The Baby Bug and Faulty Memories

Noah, Miracle #1

Avery, Miracle #2

Not too long ago, Shawn and I jokingly made a deal: I could have 3 cats or 3 kids.  We currently have 3 cats.  We also recently realized we don't feel like our family is complete.  I haven't been told yet that I have to give up one of the cats or one of the boys we already have (or which one)!   Fortunately, Shawn just might have the baby bug worse than I do, so hopefully I won't have to make that decision!

 Shawn and I wanted a large family right from the get-go.  We both came from disconnected families and wanted to start over with own our family, making sure our own kids grew up in a large, connected family.  That didn't happen (the large family part). You see, it's been a long, hard road for us to get to a family of four.

Finally, the Furr Family of FOUR!

Both of our boys are miracles (I know, I know, all children are miracles, but I just feel like our boys are more special because of our circumstances).   I got sick right after Noah was born and between the meds and what the diseases were doing to my body, we were told there wouldn't/couldn't be anymore babies. When Noah was 3, we had a miscarriage that made that proclamation ring even louder and more dismal.  We couldn't believe it when I went into a remission several years later that my doctors had told us was impossible and still can't explain (I can!).  Our family was given a great gift when we were finally able to get pregnant with Avery.  We're just not ready to give that up yet, even with all the new problems I seem to be having and with Autism Spectrum Disorders 'apparently' running through our family (does one child constitute 'running through the family'?).  We don't want this to be something we regret later on in life, but we want to make the best decision for everyone concerned, including our as-of-yet, not yet conceived child.

The thing is, Shawn and I both have terribly faulty memories when it comes to raising infants.  We romanticize things a little too much.  At 'work' the other day, I was given the blessing of rocking and singing a three-month old little boy to sleep. And the smiles he gave me as he was falling asleep, oh, melt my heart!  What a joy it was!  I still get teary thinking about it!  It's been quite a while since Avery has settled down enough to rock and sing! During the snuggle song in music class, I watch with envy as the other mommies snuggle their little ones, while my rotten little one wanders the room looking for trouble!  Watching two of the pregnant mommies in our Mommy and Me groups grow each week has been an amazing thing to see.  I cherish all the extra cuddles and snuggles I get to experience now that we finally have Avery.  I cherish the 'tidbits of normal' when Asperger's isn't a factor and my boys share a good brotherly moment.

My boys know there are some books Mommy will never get through without tearing up, and I probably won't ever be able to pray over them without crying either.  Those are the times both Shawn and I remember.  He remembers taking over on the weekend nights with Avery for me, cuddling all night in the rocker/recliner, singing Beatles songs to him (completely undoing everything I had accomplished all week, getting Avery to sleep in his crib!).  We do remember Noah's colic and reflux (boy, do we!), but we conveniently block it out when talking about another child.  We remember his toothless smiles, his early accomplishments that we loved to brag about as first time parents.  I loved every single moment of pregnancy, feeling their little bodies growing inside mine, loving each little kick and roll they did (okay, maybe not so much when they jammed their feet in my ribs!).  Even their hiccups were fun!  I know there were labor pains (especially with Avery!), but again, I am conveniently able to not remember just how bad they were (even though one of my friends never misses the chance to remind me how I looked with my feet on the dashboard of the Jeep, clutching my belly,  screaming, "THIS HURTS!" when we dropped Noah at her house at 2:30 in the morning)!  Something about parental hormones and (lack of) brain function helps us remember the good times and block out the bad ones (is that so we have more kids?).  

I used to pine after having a daughter.  I actually argued with the sonogram technicians over both of my boys being boys:  "Are you SURE? 100% CERTAIN that is a penis on my child?  That looks like the umbilical cord to me."  As it turned out, the sonogram techs were correct both times.  And now, each night as I tuck my boys into bed and again as I check on them before heading to bed myself, I realize I wouldn't trade my sons for a million daughters.  So, if God sees fit to bless us with another child, he (or she!) will be welcomed with open, loving arms (colic or not--but preferably not!).  And who knows, maybe this time I'll argue with the sonogram technician again:  "Are you SURE?  100% CERTAIN there is NOT a penis on my child?  Are you POSITIVE that's just the umbilical cord?"