Lucky

April 4th

I invite some friends over for dinner. We already have the ingredients we need, and since we have eaten at Other Baby's house for the past several nights, we figure it is time to return the favor. And then, McMoose emails me to let me know that he has to go to a business dinner. All righty, then. So I call Other Mama (because...what else would Other Baby's mom be called? And also, I'm going to have to rename him seeing as he would probably be quite offended to hear me calling him a baby. Fine. Henceforth, he shall be named Other Boy. Doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?) and tell her that I am in no way prepared to clean the house, cook dinner, and run herd on the kids by myself. Of course, I do still have the ingredients for dinner, so we decide to move the venue to her house, instead. Easy-peasy, right?

But then, I pull the meat out of the fridge and by the time I load it and the kids into the car, there is a decidedly unpleasant stench coming from the bag. Sitting in the driveway, I call Other Mama again. The meat stinks, I tell her, and we decide to order pizza instead. We'll be there soon, I say, and then realize that the call has been dropped. Oh, well...they're just a couple of miles down the road, no point in calling back. It has started raining, so I put in a CD so that I won't be tempted to fool with the radio while driving in rush hour in the rain. The kids are happy. The meat still smells bad, but we can put it in the dumpster when we get to Other Boy's house. And off we go.

We are halfway there, driving a route I've driven probably a hundred times over. I know this route. And that was probably my downfall. I know it and because I do, maybe I'm not watching as closely as I should be. The rain has gotten harder and I look away for a second while I fiddle with the windshield wipers. And when I look back, my undoing: a long line of brake lights.

There's a moment of silent clarity that stretches out forever, a moment during which you think of everything in the world and nothing at all. I'm going too fast to stop in time, I think as I step on the brakes as hard as I can. Oh, my God, the kids are in the car, as I feel it slow, but not enough. I can't switch lanes, as I see the cars in the next lane over going impossibly fast. What do I do, what do I do, as I feel the wheels start to slip. And then, the final realization: It's raining. I'm hydroplaning. I can't stop. I can't stop.

Crash.

And the moment is gone. The sound of metal hitting metal jolts everyone. The kids are screaming. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant, half to myself and half to Luke. I turn to look at Luke and say, Are you okay? Are you ouchy? It's okay, it's okay...that was a car accident...just a car accident. It's okay, it's okay. I turn on the hazard lights. I unbuckle my seat belt and start to open the door, then remember reading about how two-car accidents frequently turn into three- or four- or five-car accidents in fast-moving traffic because oncoming cars don't see the stopped cars in time. I close the door. I re-buckle my seat belt. But I have to do something, I think. I can't just sit here. I unbuckle my seat belt again. Who calls the cops? Am I supposed to do it? What number do I call? Does this count as an emergency? 

Then, another doubt. The person in the car I hit isn't getting out. Why isn't she getting out? Is she okay? After what seems like forever, I see her door open and I open mine. I'm shaking and I worry I'll drop my phone. Who do I call, I ask her. Do you know who I call? Can I call 911? 

I don't hear what she says because there are so many cars going so very fast beside us. She walks over to me and says, Calm down. Stop shaking. Stop shaking. I call 911 and tell the operator that I hit a car. I tell them (Him? Her? I have no idea) where we are. I have two babies in the car, I say. I don't think they're hurt, but I need someone to come look at them. I remember reading something about how you're not supposed to take kids out of their car seat after an accident until an EMT checks them out and rules out spinal injury. Weston is still screaming and I can barely hear the 911 dispatcher. I hang up, thinking the conversation is finished. They call right back and tell me to stay on the line because they have more questions. Oh. Ok, then. The questions seem ludicrous--was anyone thrown from the car? Is anyone unconscious? Bleeding profusely? No, no, and no. Didn't I already say that I don't think anyone was seriously hurt? By this point, the other woman has gotten back in her car to get out of the rain.

The dispatcher finishes his/her round of questions and tells me that I can hang up now. I call McMoose and get his voicemail. I leave a message saying that we're not hurt, but we were in an accident. He calls me back before I even finish leaving the message. Usually, he never has cell phone coverage at work, but it just so happened that he was walking past a window when I called him. I tell him that we were in an accident and the kids seem okay, but the paramedics are on their way, just to make sure. As I'm telling him this, we see firetrucks and an ambulance go down the opposite side of the highway and then do a u-turn to come back for us. Firetrucks, exclaims Luke happily. Yes, I tell him. This time, those firetrucks are coming for us.

