David age 4 with his foster sister |
We’d always dreamed of having a large family. But our only son, David, was already six
years old. We’d spent a heartbreaking
two years as foster parents, hoping in vain to adopt. But we had to give it up. We couldn’t put David through the agony of
becoming attached to another child and then having to say goodbye. It was difficult enough for us. How much more so for him?
“When will I get a baby brother?” David asked.
“I'm sorry, but it looks like you won’t be getting one,” I
said.
David was insistent. “I
want a brother. I'm going to pray for
one.”
Every night David prayed for a brother. Though I worried about how disappointed he
would be when his prayer wasn’t answered, I didn’t have the heart to stop
him. Instead of praying along with
David, I’d given up on fertility options.
I was reading books with advice on “Raising Your Only Child.”
Six months passed.
David wasn’t discouraged. He kept
praying. “I know God will give me a brother,”
he would say. How could I tell him
otherwise?
We took a trip to Los Angeles for David’s seventh birthday,
hoping to distract him. He chose
Universal Studios over Disneyland. He also wanted to see the Queen Mary. While touring the enormous ship, I became
short of breath and had to stop and rest every few minutes.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said to my
husband. “Maybe it’s the smog.” I couldn’t think of any other reason to be
short of breath.
By the time we drove back to Texas almost two weeks later, I realized I
had missed a period. Could it be? I’d given up any expectations of having
another baby. I was afraid to hope. I certainly didn’t mention my suspicions to
David.
I waited until the second missed cycle before I bought a pregnancy
test. To my utter shock it was
positive! My husband picked me up, swung
me around. David danced for joy.
“When?” he asked.
“When do I get my brother?”
“Well, honey, it won’t be right away.” I figured in my head. “The baby will be born in about seven
months.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be
ready for him by then.”
“But David,” I said, “what if the baby is a girl?”
He shook his head.
“It won’t be. I prayed for a
brother.”
Oh, brother, I
thought. “But what if it is a girl?”
“Then we’ll send her back.
I asked for a brother.”
David “practiced” for his baby brother. He rescued a baby doll from the bottom of his
toy box, cleaned it up, and carried it everywhere. He made a car seat out of a cardboard box and
strapped that doll into it whenever we went out. He wanted to check out every book at the
library that had to do with fetal development and baby care. I edited a few of the pictures, but tried to
answer all his questions as completely as possible.
“This is how big my brother is now,” he would say, pointing
at a diagram of a second trimester fetus.
He would check the length against a ruler.
After the baby’s heartbeat became audible, the obstetrician
invited David in to listen.
“Wow.” David’s
whisper was reverent. “That’s my
brother’s heart.” He grinned. “It sounds sort of like a washing
machine.” He listened to his own
heartbeat with the stethoscope.
“Do you have any questions, young man?” asked the doctor.
“Yeah. How did that
baby get in there anyhow?”
I swallowed and looked at the doctor. After reading all those library books David
had never once asked that question.
My OB smiled and said,
“Well, David, your mother and your father love each other very much so God put
the baby in there.”
“Oh,” David said, nodding.
He started talking to my belly after that. “Hello, Robert. This is your brother, David, speaking.” He wanted to sing to him, read stories to him.
The doctor ordered an ultrasound. Just as happened when I was pregnant with
David, this baby was growing so big that the doctor wanted to make sure there
was just one. During the ultrasound, the
baby wouldn’t get in the right position to determine its sex.
“It’s okay,” David said while watching the videotape of the
ultrasound. “I know it’s a boy.”
As the delivery date grew nearer the doctor said, “Well,
based on the heartbeat, my guess would be a girl.”
No, I wanted to
say. You
don’t understand! David wants a brother.
Just as David had been, this baby was breech. Because they were both so large and I was too
small, I had another C-section. David
donned a hospital gown and waited just outside the delivery room with a family
friend.
“One good thing about a breech baby,” said the doctor, “is
that you can tell the sex right away.”
He paused. “It’s a boy!”
While the doctor sewed me together, my husband helped clean
up the baby. The nurse stepped outside
with him to show David his new brother, Robert.
“I knew he would be a boy,” he told the nurse. “I asked God for a brother.”
At the time the hospital didn’t allow siblings to visit in
the room, but our doctor found a way to “bend” the rules, and David was allowed
to come with his dad. He sat for long
stretches in the rocking chair, holding and rocking his sleepy brother, asking
a million questions.
“Does he know me?”
“When will he wake up?” “Will he
like me?” “When will he smile?” “When will he eat real food?” “When will he crawl?”
It didn’t bother David that it would be awhile before Robert
was big enough to play with him. After
all, he’d waited a long time, knowing
his prayer would be answered; he didn’t mind waiting a bit longer.
Faith is a beautiful thing.
ReplyDeleteYes it is--and especially humbling when your young son's faith is stronger than your own. :)
DeleteThanks for sharing. Such faith!
ReplyDeleteYou're welcome. David's faith WAS amazingly unwavering and a lesson for all of us. :)
DeleteOh, Katy, that's a wonderful story. Thank you for sharing it with us!
ReplyDeleteYou're so welcome. :)
Delete