English 125
Mommy Loves You
When I was seventeen years young, I had my first son. He was the cutest little big nine pound baby I ever met. Devon came out with a full head of black hair and the darkest eyes I have ever seen. The doctor put him on my chest, and all these emotions came rushing at me as if I was hit with a ton of bricks. I began to weep, not crying sad tears but crying tears of joy. Knowing I made a little beautiful baby boy made me feel so fulfilled. He gave me a whole new meaning to life. My name was not just Jolene anymore; it was “Mom.” I was now here to protect him and raise him to be all he could be. I could not wait to show him to the world and my family. I was like one of those proud TV parents, overly exaggerating and telling how remarkable my son was.
Devon was the easiest child I have ever raised. At four months, he was sleeping in his own crib and sleeping through the nights. He was a breastfed baby, something I was very proud to brag about. Two days before his first birthday, Devon surprised me when he got up and started walking. Being a first-time mommy, I thought that was pretty darn awesome. I think it startled my son a little when I started jumping up and down like some circus clown, yelling “Yay!” Every milestone that my son made was such a joy for me. Every time he learned something new, I would make a big fuss and cry. I was, and always will be, attached to this child like superglue. I never ever imagined loving anyone else that much.
When Devon turned six years old, I found out that I was pregnant. Devon was the sweetest little boy when he learned that he was going to be a big brother. He would rub my tummy and talk to the baby. I would try to get the baby moving and let Devon feel my belly. When he felt the baby kick his hand, he was amazed. I do not think he even knew what to say. His eyes got so big and his mouth opened wide with that stare of excitement. Devon was so ready to see his little brother.
When I was twenty-three, I had my second son: Andrew Hayden Peralta. All eight pounds of him looked identical to his brother, right down to the full head of black hair and the dark eyes. This time was different for me. The doctor did not put Andrew on my chest right away, like he did with Devon. I hadn’t even heard him cry yet. I was filled with panic. “Why is he not crying?” I said. “What is wrong?” I was panting, almost out of breath, impatiently waiting for the doctor to answer me. I heard a sucking noise and then a loud pitched baby cry. My anxiety was instantly drained from my body, and I demanded that I be handed my son right away. The doctor handed me my son and an instant sigh of relief fell from my lips and into the hospital room. Holding Andrew was another moment I never wanted to end. I had two of the most beautiful little boys in the entire world. I was so blessed. I could not believe I was the mother to two perfect little angels.
Devon was very helpful with taking care of his little brother. He was overly protective and wanted to be involved in every little thing we or Andrew did. We knew early on that Andrew was going to need special attention because he was sick all the time. He could not keep anything down and was very colicky. At two years old Andrew stopped talking. I could not compute in my head the answers to why this was happening.
Finally, after the longest, quietest week of my life, I took him to Valley Children’s Hospital. The doctors did an MRI, hearing test, C.T. scan, and psych tests. They did so many tests that I was finally relieved when they called me in with a resolution as to why he wasn’t talking anymore. I could not bear to see my child go through any more testing. It was just too much for a two-year-old to go through. Even though I wanted a resolution, I did not want to walk into the doctor’s office to hear the news. I think I stared at his door for a good few minutes. I kept thinking, why me? Why my son? Can this problem even be fixed? I don’t think I have ever felt so unsure in my life. When I walked in, the doctor greeted me and asked me to sit down. My heart was pounding a million miles a minute. I could not even sit straight. I wanted to scream. Finally, the doctor said, “Your son Andrew has apraxia.” What is that? Even though the doctor told me, I had to look it up later. Apraxia is “the inability to carry out useful or skilled acts while motor power and mental capacity remain intact. Apraxia is usually caused by damage to specific areas of the cerebrum. Kinetic, or motor, apraxia affects the upper extremities so that the individual cannot carry out fine motor acts, such as turning a key in a lock, even though there is no muscle weakness” (“Apraxia”).
As the doctor told me this, I became sick to my stomach. I held my breath which seemed like forever. I immediately was overcome with wretchedness. My heart sank to the floor. This really was not happening. Is this a bad dream? I could not handle the news. How could I let my son grow up knowing that he had a disorder? A disability? Oh hell no!! I went home and thought long and hard.
At first I was depressed. I sat in my room for hours, crying, and did not want to even look at my son in the face. I was so ashamed. How could I let this happen? I had to snap out of it and be strong for my boy. If I was his mom, I would have to pull myself together and do whatever I could to help Andrew. I changed my way of thinking right at that moment. I was no longer a victim, and my son would not be either. It took hard work and real dedication, but with all the help Andrew received from doctors and speech therapists, he would be okay. At two years old, Andrew was not saying a word. At five years old, Andrew was talking better but needed intense speech therapy.
