Happy Birthday

I had been waiting for you for a month when you arrived. I thought like your sister you would be early. And as every very hot day passed, I invited you to meet your dad and sister. I knew you would be a boy, and to be honest, I wanted a boy. I didn’t want to know your sex, but it was listed atop an early blood test. I was excited to meet you and impatient.  

8.5 months pregnant with your sister and cousin Talia

You weighed 6 pounds 1 ounce or 2.75 kg. 

So many prenatal tests. You were born in Israel, a country that must do more prenatal testing than any other. You even had an echocardiogram of your baby heart. After the doctor pressured me into an amniocentesis, I could see on a flat screen as the needle avoided your position in the womb. I felt bad for bothering you. The results came in and you would be, indeed, the perfect genetic specimen, at least the genes that they know about and can test for.

As I waited for you, I tried to figure out how I could breastfeed you because I was unable to do so  with your sister. I met with one if not the best breastfeeding experts in Israel. She and her staff were amazing. I credit them for the fact that I could breastfeed you, that I’m still breast feeding you. I wonder if I should put this in writing. Will you be grossed out? I hope that you will read this when someone is feeding your baby, and maybe it won’t bother you.

You were ready on your due date: August 13. At midnight, as I chatted online, I felt the pangs of back labor. I googled a contraction clock and timed them. At six minutes apart I woke your dad. Your Saba and Savta were staying over because I had planned to go into the hospital to try and get induced the next morning. My doctor wrote me a prescription to get induced, but it was really up to the hospital.

We decided to have the baby at the large hospital in Tel Aviv. There were closer alternatives, but I wanted to deliver at a place that did a lot of epidurals and would likely have English speaking midwives. Yes, in Israel, they use midwives, but you weren’t delivered by a midwife. More on that later.

We drove to the hospital happy that there was no traffic. I knew there would be a chance I wouldn’t be admitted. With your sister, my labor was slow. It took me forever to dilate. However, when we arrived at the hospital I was having horrible back labor. It was the worst pain I had ever experienced.

They admitted me and I shared a very small pre-labor room with another woman. We alternated moans. The nurse told me to sit on a ball or sit in the shower. Your father rubbed my back as I screamed. I’m not sure why, but after a couple of hours they allowed me to go to the birthing room. To my disappointment, the midwife did not speak English. We also did not gel. It was very difficult to do what she wanted, although your father translated well.

Finally the epidural came. It worked amazing for one hour. I sat with your father excited for your arrival. But after an hour the pain returned, and then returned more, and then returned fiercely. They upped my dose, but it didn’t work. The last hours of your labor and pushing you out were horribly painful. I know I’m not supposed to say that, but it was. Your father may have lost some of his hearing. When it was time to push, the midwife was very frustrated with me and called in the resident to help her with the delivery. I will never forget him, although I do not remember his name. He was soft spoken, calm, on the shorter side, with blue eyes. After one excruciating push and screaming he said to me calmly, “Screaming takes too much energy. Push without screaming and the baby will come out.” I listened to him and pushed you out.

You didn’t look very good. You were gray. I held you from a moment and then they whisked you off to the NICU. I wasn’t panicked though. The same thing had happened with your sister. I knew you would be okay.

They wanted me to stay in bed because of the after effects of the epidural. But I shot right up on my legs and jumped into the shower, despite the nurse yelling at me. I was ready to jog a 5K after your birth. I had never felt better.

But you weren’t doing as well as me. Your pulse oxygen was a little low and your heart rate was a little fast. The doctors weren’t sure what was wrong. I still knew you would be okay. They told me to go get some rest and I listened. I went back to the room I was now sharing with another new mom and her partner. Minutes into sleep I was awoken, shaken, by a nurse.

She said in Hebrew, “You need to get to the NICU now.”

She ran with me. A doctor took me aside and said in English, “We ran a blood test. Your son had too many red blood cells. His blood is too thick and could cause brain damage. You have five minutes to consent to a procedure which would replace some of his red blood cells with saline.”

“Where do I sign?” I said.

I signed the paper and called your dad. He had just gotten home, fell asleep, and then drove back to the hospital.

Meanwhile, the doctors set up a theater right in the NICU and rushed me to a separate waiting room.

While he was driving, I called my dear friend Dr. Jennifer Miller. I told her about his condition. She was with her father, a long time pediatrician, and his response was, “Tell her Mazel Tov.” I knew from that response that he wasn’t worried, so neither was I. I would later find out that you had gotten a partial exchange for polycythemia. It is still unclear why you had this. The treatment that they did was controversial. But it seemed to work.

