“… and that little one… he must be a terror…”
We were at dinner tonight with the boys and as we left, I had a great little talk with the people in the booth near us as we left. He was telling me he grew up in a family of three boys. And he loved watching our boys at dinner.
“…and that little one… he must be a terror…”
“Ohhhhh yes. He pushes all our buttons for sure! You’ve got his number,” I replied.
I was grinning ear to ear as I walked to the car to relay the story to The hubs.
Because Harrison. The wee one. The Littlest. He is his own man. He is the baby for sure. He is a spitfire. He makes me laugh a milllllllion and four times a day. He gets away with waaaaaaaaaay more than the first ever would have been given. He is a lover. He is a challenge. He hits. Seriously. He HITS. And I’m always trying to figure that out, “why on earth does he hit and grab and punch and wrestle…” His brothers were never that way.
His curls. I’m in love. His smile. I adore it. His snuggles. They are the real deal. He is bossy. He is snippy. He is, what I often refer to as, cantankerous.
He doesn’t speak as much as he should. He helps himself to snacks. Even though he can’t find the words… he’ll tell you exactly what he wants. And he. Will. Push. Your. Buttons.
Three years ago tomorrow morning. Wow. I remember it vividly. We’d gone to the doctor. Driven to Dr Kenney (my amazingly incredible perinatologist from birth 1-3) in Lincoln. I’d laid on the table… after making it through a wee bit of bedrest at 30ish weeks and steroids. And we were at 32 weeks. And they said, “we are showing less than 5% of amniotic fluid. And that is being generous with the number. Baby is less than 3 lbs. If we want a heartbeat, I think we have to deliver today.”
Wow. I held Adam’s hand and said, “we have to go home then. To Omaha. We have to deliver there with a 32 weeker. We need him in a NICU close to home.”
Adam cried. I cried.
I felt like I had just gotten pregnant with my fourth pregnancy… it was a rocky start with a beautiful result. But just like that… after bedrest and talk of another early delivery, we were 32 weeks along. And crying because of the unknown.
And then… we did what parents do. We went into drill mode. Dr Kenney called his old college buddy, Dr Bonebrake, at Methodist. Methodist which was less than 5 minutes from our house. A women’s specialty hospital. And we gave hugs to my fave nurses and sonographers at his office. We wiped our tears. We got in the car. We called family. Friends. Made arrangements for the other boys. Suddenly we knew that February 5 would be December 10.
We arrived in Omaha. We met a new sonographer. She told us… “yeeeeaaah… less than 3% for sure.” And it was confirmed. We met Dr Bonebrake and he told us Baby Brehm would be born that day. We would try for a vaginal birth. And then, if it got dicey, we’d go for a c section.
The staff was incredible. Dr Bonebrake attended to us as if we’d doctored with him all along. Lora, our nurse… I loved her instantly. We laughed and chatted like we were old friends. Dr Torpin, our resident… was insanely amazing… she’d had her first little one just 6 or 8 weeks before I think, and here she was, taking care of me. It was an incredible team. And I knew instantly, God’s got this.
They decided we needed to force Baby out. Eviction notice served. Mama wheeled down to delivery. And minutes later, a boy.
My. Three. Sons.
God gives you exactly what you need.
We waited awhile to name him. But immediately he breathed. He cried. Three pounds flat, baby boy Brehm #3, was shown to mama and then taken to the NICU. No oxygen needed. No real red flags. Tiny but mighty. He needed to feed and grow.
And late in the night on December 10, 2013, I held my baby boy and he got a name… Harrison Eickman Brehm.
Tiny boy. Huge name to fill.
The next day, our Pastor came to his dimly-lit room… as he lay in his isolette… and he blessed him. I remember thinking that, at that very moment, I felt God in that room. And I felt like he was so close I could let it all go. And lean on him. It was, at the time, the most in-the-presence-of-the-holy-spirit, I’d ever felt. And I don’t know if thi is unfair to admit to you, but sometimes mama thinks God gave you to us the way he did to know that we could trust that even the hard things… we can do {in the event that your brothers’ first years hadn’t been a bit of a situation enough themselves}.
He was slow to grow. But he did. He was a tough to feed and grow baby but oddly, no harder than his brothers. And we loved our Methodist family that gave us his solid, beautiful beginning. We loved his room. And then, the zoo. We loved his nurses… especially Nancy.
We loved the Perinatologists. We loved the Neonatologists {especially Dr Minderman and Dr OHanlon}. It was just the start we knew, after having two welterweight premies prior, that we needed.
It was a day. A day for the books. And we weren’t ever sad… for even a moment… that a he completed our family. We were just so excited that he made it to earth to live in our care.
Oh, Harrison. I am listening to you scream in the bathtub right now… your daddy is taking you out. Because you coated your brother with soap… but your brothers, they both pretty much adore you. Although the Middlest blames you for most things… we are learning it’s because mostly, you are to blame. And even though you are the current bully of the three, your “baba, nana, mommy, daddy,” we all love you.
•••
You babble the funniest things. You eat almost everything (praise the Lawd). You love “bubs” (books), “ewwwie’s ouse” (Ellie’s house), “ot. Coe-coe” (hot cocoa. From Starbucks or Scooters), “bubbwul. Baffs” (bubble baths), and your “paw-paw” and “ganma” B and E.
You love to give hugs. And once you like people… you LIKE them.
You are the least scheduled or regimented of the three of our boys. You don’t really nap anymore, you stay up with the big boys. You accompany mama to a LOT of doctor’s appointments.
You are most definitely babied. And you, my child, like your brothers are utterly marvelous and 100% exhausting but gratifying.
you. Are. A. Gift, my child. Just like your brothers before you. We are blessed to have you on loan. And to call you part of our story. Our experiences. Our hearts. Our earthly home.
Whether 3 lbs or 28. Whether 1 minute, 1 day, 3 months, or 3 years. You belong to us. And you came just in time… in time to be along for our crazier ride.
We love you. You make us smile. You make us pull out our hair. You are our “bawbee boi.” Our third bro. Our Terror… at times. And we really don’t think we’d want you any other way.
•••
You’re you. You’re magnificent. You’re walking around naked right now saying, “I peeeee…” which is another adventure. And you are turning 3 tomorrow.
•••
Thank goodness God gave us three different little boys. What an absolute surprise EVERY SINGLE DAY has become. And while I believe your father and I are suspended in a constant state of tired and messiness, I wouldn’t change you for anything.
•••
Daddy got you ready for bed tonight and then I snuck in for some rocking time and snuggles in the black polka-dot chair. I sing to you, your song, three Little Birds. “Cause every little thing is gonna be alright.” And daddy came in to lift you in your crib… we both rubbed your back and hummed your song, per your orders, per the uzh. And then I whispered in your ear, “happy last sleep of two, my big baby boy.” And gently ruffled your blonde curly mop.
Happy last day of two-dom. Harrison Eickman Brehm. You are quite an adventure. May we all survive your Threenager Rager.
