As I write this, it is the wee hours of Thursday morning,
November 20th. It was right about this time 16 years ago that my
husband and I arrived at Freeman Hospital. We had traveled mostly in silence,
the quiet occasionally broken by, “Do you think he’ll look like Abby?” or “What
color eyes do you think he’ll have?” The other would answer and the silence
would resume. I was terrified. Not about the labor or delivery, but about the
condition of my heart.
About halfway through the pregnancy with my son I was
driving to Joplin with my mom. My then not-quite-two-year-old daughter was in
the back seat, jabbering incessantly about probably nothing, kicking her little
legs, and pointing at things out the window. Some question Mom asked about the
baby, or how I was feeling, or maybe about the crib bedding prompted me to
tears. She, knowing my propensity to bust out into random, unexplained crying,
wasn’t all that surprised at all, but gently asked, “Kristin, what is wrong?”
It was then that I said the words I hadn’t been able to say
out loud, but had been holding inside for months. With tears streaming down my
face I said, “Mom, what if I don’t love him like I love Abby? I mean, I love
her so much my heart is full. I already love him, don’t get me wrong, but…..how
on earth can I ever love another child the way
I love her?” By then I was sobbing, embarrassed that I had uttered such awful
words. My mom, such a wise, wise woman, reached over and patted my leg as she
said, “Oh, honey. You won’t love him like you do Abby. It
will be different. But you really don’t need to worry about having enough love.
A mother’s heart is equipped to do a lot of stretching. Of course, you feel
like your heart is completely full with love for Abby, but here’s the thing –
the second that baby boy is born, your mother’s heart will instantly grow so
all the love you have for him can fit. Don’t worry, honey. You’ll have plenty
of room.”
At 11:56am on November 20th, 1998, a 7lb 7oz boy
named Sam entered this world quickly, loudly, and dramatically. I think he was
born right before the noon hour so he wouldn’t miss lunch – and he’s been
eating constantly ever since. He was a screaming, dark-headed thing with a very
crooked nose when he entered this world. The nose straightened itself out, but
the screaming lasted for years. He was our second child, our first (and only)
son. He ate voraciously, made a lot of noise, slept little.
Now at 6-foot tall, he likes to rest his arms on top of my
head and state, “You’re short.” Ha. Yeah, that never gets old. If you ask him
to do something for you it’s “Yes, ma’am” as he jumps to his feet. He loves to
joke around and make stupid faces. It’s impossible to not laugh around this
kid. He’s got a heart for God and a passion for helping others. And when he gets tickled about something, his
laugh is what makes my heart happy.
And Mom was right – like the Grinch, my heart grew three
sizes that blessed day in November, 1998. There was no difference in how I felt
about him and my worried, 25-year-old heart had plenty of room for two children
– which was good, because little did I know my 28-year-old heart was going to
undergo construction for an add-on just a few years later.
So, Happy Birthday, to my dear Sammy. And to all of you
driving the streets of Miami and the surrounding area roadways: If you see a
big red Durango with a license plate reading RDNKDVA and a zombie family and
“STUDENT DRIVER” sticker on the back, well, wave first, then get out of the
way. Whether it’s him or me driving, it’s probably just best you move.
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