair.  I know everyone says that, but I have photographic evidence.  He came out of the womb needing a haircut. Max also had long, powerful legs and gigantic feet.  His feet actually took up the entire box allotted for footprints on the newborn statistical information sheet.  Max was incredibly strong.  He could hold his head up and look around the room shortly after birth.  Max was perfect.  He was my little man.  Oddly enough, he was also the spitting image of me as a newborn.  My grandma handed me some pictures during her visit with us after Max's birth.  My first thought was, "How did she get pictures of Max already?"  They were, in fact, pictures of me as a newborn, but you wouldn't have been able to tell Max from me in a baby lineup.  We looked like identical twins, down to the black heads of hair that naturally formed a mohawk. I was excited to see what a boy version of me would look like.  I was excited for a lot of things.  Although our resemblance is a little chilling now, it also brings a smile to my face.  Those are hard to come by these days, so I'll take what I can get.