You began to perk up with bottle feedings. It took me almost three months to breast feed without severe pain. Maybe I have a low pain tolerance. The lactation consultant said that it was the way that you were feeding and that I should take you to an Osteopathic Doctor for cranial treatment. But, I didn’t.  I didn’t want someone touching your head. I guess that was a bit provincial of me.

When you were two days old you met your sister. She fell in love with you at first site. I can honestly say she has only been jealous of you one or two times. She sometimes hugs you and says, “Benchuk, I love you so much.”

Five days after you were born your Zadie came to meet you.  He was the Sandek at your brit milah (ritual circumcision). So many people came: your dad’s whole family, my cousins,  and friends. I ordered way too much food. I mean way too much food. It was a really nice event. You slept through most of it.

We stayed home together for 14 weeks while I worked a little bit on a web site. You were a mostly quiet infant. You only cried when you were hungry or needed to poop. You were great on our trip to the US when you were nine weeks old. You met your aunts, uncles, cousins and Bubbie. Everyone loved you immediately. You were already smiling your big smiles that you are known for.  

After we returned from the US, and started day care you suffered with a lot of respiratory illnesses. You needed a nebulizer and at one point you were on five different medications. But once summer arrived, you were fine, and I hope that you will continue to be.

To be honest, I have struggled having two kids. You and your sister are great, but no one tells you how hard working and parenting are while maintaining a household, marriage, relationships, and staying emotionally and physically healthy. I will try to do better.

At almost 12 months old you have met all of your milestones early or on time. You’re still not walking quite yet, but I expect it will happen any day.

You love everything except sleeping in your own crib. I’m not sure you will ever sleep there. Right now you sleep for a few hours in a portable crib. That will have to do.

I know I’m making a lot of mistakes with your sleeping. You fall asleep breastfeeding. I don’t let you cry. But I don’t want to. I just don’t. I worry that I messing up. I worry about it all the time. But you look happy and you have quadrupled your birth weight.

You have so many people who love you and the women who you are named after, Grandma Birdy and Aunt Sharon are looking out from above. They would have loved you.

So Benjamin Shia Chacham, this is the story of the first year of your life.  One of the women at day care calls you (in Hebrew) “the prince.”  It’s a cute nickname, but you can grow up to be whatever and whomever you want.

Just know that your Mommy and Abba will always love you.

Happy Birthday.

Letter to my Daughter on her First Birthday

Dear Maya,

On the day you were born, after having contractions for two days, I woke up and my water was leaking. Even though you were only 35.5 weeks, it seemed like you were done hanging out and wanted to meet all of the people who love you. Your abba drove in heavy traffic to Northwestern University's Prentice Hospital. It took 45 minutes to drive five miles. 

You probably wanted out a little early because I had something called cholestasis of pregnancy.  My entire pregnancy I had a pain in my upper right quadrant and the last few weeks of your life, terrible itching on the bottom of my feet, my hands, arms and legs. Your abba and I kept saying that I was a chatul, which is Hebrew for cat.

He pulled up the car, walked us to their intake room. I waited as he parked, which is no easy task between 9-10 a.m.  Then we were sent to a triage to make sure that my water had really broken and it wasn’t something else.

The lovely nurse did the test and 15 minutes later she came back with the results. “You are having a baby today!” she said. Your abba and I both said, “Yeah!!!” and I started texting family and friends.

We were taken up to a delivery room and I was given petossin to move the process along.  On a side note, two other Israeli babies that we knew were being born on the same floor, but they pulled rank on you and were born on the 9^th.

Happily, my doctor, Dr. Moses, was at the hospital that day, and he came to check on me several times. My old friend Dr. Jennifer Miller was also at the hospital that day and she came to visit. Your Uncle R-Jay is an anesthesiologist at the hospital, and came to visit a lot.  Your dad was sitting at the table finishing a paper he had due that day for his history class. At some point, I think our entire family, mom, dad, Eric, was there visiting, too. Although this is where it gets a little fuzzy.

