The Stroller

The Stroller

At 7:30 a.m. every day, Hannah walks around the neighborhood, like many moms, pushing her stroller. 

….

It was their fourth child, an accident if there are such things, and after acknowledging when she was 38 weeks pregnant that this was really happening and that they needed to take out the stroller from storage, they discovered that the decade old City-Mini was covered in mold. So they purchased a new one, with new features that they didn’t pay attention to as the salesperson calculated his commission, and opened their brand new, light weight green stroller with an attachable bassinet. 

Hannah and her husband moved to Israel to a new neighborhood with all of the trappings of America. They purchased the apartment with the money she inherited from her parents when they died; a four bedroom, two and a half bathroom, large apartment with a partially obstructed view of the Mediterranean. Hannah was a 45-year-old orphan who was pregnant. Hannah was an anxious person, and during pregnancies her anxiety was off the charts. During her first pregnancy she reached out to a friend in San Francisco, a high risk OBGYN, who affirmed her difficulties: every mental health problem that you have when you are not pregnant is exacerbated by when you are. 

She didn’t take antidepressants with her first child until she was 20 weeks pregnant. She had stopped taking them, under doctor supervision, two months prior to getting pregnant. However, despite upping the number of times she saw her therapist, psychiatrist, and attending mindfulness classes, her anxiety increased until her heart beat as if it were going to leap from her throat. So, with each of her pregnancies she took an antidepressant, Zoloft, and dealt with the silent and sometimes vocal judgment of the neonatal pediatricians after her children were born.  Her husband Jacob was supportive of her decision to medicate, grateful in fact. Their marriage was built on being supportive of one another and being honest with each other. 

They named the fourth child Lev Shmuel in Hebrew and Lev Samuel in English, after her father. Despite the financial pressure having a fourth child would place on them, he was now an indelible part of their hearts. Her husband was against the name Shmuel, because no respectable liberal Israeli would name their child “Shmuel,” but it was her father, and Jacob had loved her father, even though he never called him “Dad” like Americans do with their fathers in law. Besides, no one pays attention to middle names.

Delivering a child is not easy, but Hannah worked out through her pregnancy and was ”fit but fat,” as they say. At the end of the 24-hour labor, the epidural had worn off, and the pain she experienced was surreal, indescribable in fact, but then he was born. And all of the cliches of motherhood, once again, came true. She loved him fiercely from the moment he was born. She felt great and was ready to leave the hospital before they were ready to release her. 

The other three children loved their litter brother. They wanted to call him “Tauti,” which means my “my mistake” in Hebrew, but Hannah and Jacob wouldn’t let them. So they called him “Tooti” which means “my strawberry.” They were too tired to argue with them, and it was their fault that they had overheard them talking about how the pregnancy was accidental, if there are any accidents. Eventually, they noted their nonverbal cues, and by the time he was three-months old called him “Levi,” my heart. 

In Israel, everyone puts their babies until they can sit up in bassinets attached to strollers. Hannah conformed to the bassinet by her third child because she received comments from her in-laws and strangers when they saw the infant strapped into a car seat that attached to the stroller. 

“The baby needs to move.” 

“The baby’s head will be flat.”

“The baby will not learn how to turn over.”

The child is not properly secured in the bassinet, but it did seem as if there was more freedom of movement there. Also, the bassinet could then be removed and used as a co-sleeper at night so they didn’t have to buy or rent another one. 

Hannah dealt with her postpartum anxiety by walking and of course taking antidepressants. It also helped her lose the 10 kilos she had gained while being pregnant. She received a lot of feedback from strangers on these walks. “He needs another layer of clothing.” “He needs warmer socks.” “He needs a heavier blanket.” She thought that the bassinet would alleviate the need for pedestrians to make their comments, but it’s the nature of the culture. One time when she wore the baby in a wrap, she was stopped on the sidewalk and asked if he could breathe properly or if his circulation was being cut off. Hannah didn’t get annoyed by these comments. She knew that in Israel that everyone felt like every child was their own, and that the remarks were coming from a good place. Jacob found them more annoying. 

“Just tell them to shut up,” he said. 

Like she would do that. 

…..

Every morning at 7:30 a.m. for the next seven years Hannah would walk with the stroller. Her husband would sometimes accompany her as would one or two of her children. But usually, she walked alone. When she walked, people would stare. They would whisper. Her children noticed, but she didn’t notice. Her daughter Eva wondered if this what was like for Hester Prynne when she exercised. The walk became so much a part of her routine that she never returned to work full time. School started at 8, and she could only get there at 9 because of the walk. Her husband was supportive and they lived with less money. 

….

During the seventh year, Jacob’s mother Nadia came over to stay with the family for Shabbat. On Saturday morning, at 7:30 a.m., Hannah took the stroller and went for a walk. The eldest child David, home from the army, accompanied her. 

“See you in an hour,” Jacob said. 

“I love you,” Hannah said. 

As the door shut Jacob’s mother, ignoring the fact that the two other children were there, began her planned intervention.

“Jacob, she has to stop going on these walks,” Nadia said

“Why?” Jacob asked.

“It’s time. It’s not good for the children. It’s not good for her. It makes the neighbors uncomfortable. They speak about her like she is a freak,” Nadia said.

“Let them talk,” he said. “The children understand. I understand.” 

“It has been seven years, Jacob. Seven years! She can’t do this forever,” Nadia exclaimed. 

Jacob grew angry. He didn’t usually grow angry, but he knew it was the only way to quiet his mother.

“Neither you or our neighbors are the gatekeepers of time and healing. She disassociates for one hour a day and then she is a loving mother, successful teacher, and doting wife. Why the fuck do you care?” he said. 

She didn’t relent. 

“I did the math. She has spent 150,000 minutes on these walks. Nine million seconds. When will enough be enough?” Nadia asked. 

“First of all, you are off by one day. Second of all, that’s not our decision to make. We don’t get to control her grief,” Jacob said looking down at his phone. The gesture and his tone made it clear that the subject was closed. 

…..

Seven years prior, on one of those walks on a very warm spring day at 7:30 a.m., Hannah and Lev were in the crosswalk when they were struck by a speeding motorcyclist who was on his phone. The bassinet did not protect Lev from the impact, and they said that he died immediately, although Hannah wondered how anyone could possibly know that. Hannah suffered a broken arm and skeletal-muscular problems that were already problematic from four pregnancies, but she would heal, physically. At the shiva, as she sat on the floor using the wall to support her back, a friend’s three year old daughter, Mia, asked if she could sign Hannah’s cast. 

Just prior to the shiva, before the doors flooded with friends and family, Hannah had, using her working left hand, set up a play area for her friends’ children filled with markers paper and Hello Kitty stamps. The rabbi had gently scolded her: “Shiva is a time when people are supposed to focus on you. You are breaking the spirit of shiva.” Hannah gave him her trademark teacher stare and he backed away. Hannah told Mia to grab a marker. The little girl drew a misshapen heart, as she did not know yet how to sign her name. Her friend was mortified that Mia had asked Hannah to sign her cast. She told her friend to relax; the heart was perfect.  

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.