The Boo-Baby

It was totally different with my daughter. The first child is always different. Everything is a "first": first diapers, first outfits, first crib, first bottles, first toys. First, first, first. I had no idea what I was getting into. I had no idea how precious sleep actually was, or how loud those little lips and lungs could work together. Or how deeply, completely smitten I could become with another human being.

Since she started noticeably moving about in the womb, I spent every night falling to sleep with my hand touching my wife's ever-growing belly, trying to touch her through the skin that separated us those few months. I spoke to her, so she'd know my voice. That was what I told my wife. You have to provide some kind of explanation for that kind of thing. The truth is, I couldn't wait for her to get here.

We had two ultrasounds. The first was at twenty weeks and it clearly showed us a beautiful, healthy baby girl. My wife cried. She wanted a boy. We paid for a second ultrasound. Same beautiful, healthy baby girl. I wanted to name her River. Her name is Jordan. She was born on Halloween. My Boo-Baby. My treat.

We lived in a tiny house with two tiny bedrooms, one of which served as a catchall office/dressing/laundry/reading/guest room. We never had guests. When I say our house was tiny, it was almost 800 square feet. Almost. We had to do some serious rearranging for Baby Boo. That rearranging turned into 2,000 square feet and a seemingly never ending, unfinished product which, I humbly add, is still not really finished after seven years.

I broke out in hives for almost one whole year after Jordan arrived. I don't know why, nerves, I guess. I don't think I was allergic to her. She was a big deal to me. Still is, my little point guard/first base/goal keeper who doesn't want to be called Jordan. Or River. Keanu. She wants to be called Keanu. As in Reeves. Go figure.

The Wait

We and Baby Boo made it through some amazing times: a new house, new careers for Mommy and Daddy, a new Millennium. We made it through some tough times, as well. Including two Baby Bye-Byes we never got to meet. We never knew if they were boys or girls, although you probably know what my wife will tell you. So for six years, it was "you and me and Boo-Baby makes three."

Those were great years, don't get me wrong. We had a lot of fun. More firsts. First Christmas and Easter, first Mother's Day and Father's Day, first words, first steps, first birthday. It was great. It was not great. It was good, but it was not...complete. I don't have any words to explain it, and those who have more than one child know what I'm trying to say. Somehow, we weren't...complete. We weren't finished, in spite of the Bye-Bye Babies. So we waited and prayed and waited and prayed and...well, you know..."waited". And prayed.

The Answer

New Orleans was apparently the missing ingredient. My wife and I celebrated our tenth anniversary there and, well...remember that missing ingredient? Hello. Remember that lovely new house that was almost finished? Good Grief. I had nine months to finish a basement remodeling project that was going completely wrong and really should have been done by a professional, but that huge male ego and tiny bank account didn't seem to be able to work something out. The pressure was on and there was no negotiating the time table. My hat's off to you building contractors.

I was 100% absorbed in completing that basement because we had nearly totally filled our "spare" third bedroom with all that stuff that wouldn't fit in the "tiny house" and then some. Every weekend I was working at framing, wring, plumbing, sheet rocking, sanding, painting, carpeting and moving all that stuff down stairs to our new family room. On top of that, I was also putting together a new nursery. I had very little time to even think about the actual baby that was going to be living in it. In fact, I gave very little thought to him at all.

Him. Yes, we finally got the ultrasound my wife was looking for. A beautiful, healthy boy. I was very excited, although, truth be known, I really was expecting another girl. Can't explain it. I was actually thinking about all the practical benefits of not having to buy all new "boy" stuff. I am a cheap man. But I really didn't care, so long as he was healthy.

Mother's Day

No kidding. Two weeks premature, little bubba knocks on the door on Mother's Day. That morning, my wife said she didn't feel like going to church, so Jordan...Keanu... and I went without her. I almost made it through Sunday School when my cell phone rings. It's time.

"Are you sure?" I asked. Are you sure, indeed. If she's not sure, no one's sure.

We made it to the hospital by noon. By one thirty, I had a baby boy in my hands. My head was still spinning. What was I going to do with a baby? My mind was a total blank. I remembered the hives. Good Grief. As I held that little guy fresh from the womb, marveling at his seemingly magic appearance, the nurses took him away to clean him up, measure him...all that stuff. One of them asked happily, "What are you going to name him?"

"Will. William Michael."

The Words

The words cut through the air like bullets. Direct, medical, professional. Hard. "He has many of the physical characteristics of Down syndrome." Pause. "I'm sorry."

I couldn't feel my knees. I looked at my wife, still lying on the operating table, her eyes began to tear, her face a mirror of my own.. We had absolutely no idea.

Due to the rush of getting to the hospital on time, I had to go back home to get some clothes. I sobbed all the way. I had not been expecting anything like this. I called several friends and my pastor and asked for prayer. I needed prayer. I needed more than prayer.

When I returned, he was gone from her room. My wife looked absolutely ashen. I don't know if it was the pain medication or the sudden news, but she was simply not there mentally or emotionally. A nurse came in and asked me to step outside.

"Will is in NICU. You may want to go up as soon as you can." She wouldn't tell me anything more. I rushed up, but couldn't get in as they were doing some tests. Another nurse finally came out and explained that they expected Will had a heart defect. That about half of all babies with Down syndrome had heart defects, but that it was inconclusive and a cardiologist would be by to confirm. I wasn't just speechless. I died inside.

The Voice

There was no one else in that small waiting room; I was all alone. I couldn't stop the tears, the images of that tiny baby I had held so briefly hours ago in a room I was locked out of, fighting for his life. All the months of spending all my free time preparing the house, I had not prepared myself for this. My heart felt like it would burst. I couldn't stop crying.

I got on my knees and turned around and laid my head in the seat of my chair and closed my eyes, trying to block everything out, trying to find some light on this new path I was taking. I tried to pray, but couldn't, so I sobbed some more. After a few more minutes, I was just out of tears. I took a deep breath and finally opened my heart to my God.

"Father God, I honestly beg you to protect my precious baby boy. I don't know what's wrong with him, but I beg you, whatever it is, give it to me instead. I can take it. I want to take it. Please." The tears suddenly returned and I felt sweat dripping down by back, the muscles in my chest tightening and my breath coming in sobbing gasps.

I don't know if it was my imagination, or just the air-conditioning vent overhead, but I felt a very soothing, coolness envelope my whole body and I immediately stopped crying. I relaxed and my breath returned to me. I felt peaceful. Then I heard the words. Not like someone sitting beside me or a distant voice, just words in my head that I somehow felt--knew--weren't my words.

"I think you're starting to understand how I feel."

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