Growing up, I always wanted a big
family. I was the only child for 11 years before my brother was born and
because my mother and father both moved to Baltimore from South Carolina, I
didn’t grow up playing with cousins, aunts or uncles. The Cosby Show provided
me with a visual for what fun a large family could provide. Arguments and
fights but lots of love and laughter. Like Cliff and Claire, I wanted 5 kids. Or
so I thought.
Fast-forward
25 years to my wife and I lying in bed one night. We had 2 boys, the second of
which was finally school age, had 1 car, lived in a 2-bedroom townhouse (without
air conditioning, Yikes!) and I was wrapping up my 4th year of my
lucrative career as a teacher (#brokeville USA. This was long before the idea
of a “Model Teacher”). I could tell my wife was nervous as she rolled toward me
and very quietly and hesitantly announced: she was pregnant. We had talked
about having another child… sometime down the road. Maybe even adopting but
this caught us both by surprise. We’d have to find a new house, find more money
and push back our dream of beginning to save to buy a home. She cried nervously
and I held her and assured her that everything would be fine (even if I wasn’t
exactly sure how it would be myself).
From the
beginning this pregnancy was different. My wife became violently ill. This
wasn't your typical morning sickness. Violent nausea and fainting spells landed
us in a hospital, panicked that our unexpected bundle of joy might not make it
full term to meet us. The Doctor calmed our nerves and increased our anxiety
all at the same time with one question: “Did you know there were two babies in
there?” The fainting happened again.
The
previous pregnancy had been a breeze. Fun even. I’d pick my wife up from work,
rub her feet at night while I read the Communist Manifesto (yup, economic
equality for all, down with the bourgeoisie!) to her pregnant belly. No complications. No sickness. The due date
came and the baby came the same night. A special gift to my mother who shares
the same birthdate.
But not with
the twins. Money was tight and worry high as we scrambled to save for two
babies. Two sets of diapers each time, two sets of clothes each time, two
bottles of formula each time. Two, Two, Two, Two. It was
like I was Noah on some bizzaro Ark. The
belly rubs were less frequent. The reading non-existent. My wife was in so much
discomfort that she needed an electric wheelchair to get around the grocery
store (she still doesn't trust me to stay under the grocery budget). We were
both highly stressed. With about a month
to spare until the due date, we found a new house with an extra bedroom and a
basement and I pretty much moved the entire house by myself. This was not some beautiful
baby story.
As November
rolled around and the due date grew closer, at school I was preparing my soccer
team for the state playoffs. We had just won our first City championship and we
had a good shot of upsetting perennial soccer power Eastern Tech at home the
next day. As we wrapped up practice for the day I got a call from my wife;
panicked again. She and Noah, the youngest son, had been at a routine doctors
visit. When the doctor did the sonogram to check up on the babies, She could
only hear one heart beat strongly. The other was very faint. I needed to get
there as quickly as possible. The problem was “there” was Annapolis and I was
in East Baltimore, which considering the circumstances might as well have been
Fallujah. I jumped in the truck and off I went. As I got close to downtown, I
got another call. There was now no heartbeat and the doctors feared that the
ambilical cord might be wrapped around one of the babies and she might not make
it. They were going to have to do an emergency C-section. As panic overwhelmed
me, I hopped on the highway: 295 to 695
to 97. My wife often criticized me for being such a slow driver. But not that
day. Jeff Gordon would have been proud. I-97 was backed up. I drove on the
shoulder hoping a cop would see me, ask questions and then lead the way (of
course this never happened, no cop to be found of course!). As I neared the
exit for the hospital, I got a final call. This time it wasn’t my wife, but a
nurse, asking how far away I was in hopes I could make it to be by my wife’s
side. I hoped so too.
I finally
arrived. I double parked the truck and hoped out, racing in soccer cleats up
three flights of stairs because I couldn't afford to wait on an elevator. I
grabbed a badge and raced through double doors. As I went through the doors, a
nurse asked, “Are you Mr. Smith?” I guess I said yes and she handed me a set of
scrubs and a mask. As we entered a second set of double doors, there sitting at
the front desk, coloring and eating a hot dog was Noah. He was a hit with the
nurses but I had no time to chat. At that moment all that mattered was getting
to my wife and those babies. I needed to see them to know that everything was
alright. The months of worry, the panic,
the stress all seemed a distant memory at that moment. We would make a way if
God would just let my wife and babies be okay.
I opened a
final door, walked in and it seemed like life slowed down; my life changed forever.
In the room was a tiny, 4-pound little girl in an incubator. Abigail was
resting on her side. I could barely see what she looked like as the tears
streamed out of my face. I didn’t have to see her clearly to know she was
beautiful. Across the room, 2 doctors, with stethoscopes checked another baby.
At 5 pounds, Audrey looked like a butterball compared to her sister. The doctors
backed away so that I could see her. The tears came again.
I’ll never
forget that moment. The stress, the worry, the panic all seemed so silly, so
indescribably pointless when I saw those two perfect faces. No pre-made plan I
made, mattered. I knew everything would be okay when I saw them. A few minutes
later I got a chance to see my wife. She was groggy and didn’t remember any of
the actual procedure, as she had to be sedated for the emergency operation.
Turns out Abby had just flipped and was breached which was why the reading
probably was inaccurate.
The past five years have been more
amazing than I could have ever dreamed. From obsessions with everything
sparkly, to car ride One Direction and Taylor Swift sing-a-longs to random
kisses on the cheek, I could have never imagined how having daughters would
teach me to a better father. I’ve learned how to perfectly lay out a bed at bed
time, how to not cut food for Audrey but to always cut food for Abby and how to
always buy two of any toy to avoid a death match to the heavens.
But maybe the best lesson I’ve
learned is that no matter how much you plan and worry, save and strategize, God
has a plan that you have very little control over. So instead of living in
worry, I try to enjoy the moments each day where all I can do is sit back and
laugh and be thankful that everything turned out the way it was supposed to. Happy 5th birthday to my hilarious,
beautiful, intelligent, kind and caring twin daughters Audrey Ava and Abigail
Lillian Smith. I love you more than I could have ever planned. And if you ever
hear me talking about having a fifth child like Cliff and Claire, feel free to
call Sheppard Pratt because I will have clearly lost my marbles.
