Open Writing

We are overwhelmed with gratitude for the response of our friends and family. It truly is the love of God in action. People think of small gifts, kindnesses and practical, useful things, which amaze us. James makes a collection of all the cards and postcards he receives and covers his bedroom wall with them.

My Aunt Joy sends me a small, spiral ‘thought for the day’ book. I stand it on a shelf in the Welsh dresser and flip it over each morning. It’s one of the comforting routines I cling to. I’m amazed by how often it seems to speak directly into whatever situation I find myself in. One morning, it stops me in my tracks. The reading is from 1 Thessalonians 5.15-18, Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

I can not be thankful that James is so ill. For days I feel defensive and confused. My brain can’t let it go. I talk to people, pray and worry at the puzzle like a demented terrier. Gradually, I begin to understand that it means I should look for something to be thankful for within every circumstance not necessarily for the circumstance itself. It becomes a challenge for me to seek out, each day, things I can thank God for. And it does help. There is power in choosing how you respond to a situation. The principle is the same as ‘counting your blessings’, finding the ‘silver lining’ in a black cloud or looking at the glass as ‘half-full’ instead of ‘half-empty’.

We spend part of every evening on the phone, as friends let us know we’re in their thoughts and prayers. I welcome the opportunity to talk but know some families who tape an update on their child’s progress straight onto their answering machines, when they can’t face re-living the day.

David has a holiday with the scouts, to Wales, which is a very important break for him. He has a wonderful time and we’re grateful to the sensitive leaders and other boys who help him to escape the ordeal at home. He looks even taller, when he gets back, tanned, fit and healthy. He’s been swimming every day, walking, playing sport and riding quad bikes.

‘We played a game where we had to swim out deep in the sea, take our trunks off, whirl them around our heads then race to see who could get them back on the quickest.’ David blushes with the memory. ‘I always won,’ he claims.
‘We even went to the pub one night,’ he grins and pauses to watch our reaction to this, ‘but I only had lemonade.’

‘I saw my first adder,’ he boasts and brushes off my alarm.

‘The younger scouts were very annoying.’ He pulls himself up to his full height and saunters off to tell his friends about his adventures.

*

I remember when David was born. I woke up feeling strange tightening sensations around my huge bump. This was, of course, the one day when Howard would not be in his usual office and very difficult to reach. It was two and a half weeks before my due date but I began to suspect that this baby might decide to emulate its brother and make an early appearance. I asked Howard to phone periodically during the day, as this could be ‘it’. He said he would but I could tell he was hoping this was just another pregnant woman’s fancy.

I alerted my wonderful, elderly neighbours, who were very excited and started making contingency plans immediately. Then the ‘nesting’ instinct took hold and I cleaned the house with fervour. The tightening sensations gradually increased in frequency and strength throughout the day.

In the evening, Howard’s eighteen-year old brother, Matthew, kindly came over to spend the night, as cover for James in case we had to go to the hospital. Then the pains just stopped, at about 11 pm, and I went to bed feeling slightly disappointed. They started again with a vengeance around 5:30 am and we were able to get up, without a fuss, fully prepared and go to the hospital.

This experience was so completely different to my first delivery it was almost unrecognisable as the same event. There was time for all the usual preparations, even breakfast had I wanted it (who were they kidding?). Howard gratefully enjoyed the bacon and eggs they brought for me. I had been to the antenatal classes this time and knew that movement would actually help. My attentive husband rubbed my aching back and kept me company until my beautiful baby boy made his welcome appearance about 9:30 am. Remarkably, David has continued to be as easy and thoughtful throughout his life.

David had been born in an old fashioned maternity hospital with big windows and pleasant companions. I was almost sorry I hadn’t opted for a longer stay to catch up on some rest and get to know this new little mite. In a quiet moment I was filled with wonder at the gift God had given me in the safe arrival of this precious, healthy child.

Later in the day when Howard went home to collect James, he was surprised to find James’ shirt was wet all around the bottom edge. Apparently, Matthew had tried to change a disgustingly dirty nappy and in the end had decided the only solution was to put him in the bath. However, as James cried when he tried to take off his shirt, Matthew had decided to leave it on.

When Howard and James arrived to take me home, I was staggered to see the size of my eldest son. He had been my little baby the day before but now, next to David, he looked like a giant. How would he react, at only twenty months old, to sharing his parents with a little brother? Thankfully, apart from a major hiccup in his potty training, there didn’t seem to be any real problems on that front.

When we’d brought James home from hospital, Howard’s mum explained that she’d always started her babies off in their own rooms because otherwise you would have to wean them from sharing your room at some point and it would get harder the longer you left it.

That seemed to make sense, she did have rather a lot of experience with her own six babies, but I was worried that I wouldn’t hear him cry. After all, I once slept through a fire alarm in the dormitories at university. I needn’t have bothered. It is one of the many miracles of motherhood that no matter how tired I was, and breast-feeding mothers get extremely tired, I always woke whenever either of them cried.

With James, I used to talk, sing or tell him stories the whole time I was feeding him but with David, I would just doze in the comfy quiet as he suckled. I was either so much more relaxed or so much more exhausted. It’s interesting that James has always been a boisterous, chatty person whilst David is much quieter and more reserved. We loved them both the same and they grew up in the same environment yet it always amazes us how different they are.