The Year of Max

By 10 a.m. last January 27, the snowfall had slowed to flurries, leaving just enough slush on the ground to cancel school for the day. I labored steadily on the coach following a night of good, steady contractions, growing anxious. 

I worried about the midwife and birth assistant making the drive to our house given the wintry conditions.

I wanted the kids out from under foot. 

I needed to get this baby out.

At 11 a.m., the kids were settled in with our dear neighbors and the birth attendants arrived. Even with these pieces of reassurance in place, my labor stalled and I started to feel like maybe this tiny life might never leave my comfortable womb. Nick, our midwife and birth assistant chattered quietly at the lunch table about the Navy and flying, giving me time and space to do my thing. 

The house was warm and still. My body was silent.

After noontime, labor resumed full throttle and eventually Nick helped me to our room, where I began to brace for the hardest work of childbirth. I gripped Nick's hand and whispered inwardly through the toughest contractions I'd experienced yet: "Good job, Max. Good job, baby. We can do this."

An hour or so later, my hopeful cheering was replaced by pain and panic. Though I'd gone through these very same stages of labor with each of my older three children, I was convinced I wouldn't make it this time. I was certain I couldn't bear the pain. Reassurance from our birth team and comfort from Nick lifted me through the doubt and into the throes of the pushing stage.

At 2:34, the afternoon light was blue and muted from my bedroom windows and I held a slippery, squeaking new son against my weary chest. He was round and fair -- strikingly adorable. 

I was relieved to be on the good side of delivery.

The hours, days and months that followed have been normal and boring; adverse and extraordinary. It's been a year of life. One foot in front of the other: Stroller walks to get the kids from school; nursing and snuggling; wakeful nights and early mornings; family visitors; rain-soaked camp outs and swim meets; vacations and holidays; solid foods, teething and, at long last, crawling.

The first year of a fourth baby's life is less about figuring out who that person is, and more about determining how he fits into everything that's going on around him. The shape of his world was already here. We were just waiting to place him in it. For sure, Max has changed our family -- made us slow down and be patient and compassionate with him and with each other. Mostly, though, we've kept on with our regular lives and plopped him in the midst.

I've always said, Max is lucky. He has a ready-made family with a parade of engaging faces and interesting activities from morning till night -- every day. But that's not the whole story. We, too, are the lucky ones.

Max is bright and silly. He has an easy smile and is a constant cuddler. For the big kids, he is a mirror of their own baby days. And for Nick and me he is a source of unrelenting love and joy. There is nothing like baby Max -- nothing in the whole world -- and we're all so thankful he's here with us.