Rock a Bye Sweet Baby Hayes

On February 16, 2003, my 32nd birthday, I was 7 weeks pregnant and had a 14 month old hell-raising toddler. I had mixed feelings regarding the pregnancy, none of which could be described as euphoric or devastating. It was more of an angst-filled happiness, a disappointed excitement. I knew I wanted another child, but not this soon. I had hardly adjusted to being a mother of one and now I was to be a mother of two. It was… overwhelming.

Before I discovered this unexpected pregnancy, I had been training to run the Aloha Run – an 8.15 mile, fun-filled Island tradition. After debating it back and forth in my mind, I decided to continue on with my plan to participate in the run so Mike and I packed up and went to stand in the long line to register.

While waiting, I felt an inexplicable urge to go to the restroom. I didn’t really have to go, but I felt something pulling me there. I was in there but a few seconds when the reason reared its ugly head – pink blood on the toilet paper.

I knew immediately. I knew it was over. I knew I was going to lose the pregnancy. But for three days friends and family, doctors and nurses reassured me that all was just fine. A bit of spotting didn’t mean miscarriage. In fact, I had to convince the on-call OB/GYN to give me an ultrasound because, in her words, I was “high and tight and most definitely pregnant.”

Yet that ultrasound revealed an empty, babyless sac. In a split second, my uncertainty surrounding a second baby collapsed, splashing down into a puddle of sadness. The doctor tried again to deny anything was wrong. “Your dates must be wrong,” she said. But they weren’t. And once my eyes saw, my body knew what my heart had been telling me and it was allowed to let go, release, pass, and cleanse.

Within two hours of that ultrasound, the miscarriage was almost complete. I was left to mourn a promise lost and embrace an emptiness I no longer desired. I struggled with thoughts of guilt and wonder. Did I wish this pregnancy away? How could I be so heartbroken over losing that which I was unsure I wanted in the first place?

My answer was clear: I wanted another baby. I wanted to bring forth another life, another union of our married souls. I wanted a sibling for Reilly Kate. I wanted to build on the family that we had started. I was so sure; surer than I had ever been about anything before in my life. I knew that there was a soul, a baby soul, ready to come down but I needed to be ready. That miscarriage was my preparation – a message from our unborn second child that the time was now.

Two weeks after the miscarriage, I was pregnant with Roman. Throughout those nine months, I fretted over the slightest twinge or the tiniest amount of spotting. I was scarred and tender. I imagined the worst at every turn. I was also terrified that somehow I would not know how to love another child as much I did my firstborn. My love for Reilly Kate was fiery and fierce. I feared that fire, I feared it doubling. It was a pregnancy wrought with angst.

Three weeks before his due date, I received a call from my midwife’s office. They informed me that some tests I had done months prior indicated a condition called Interheptic Cholistasis of Pregnancy (ICP). It is very rare in the US (less than 0.1%) so little is known about it except that it carries with it a high rate of stillbirth. Mike and I needed to decide quickly how and when I would deliver.

I have never, ever been so terrified of making the wrong decision in my life. I held my belly tight, willing my unborn baby boy to live, just a few more days. That motherhood passion burned hot in my clenched fists and I refused to let go. My mind simply would not allow me to entertain any notion of a still baby.

And he responded. During daily stress tests, he hiccoughed so loudly and often that they would bring trainees in to listen. His kicks were so hard and intense, he’d knock the monitor clear off my belly before the nurse could get it securely fastened. Where, just days before he was in the wrong position for birth (face up), now he sat primed and ready – engaged in the birth canal. And before the week was out, our son, Roman Hayes Peet Spiwak was born, alive and well.

With his sister in the room as he entered the world, the two bonded immediately. “Hi, buddy,” she said to him as he took his first breaths. “Hi, buddy,” as she kissed him softly on the cheek. My heart melted as I gave her the gift of a sibling. My love, divided between the two, had grown exponentially. I indeed loved greater than love. The love they now hold for each other feeds into me like swollen streams into a river. It is a powerful, enriching, soulful thing.

And my Roman… He’s the sweetest child I’ve ever known. He is slobbery kisses and shy boy smiles. Squinty eyed, squealy grimaces and cherubic giggles. Sensitive and fearful, rough guy tough, yet clingy. He’s the ice cream on a heavenly warm apple pie – gooey and rich and complementary. Oh, and is he handsome. Those blue eyes are like diamonds shining brilliantly within a polished setting. He lights up our lives and enlivens our days.

One year ago today, we went from being a couple with a child, an only child without someone to share with, a threesome, to being a big sister and a family. We were all born anew with Roman’s birth, redefining ourselves and loving bigger than our best dreams. He knew, before we did, that he was destined to be a part of us and we a part of him. For us, we celebrate today as a holiday, honoring each other through the bonds of love and family. For Roman: Happy Birthday, sweet baby Hayes. And may you have a hundred more happy birthdays.