When he started kindergarten, it was the worst day of my life. Here I was, scared like it was my first day. Getting my son ready, I could not help but think of all the kids that would not see Andrew as I do. I thought about how they would laugh at him and call him names. I was worried that the teacher would not be there to console him if he cried. My son was not ready for school yet. No . . . I was not ready for him to go to school. When I dropped him off the first day, I walked him to class like any overly concerned mother would do, holding tightly to his hand, not wanting to let go. I looked down at my beautiful baby boy and held back the tears. Being strong for him was my job. I hugged him, and off he went with no worries or cares in the world. He was such a free spirited little boy, off to learn new adventures. I walked to my car and waited until I shut the door to burst into tears. I sobbed for a good ten minutes. Both bad and good feelings overwhelmed me. I was happy that he was brave enough to start school, but also sad and worried at the same time. I think that wait for him to get out of school was the longest four hours of my life. When noon came, I was at the door, waiting to see his face and comfort him if needed. When he walked out, my heart dropped. I could not believe my eyes. Andrew was laughing and smiling and talking to his new-found friends. I wanted to burst into tears of joy, but I kept it all in. I did not want to ruin my son’s first day of school. I think I cried myself to sleep that night because I was just so happy with the outcome of how his first day of school was. I never thought of Andrew having a hard time with school after that.
When Andrew was six, I got pregnant with my third child. I think we all were excited. Hoping for a girl because I already had two boys seemed like the worst thing to do. How could I be so ungrateful? Even so, I really wanted a baby girl. I’d be thankful with either a boy or girl, but in my mind I could not think about anything else but pink ribbons, tutus, lace socks, dresses, and anything girly. I could not help myself. When it was time for the ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby, I was nervous. I was filled with “what ifs.” My husband went with me as he was feeling the same way. We were so anxious to get our girl we could pee our pants. Sitting in the waiting room, I couldn’t help but daydream. What would her hair look like? Is she going to have my eyes or her dad’s eyes? When the ultrasound tech called us back, I could not get to the room fast enough. As pregnant as I was, I did not care. My husband and I had gone through this already and knew our chances were 50/50. I lay on the bed impatiently, waiting like a starving man for his food. Get with it already we thought. The ultrasound tech usually did all the findings first, then got to the sex. We looked at her like she was holding our lives at stake. I could not sit still anymore. I was so ready and spouted out in a crazy demanding voice, “Can you please tell us what we are having already?” I had been waiting for what felt like forever just to know this information. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity of waiting, the tech looked over at us and said “It is a girl!”
When I was twenty-seven years old, I had the most beautiful girl in the whole world. All seven pounds seven ounces of her was a blessing from God. I thanked Him a lot that day. My husband stood at the head of the bed with me, coaching me as I pushed my last push to get this baby out. When we both saw her face, we looked at each other and shared a silent moment of accomplishment. My husband put his head on mine and told me how much he loved me. Turning to the doctor, while he and the nurses checked and washed the baby, we saw this small head of brown hair filled with highlights. She let out the prettiest, lightest cry I ever heard. It was so soothing to my ears. It sounded like classical music, indulgent and delicate. My husband held her first and brought her to me. Her eyes were bluer than any ocean I had seen in my life, bluer than the clearest sky on a warm sunny day. I had to pinch myself. Did my husband and I make something this beautiful? That whole night, I couldn’t put her down. She was wrapped in my arms, like a football stuck in a player’s arm destined for a touchdown. I could not sleep that night. I could not stop staring at her. She was like a five carat diamond I could touch. We named her Briella Nichole. When the boys saw her for the first time, they were frigid at first. Not knowing what to do with a little girl, they kept their distance, but still had that look of desire to be acquainted with her more.
Devon was the first to hold her. Right then I knew they shared a bond that would never go away: big brother and his first baby sister. I then went back in my mind to the first day I held him, with so much love and compassion. Andrew still kept his distance but always made sure she was taken care of. “Mom, Briella is crying. Mom, watch my sister,” said Andrew, always very protective and concerned about her. He watches every move she makes, like a cop on a stake out. My three children will always have a bond no one can break.
I love these three little angels, and I would not trade any one of them for the world. They have taught me the true meaning of family and love. I would not be the person I am today without them. I love the memories we share, and I love how much more we grow as a family together with every passing year. Parenting was the scariest thought at first, but it has been the most wonderful experience I have ever had. Looking back on each and every birth I had, I am glad they went just the way they did. My youngest daughter has her two oldest brothers to protect her, my boys have each other, and I have all of them.
Work Cited
"Apraxia." Encyclopaedia Britannica. Encyclopaedia Britannica Online Academic Edition. Encyclopædia Britannica Inc., 2014. Web. 20 Mar. 2014. <http://www.britannica.com/ EBchecked/topic/30790/apraxia>.