 The firetrucks get there first, cordon off the lane. One of them comes to check on us, opens the back door and talks to Luke, who is now complaining that his belly hurts. The firefighter tells me I can get Weston out, so I do. I sit in the front and nurse him to calm him down. He does, but every time he sees the firefighters in their hats and coats, he starts screaming again. We go into the ambulance so the paramedics can check us out of the rain. When I walk around the car, I see that there's my hood is all bent up and I can see inside.

I'm still shaking and start to feel like I might pass out. Don't drop the baby, don't drop the baby. A firefighter carries Luke to the ambulance. I am asked an endless stream of questions and it takes me a minute to remember the simplest answers--our address, our phone number, my birth date.

The EMT asks which hospital we'd like to go to. Hospital? Is that necessary? The EMT says that if we refuse transport, we'll have to sign papers stating that we're going against medical advice. I'm no stranger to AMA forms, but in the past, I've only signed them for myself--never for my kids. And Luke is still complaining of stomach pain and is getting more lethargic. I call McMoose and tell him not to go home because we're headed to the hospital. I text Other Mama and tell her that we're okay, but were in an accident and are headed to the hospital. The woman from the other car is strapped to a stretcher and taken to another hospital.

We arrive at the hospital and the EMTs help me get the kids and carseat into the Children's Emergency Department. I sign an AMA form for myself so that I can stay with the kids. McMoose arrives. We talk to the woman at the check-in desk. We wait. I call the insurance company. Wait. We talk to a nurse. We wait. We talk to a resident. We wait. Two respiratory therapists come in to give Luke a breathing treatment. A breathing treatment? Why does he need a breathing treatment? They reply that since he was complaining of trouble breathing, he might be experiencing some respiratory distress. Um...what? He wasn't complaining of trouble breathing. We were in a car accident. They look confused and one of them leaves the room, talks to a doctor. Turns out there is another Lucas in the room next to us and he was having trouble breathing. My confidence in doctors and hospitals is in no way bolstered by this.

Other Family comes bearing pizza and an extra car seat to keep us company and, eventually, give us a ride home. We sit around and wait for them to clear Luke, who by now is complaining of being terribly thirsty. The resident promised him a popsicle and has yet to deliver. McMoose goes to find him and is told that the attending physician said Luke couldn't have anything yet. The resident comes back in and says that an x-ray is in order, just in case. We wait some more. McMoose and Luke go to have the x-ray done. The attending physician picks that moment to come in and then promptly leaves to go find them in Radiology. After the x-ray, someone brings us some ice water for Luke. He and Other Boy take turns eating the ice. And then, finally, finally, we are told that Luke is fine and we can go home. We sit in the waiting room, eating pizza and applesauce. I'm exhausted, I'm anxious about dealing with the insurance, but mostly, I'm thankful because we were lucky. We are lucky.

Nine!

Wow, I've had a long hiatus from blogging. And I'm sure I'll write all about the perfect storm of events that led to this hiatus over the next few days, but today? Today is all about Weston, who has now been a part of our lives for 18 months--9 on the inside and 9 on the outside.

This month, he has mastered the fine art of...climbing. And I am so not excited about this. First, he climbed a little stool at a friend's house to reach something that was out of his reach. Then, he began climbing onto Luke's bed, using the trampoline as a step. Then, he began to climb stairs. And the other day, he climbed up onto the first rung of a ladder at the playground. So. Not. Excited.

He has also been experimenting with the look-no-hands phenomenon of standing without holding onto anything. His balance is getting pretty good and he can stand for a good 10-15 seconds on his own. And when he's done, instead of toppling clumsily over, he very expertly squats back down to the ground and takes of crawling toward his next big adventure. For a baby who is so mobile and who so enjoys standing, he doesn't much care for cruising--you know, the holding onto furniture and walking around it? He far prefers crawling as his mode of Getting From One Place To Another. Standing, like climbing, is done solely for the purpose of allowing him to reach things that he otherwise could not. He did, however, take a single, unassisted step about a week ago. I am quite pleased that he doesn't seem inclined to experiment further with that form of locomotion because quite honestly, we do not need an early walker around here. He moves fast enough and gets into enough while using all of his limbs to propel himself forward--we are certainly not ready for him to have his hands free and available to open cabinets and unplug appliances WHILE he is moving forward.

He and Luke have been playing together lately and I love watching the two of them. The first time they ever really played together, they stood together and rolled trucks down the sloped roof of a playhouse. Now, Weston frequently follows his brother around and copies him. Luke, for his part, takes great pleasure in making Weston laugh and they come up with all manner of weird "games," such as "bang on the table," "crawl in circles," and "roar at each other and laugh hysterically." Of course, we also frequently hear from Luke the phrase, "Move the baby, move the baby, MOVE THE BABY," when Weston takes too much of an interest in one of Luke's "projects."

