It's All In The "CO"

Punkin', our fourth-born child, can be described in one word: Precocious. Not "precious" - although she is that too - but her own personal descriptive word is pre-CO-cious. Ah, the "CO" says so much about her! If you look up that word in the dictionary, her picture is next to it. Really.

Punkin' was born the week my dear brother was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. We found out his fatal diagnosis on a Monday. I was standing next to my washer and dryer while my sister told me the awful news on the phone. I called my doctor and asked him if he would consider an induction, because my brother's prognosis was dire and he had very little time to live. I needed to be with him and my family. My doctor agreed, but it turned out it would not be necessary. The stress I was under put me into labor the next day, and my baby girl, all 8 pounds of her, was born the following morning. I called my sister and she asked me, "What are you doing?" and I said, "Oh, having a baby!" Punkin's birth in the midst of all our family's devastation over my brother was a breath of fresh air.

Punkin' and I bonded so strongly the moment she was born, I practically grabbed her from the doctor and started to check her over myself. I asked him if she was going to have an extra chromosome like Peanut and he said "No, she's fine". I was so relieved I burst into tears. I don't think I realized until that moment how much I actually did worry about that possibility.

Our first night together, when I finally let the nurse take her to the nursery so I could get some much-needed rest, I was awakened to Punkin's loud cry as the nurse brought her down the hallway to me. She handed her to me, and the crying stopped instantly. My fourth baby and I still stand in awe of the strength of the mother-child bond. I will never forget that moment. The nurse said, "I've been trying to get her to stop crying for over an hour so you could get some rest!" I was torqued. What's up with that? This was the same nurse who gave Pickles a bottle of formula in spite of my explicit instruction that he was to have NO BOTTLES. It was written in his chart and I put a sign up in his bassinette. Perhaps this nurse could not read, and she must have also been deaf - because I told her when I agreed to let her take Punkin' to the nursery that if she cried at all I wanted her brought back to me. I know the nurse knew I was stressed, I know I needed my rest after having labored the night before - but who lets a newborn less than 24 hours old cry for over an hour?!?

Anyway, I'm getting irritated all over again just thinking about that, but those moments set the tone for the next nine months with our new little baby. She never wanted to be apart from me. And I was clinging to her for comfort as much as she needed me. I know that much of it was due to her feeling the stress I was under as my brother's health rapidly declined. He died just five weeks after she was born. I'm so thankful he got to see her and to hold her.

Peaches was one of the only other members of my family who could calm Punkin' when she was crying. She developed colic and it was very difficult at times. She had a very good set of lungs and could scream until I think even her angels must have been tempted to plug their ears. I tried very hard to be thankful for her cries - because Peanut almost never cried. She didn't cry after she was born, she didn't cry when they were digging around in her arms to find a vein, she didn't cry when she was hungry. Peanut was too content, if there is such a thing. I remember thinking, "I just want her to cry!" Well - I sure got what I wanted when Punkin' was born!

Speaking of Punkin's guardian angels, she has kept them very busy in her soon-to-be-8 years. One of my favorite stories to tell about her is the time she fell through the hole in the floor. When she was very little (about two or three) we were renting an old farmhouse and in the hallway there was a broom closet that she and Peanut loved to play in. They would go inside, shut the door, and giggle and giggle, thinking they were hiding from the family. One Wednesday night as we were getting ready for church they were playing inside the closet, and we heard a loud crash, then Punkin's scream. I dashed to the closet, but the only one standing there was Peanut, looking bewildered. I could hear Punkin' crying, but I couldn't see her. The broom closet was attached to our bedroom closet through the side, so I thought perhaps she had climbed inside our closet and something fell on top of her. I ran into my room, threw open my closet door, and started to pull boxes and clothes out as fast as I could. Punkin' was still screaming, and we could not find her!! WHERE WAS SHE?!?!?!? I began to grow more and more panicked, I considered calling 911, and then suddenly Kyle realized that THERE WAS A HOLE IN THE FLOOR. Right where my darling little girls had been standing. At this point I began to scream and cry, I thought perhaps she had fallen into the old cystern that was underneath the house. Talk about scared!! I think I was feeling the same desperation to reach her as she must have felt as a newborn, screaming for me in the nursery while some stranger attempted to comfort her.

Kyle ran for a flashlight while I stood there like a raving maniac and when he flashed it down the hole he could see her walking around in the basement. He ran to the basement door and down the steps, and instantly Punkin' stopped crying and said, "Oh, hi Daddy!"

The miracle of it all is that Punkin' did not have one single scratch, bruise or scrape on her. She had fallen eight feet onto solid concrete, through a hole that had been cut years prior for a stove pipe. Our landlord had just put an old thin metal sign over the hole - and the sign crumpled under her weight. It had sharp edges, so that if she had fallen onto it she could have been very seriously cut or punctured. Not only that, if Peanut had been the one to fall, she would likely have been seriously injured due to her low muscle tone. In my mind I can just see one of Punkin's angels softening her fall. She was just fine.

I was not. I was in hysterics, practically having a nervous breakdown. I gathered my children around me like hens gathering her chicks and blubbered something about never allowing them to leave my side as long as they lived. To this day I have a phobia about kids playing inside closets. You just never know when there might be a hole in the floor!!

So, that is a little bit about my Punkin'. She also has a sense of humor a mile long - very much like my Mother's. One of her comments when she was little was, "Mama! I hurt the elbow that's next to my foot!!" (She meant her ankle.) I'd write more about her hilarious "Punkin'-isms" but this post is already too long.

I hope God gives you something to smile about, and to be thankful for today. I woke up thinking about this - and just wanted to share it with you.

~ Beth ~