Max has been a lot of trouble since the day I found out I was pregnant with him. By a lot of trouble, I mean the constant mischief, messes, and all around mayhem he somehow causes. I am lighthearted about his naughty tendencies because I cherish everything about him so much. I was too close to not having him in my life. I may be too easy on him, but truth is that he has a heart of gold – he never misbehaves to hurt anyone. He is a comedian, an inventor, a craftsman, an explorer, a friend, and our miracle.
Ronnie and I decided to have a little brother or sister for Kendra when she was two years old. Thankfully, we were confident in our decision because in no time I began having the symptoms that I suspected resulted from pregnancy. I took four at-home pregnancy tests (at Ronnie’s insistence), and when they came back positive every time, I scheduled a doctor’s appointment.
I went to the appointment alone at our family care provider. I saw a doctor I had never met before. I’ll never forget him. He was foreign and spoke with a thick accent that I pegged as Russian. He didn’t smile. When my pregnancy test confirmed that I was indeed expecting, he insisted on an ultrasound.
I went along with his suggestion, though I was a little disappointed that I had talked Ronnie out of going to the appointment with me. Max was only a tiny dot on the ultrasound monitor, but he was still our baby, and this was the first look at him.
The doctor made several incomprehensible grunts and mumbles during the ultrasound and then scooted me off to a patient room to wait. I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.
When the doctor came in, it struck me as odd that he brought a female nurse with him. I was getting a little confused. All I had wanted was confirmation that I was indeed pregnant so we could figure out the due date and begin planning for a new addition to our family. When I saw the doctor come in with a nurse, I began really wishing I had Ronnie with me.
The doctor got right to business. No small talk. No beating around the bush. No softening the rough edges of the bad news. “What you have is a blighted ovum. You will miscarry this pregnancy. You will experience a very heavy period which will not be a period at all – it will be a miscarriage.”
He looked so perturbed. I’ll never forget that. Then in his thick Russian accent, he said to me, “Do you understand what I am telling you?”
What did he want me to do, cry? The nurse looked at me with such sympathy. I looked from the doctor to the nurse and back to the doctor. I missed my husband. I was going to lose my baby. My precious little baby who I didn’t even know was a boy or a girl. My voice shook, but I would not give the doctor the satisfaction of tears.
“God is in control.”
He sighed. Maybe we talked a little more after that, but I don’t remember. All I remember is the need to get out of that office as fast as possible to get to my husband. I got to my car and convulsed in tears. I called Ronnie and cried in fear and anger. All I wanted was for him to hold me and tell me that everything was going to be okay.
And that was just the very beginning of what would be a pregnancy and delivery that were full of “trouble” because that’s what Max has been since the day I first laid eyes on him on that monitor – a lot of trouble.
My precious little bundle of trouble.