My imperfect baby

“It’s a boy!” the midwife announced brightly.

I smiled contently. It had been a long labor and I was thrilled that it was finally over. I couldn’t believe we were now the proud parents of a baby boy. After four delicious girls and living in a house where the ratio of dolls to people was 5:1, we were ready to start evening out the gender difference. Happily distracted imagining how I would tell my parents the good news after Shabbos ended, I barely noticed the midwives whispering between themselves as they diapered our newborn on the other side of the room. My euphoria was not to last for long.

“We need to show you some things about your baby,” the midwife said gently to me as she brought over my new bundle. I could barely register what she was saying. Show me what, exactly?  She pointed to the right side of his head. I gasped. In the area where his right ear should have been was nothing but smooth skin. Lower down closer to the beginning of his chin was a small peanut-like appendage, the beginnings of an ear that had never fully developed.

Before I could even begin to process what I was seeing, she turned my baby around and said, “Look here too.” I gasped even more loudly. Sitting on the back of his head was a small golf-ball sized lesion growing out of his scalp, almost like a large bubble. I couldn’t believe it! This couldn’t be my long-awaited son. This was a deformed baby!

“He also has a common urological deformity called hypospadias…

The midwife tried to comfort me. “We see these things from time to time. I think your baby has an intelligent, aware look. Don’t worry; they will do surgery to fix his issues.”

“Have you ever seen these three birth defects together in one child?” I dared to ask.

“No,” she answered honestly…

Feelings of pity welled up inside me as I watched my tiny helpless newborn hooked up to a monitor. He had no idea what lay in store for him. “I promise I will take the best care of you that I can,” I whispered to him, as the tears streamed down my face.

“Mazel tov!” the nurse on duty said to me and my husband when she noticed us watching our baby. My husband and I looked at each other quizzically. We couldn’t understand why she was wishing us congratulations. Didn’t she see how miserable we were? What reason did we have to rejoice?...

Over the next few days in the NICU, my baby met more specialists than most people see in a lifetime: Pediatric urologist, ophthalmologist, audiologist, neurosurgeon, neurologist, geneticist, radiologist, and many neonatologists. He was subjected to a whole battery of tests to determine if he was healthy on the inside, or if the birth defects indicated that internal organs were also affected in utero. I breathed a sigh of relief as one by one, each of the tests came back clear. It was a funny place to be in; my baby wasn’t “sick,” but he also wasn’t “normal.” If so, where did he fit in, exactly?...

After the consultation, all my pent up emotions finally broke through. “Now you’re crying?” the NICU doctor on duty asked me quizzically. I knew I seemed superficial for being upset about something as small as a hearing aid when the other tests had come back clear. But it was really much more than that. Now I would have a tangible reminder that my son would always be a little different than his peers, and I needed time to accept that and grieve. Furthermore, I had naively assumed my son’s outer ear would be fixed right away. Now the ENT revealed that it would be many years before it would be repaired, and he would meanwhile remain with the funny peanut-like ear. How would my son manage the teasing from his peers that would surely take place?...

The hospital social worker met with us and explained the important task ahead of us: to raise our child with confidence. She explained that our son could succeed and live a totally normal life as long as he was confident. And in order to do that, we needed to accept him for who he is…

As I walked through my front door, my eyes focused the colorful “Mazel Tov!” signs that my neighbors had plastered on my door. As soon as I passed the threshold I noticed a beautiful blue balloon, which read “It’s a boy!” that someone had dropped off. The contrast between the ominous atmosphere in the NICU and the congratulatory one in my home was striking, and I felt I was standing at a bridge between two worlds. The signs and balloon were such simple gestures, but along with them came a startling realization. Yes, this is a happy occasion, I thought to myself. This is an occasion that warrants hanging up balloons and mazel tov signs, I realized. My son might not be perfect, but the birth of a child is a gift no matter what.

“Welcome home,” I whispered to my newborn. “Let’s go meet your sisters…”

http://www.aish.com/sp/so/My-Imperfect-Baby.html?s=mm