Flashbacks

Our son is two and a half months old. As the saying goes, the days are long and the weeks are fast. Every day with him is a gift. Isabella certainly changed how we parent a living child. Parenting a living child is hard and some of the typically difficult parts of having an infant irritate us less because of Isabella. When our son is crying in the backseat because he hates car rides, I am thankful for his strong cry and eagerly anticipate the day he can handle longer rides. The nights I just want him to fall asleep yet his eyes remain open and alert in his small face, I praise God we get to see his eyes every day and look forward to more sleep in time.

When he was first born, he looked just like his sister. His nose, eyes, hairline, and ears were the same shape. Since they were both born at thirty-eight weeks, their size was similar as well. One of the results of our children looking like siblings is flashbacks.

We both had numerous flashbacks in the hospital. Although we were on the postpartum floor this time, he was born in the same operating room. I panicked the moment the spinal anesthesia hit. When you have a c-section with spinal, you're numbed from the waist down and your lower body is completely out of your control until the anesthesia wears off. When I felt the loss of control this time, I was immediately transported to Isabella's birth and the my inability to influence anything about her story from the minute nurses determined she was in distress.

The flashback that stands out most clearly was when a lactation specialist was working with me in the hospital. Our son was about a day old and we were both trying to figure out nursing. I was sitting on a rocking chair with my son on a nursing pillow on my lap. He would not wake up to nurse. In that moment, his face perfectly melded into Isabella's and they were indistinguishable. His tongue was protruding slightly, his skin had a waxy sheen, his thin eyelids were shut, and none of my poking caused any discernible change in his demeanor. I burst into tears asking, "Is he dead? Is he dead?"

Even now, I'm occasionally transported back to the room off the NICU, memorizing Isabella's face, as I look at my sleeping son. Checking that his chest is rising and falling, I'll pray that the Lord watch over him and keep him safely here. Our prayers continue to be answered. He's flourishing with wonderfully chubby cheeks, a quick smile, and a curiosity that I adore and know will keep us on our toes.