Later in the evening, my body wasn’t exactly doing what it was supposed to and I wasn’t progressing. At some point, your heart rate dropped and I was on my hands and knees on the bed with what seemed like 20 medical professionals in the room. It was very scary. Your heart rate went back to normal and from then on I wore an oxygen mask. I was a little scared, but I really had faith in the doctors. At this point it was evening and Dr. Moses had already gone home to take care of his three beautiful, smart kids; Dr. Starr was on duty. I had never met Dr. Starr before, but I liked her immediately because she exuded confidence.  She told me after the heart rate incident that if it happened again, there would be a good chance that you would be born by C-Section. I was okay with that, as my best friends and your Bubbie had all had C-Sections.  Dr. Starr did something though to help me progress, and it worked and I began to dilate faster. I was not quite fully dilated when your heart rate dropped again. A team of about 20 again came in and Dr. Starr looked me straight in eyes and said “this baby needs to come out now.” She took the forceps and after a few pushes, took you out.  Sometimes your mom thinks of things at weird times, and when she took you out I was thinking that I hope you would grow up to be as confident and competent in whatever you do as she was.

We didn’t know your gender and were excited to find out that you were a girl. You didn’t cry at first, but after a team of doctors worked on you for probably 30 seconds, maybe more,  you screamed! It was the best sound I have ever heard. 

Then I can’t remember who held you first, me or your abba.

We were taken to our room and you were declared healthy. You were five pounds, two ounces. You were a little small, but didn’t need any medical intervention. You were so cute and had the biggest eyes ever. 

Minutes old.

……

On the day of your first birthday, you woke up with those same eyes, only brighter, but you were also a little crabby. I changed your diaper and got you ready for school. After a bottle, you were your usually smiley self.

 I dropped you off, and you had a huge smile because you love the woman who takes care of you.  I went to work, but all day all I could think about was you.  I picked you up at 3:15.

Your Sabba and Savta came over at 4:30 and you and I got in the car at 4:45 to head to Jerusalem to spend some time with your Abba on Shabbat.  They came over to help on Saturday so I could get some rest (although I’m writing this while they are out on a walk with you).

Your Abba has been leading tours for 18 to 26 year olds and hasn’t been home in a month. You and I also just made a trip to and from the US, your third trip!!!! You already have 36,000 frequent flyer miles at age 1. We drove to Jerusalem. You slept the entire way. I used Waze and it took me down a road that had I actually evaluated, I would have avoided. First we stopped at our friends' house,  Yaniv, Dafi, Guy and Michael. They gave us some supplies we needed. Then we headed to meet your Abba at the hotel.

Your Abba had bought you a cake, and we were trying to figure out when to give it to you. It was already Shabbat, and although we aren’t observant, we didn’t want to bother anyone else.  We asked the hotel for dairy plates and went to a corner of the lobby with a candle and the beautiful cake that your father bought. Luckily, just as we were about to do the cake, our old colleague Sara Weiner came in and agreed to be our photographer. THANK YOU SARA.  We lit the candle and sang happy birthday.  You, me and your Abba blew it out and wished for you a healthy, happy year. 

Your father had to take care of some business and I went to eat with his group: 40 college students from Brown University and 7 IDF officers. This was an apropos way to spend your birthday, because your dad and I met on one of these trips!!!!

The Brown students were so sweet and loved you. You were flirting with them like crazy. Your abba and I didn’t know this, but they planned a surprise. They had the hotel bring out a piece of cake for you with a sparkling candle. All 50 of them sang happy birthday, and well, you started screaming and crying. The right word is whaling. It was a little too much for you, but I was impressed by how sweet they were and thanked them profusely. This is a credit to them but also to your abba, who everyone loves as their tour guide.

Maya, this is definitely not how I envisioned my child's first birthday. I would have thought of a big celebration with other kids, cake, balloons, my parents, brothers, their wives, your American cousins.  Next week you will have that kind of celebration with your Israeli cousins, and I'm sure it will be beautiful, there will be an awesome cake, and the food will be delicious. 

But on the day of your birthday, I pictured it differently.  I pictured you unwrapping presents and playing with the boxes. I pictured you throwing your face in a Dainty Maid cake.

But I want you to learn something that  took a long time, too long, for your mommy to learn. Sometimes the way we picture things are not the way they are meant or need to be. 

And the way that things are is just perfect.

We left the hotel at 9:30 p.m and arrived home at 10:45. It was a quick trip and a bit chaotic, but I don’t and didn't regret it. I wanted you to spend your first birthday just like you spent the first hours after you were born: with your abba and me. 

And it was perfect.

 Video of Maya eating her cake.