Weston continues to enjoy eating everything in sight. We spent the past week visiting my mom and because he didn't have a high chair there, he crawled around on the floor during mealtimes, alternately eating whatever I handed him and begging Luke for more interesting morsels. Luke, in turn, enjoyed peeling lima beans and smushing berries to feed to Weston.

Weston's favorite phrase is still, "Mamamamamama," but he is also beginning to say, "Dadadada" with some regularity. I'm waiting (im)patiently to see what nickname he comes up with for Luke. He also growls and whispers and groans and does this weird, staccato pretend-laugh, this "eh-eh-eh-eh," noise. He does it mostly when we (McMoose and Luke and I) are going out of our way to amuse him, but fail miserably, and so instead of just rolling his eyes at us, he politely says, "Eh-eh-eh-eh," as if to make us feel better about our failed attempts. Of course, then, we crack up and repeat that noise back to him and he grins and says it back to us and it ends up in this vicious feedback loop of goofiness.  He very much recognizes his name and whenever we call it, he turns to look at us with a huge smile.

I can hardly believe how quickly the past nine months have gone, how quickly Weston has grown from a (not so) tiny newborn to this laughing, climbing, playing baby filled with personality.

The Greater Plan

Every time I start thinking that since I'm on my second kid, things should be more predictable, I'm proven wrong. I fully expected that my two would be similar in temperament, milestones, etc. They're not, of course. I will be eternally grateful that Luke came first and that Weston came second because doing it the opposite way would have been so stressful for all involved.

Luke was so colicky early on that taking care of him took everything I had and then some. I still remember very clearly the feeling of complete hopelessness that came over me when he was about 6 weeks old, as I stood there, holding and bouncing and singing and patting my child who was screaming so persistently that his face was turning blue. I remember thinking, Oh, my God, what have we done to our lives? I remember thinking that at some point in the future, I'd look back on that day and reminisce about how small my baby had been and how short a phase that had truly been in our lives, but at the same time, that particular moment seemed to last forever.

The phase did eventually end, obviously, but...what if Luke hadn't been my first? What if I'd had an older one to care for and entertain? How would I ever have gotten through those early months on endless crying? Thank goodness Luke was my first.

And then, there's this: before Luke was born, I had a fairly good idea of how I wanted to parent...but having never done it before, I was also insecure in those choices. I wanted to breastfeed, I wanted to be very available to him at night, I wanted to be as gentle as possible, but I worried that those decisions might spoil him somehow. People warned me that if I held him all the time, he'd become overly dependent. That if I rocked or nursed him to sleep, he'd wake constantly and never self-soothe. That if we invited him into our room or our bed, we'd never get him out. Nevertheless, I held him constantly. And as soon as he could crawl, he happily played and explored on his own. I nursed and rocked and patted him to sleep. And at every stage, he let us know very clearly when he was ready to move on to the next stage of sleep independence. We let him sleep in our bed. And now, he joyfully sleeps in his bunk bed with very few bedtime protests. In fact, when I recently asked if he'd like to come sleep with me, he tried it for all of five minutes and then decided he missed his room.

But. Weston is not nearly as independent. Not yet. He plays independently, yes, he does...but not for as long as his older brother did. Once Luke was crawling, he had very little patience for being held, whereas Weston still loves a good snuggle. By this age, not only was Luke in his crib, he was also in his own room. Weston, by contrast, sleeps as close to me as he can get. Given a choice, I think he would like to be back inside me while he sleeps. He wakes up...um...a lot. I'm not entirely sure just how often, but certainly more than Luke did at this age...or at any age, for that matter. And for all of this, I'm thankful.

I can be thankful because I've done this before. I know how fast this goes. I know that in the blink of an eye, he will be telling me that he wants to play by himself, so could I please stay upstairs. Before I know it, he will be saying that he'd like to get his own snack, his own drink, his own clothes. He'll be asking for privacy, he'll want to giggle in the dark with his brother instead of snuggling with his Mama. And because I know that he will be ready for these things far sooner than I will, I'm thankful for every baby snuggle I get now. But what if Weston had been my first? What if I hadn't had that perspective to draw upon? What if I had been navigating new motherhood and carrying the burden that the way I was parenting him was making Weston need so much of me? Thank goodness Weston is my second.

More and more, I'm starting to believe that things are meant to be.