"It looks like you're having a boy." I was 5 months pregnant with my second child, whom I was certain was going to be another girl. I couldn't believe what the ultrasound technician was saying.
"A boy."
When we got home I said to my husband "what am I going to do with a boy? I don't know how to raise a boy." I was more than surprised. I was scared.
I hadn't had a lot of positive male relationships in my life. I wasn't used to being around them in a safe way. Plus, I was primarily raised with my three sisters. My brother is 12 years older than me. He was out of the house not long after I was placed in it. Living with a boy just didn't feel natural to me.
Fortunately, I had five more ultrasounds where I heard the same words. "It's a boy." I needed that time to adjust to the news, to allow the love to grow.
It wasn't an easy pregnancy. I was nauseous most of the time. My pelvis separated, making it difficult to walk, and care for our two year old daughter. He was breach, with his head poking out between my rib cage. It made for quite the profile, especially in a swim suit.
I had a scheduled cesarean section on August 3, 1994, ten days before my due date. The delivery itself was a little rough. At some point I lost consciousness and they ushered my husband out of the room. Once they revived me, they let him back in. The meds they gave me to wake up made me feel like I had ants running all over my body. Couple that with the baby being butt first and I felt like I had been put through the wringer. But that all faded when they placed that chubby, hairy, perfect baby boy in my arms.
Benjamin had been born.
I didn't realize that "mighty men of God" become that way because they have been through some tough stuff.
We moved several times when Ben was young. With each move, he became more and more attached to me. He wasn't in school yet, so I was his world. He spent a lot of days with me in kitchens, both at home and work. Ben loved to make things, and he was naturally hospitable from a young age.
When Ben was three, we were frustrated that he wasn't potty training. He just didn't seem able to make the connection. We took him to a specialist where we were told that his bladder was underdeveloped. He was urinating 6-8 times in an hour. Basically, once liquid entered his bladder it immediately was eliminated. The good news was they gave us medicine that increased the size of his bladder. The bad news was it caused a years-long issue with constipation.
Through it all, Ben had a smile that was easy, that lit up a room. His laugh came from deep in his gut, and infected everyone who heard it. It's still one of my favorite sounds.
This became a power struggle in our house. Ben discovered that he was (somewhat) in control of if he went to the bathroom or not. Usually, not. This didn't end well for any of us, and I (we) didn't always handle it as best as I could. Add in alphabet diagnoses of ADHD, ODD and Bi-polar NOS, and then medications, services, therapy and hospitalizations and we had a few really tough years.
It wasn't easy being Ben's mom. It wasn't easy being Ben.
I tried so hard to be Ben's advocate, his safe place. But because I was his person, he aimed it all at me. The good, the bad, the ugly. One moment he would be in full-out rage, screaming at the top of his lungs (which he could do for hours) and throwing things. The next he would be curled up in my lap, seemingly with no memory of his previous behavior. This was so confusing to me.
By the time he entered high school, Ben was medication-free. He had learned coping skills that enabled him to process and deal with things in a positive way.
We always attended church as a family. We were involved in many activities, and most of our friendships were with others who attended our church. We had a village. That all came crashing down when Ben was 12. We went through an excruciating separation from that church. The torture we endured at the hands of that leadership team left indelible marks on both of our children. Our daughter physically fled the state. Ben seemed to turn off his Spiritual side. He didn't want to get involved in our new church. Eventually he stopped going all together.
In high school, Ben had a girlfriend who was his life. They were inseparable for nearly 5 years. But she wasn't interested in Godly things. I could see her pulling Ben in an unhealthy direction. Sometimes I'd pray "But God, you promised". Ultimately, she ripped his heart out. Watching my son go through that broke this mother's heart. I didn't know how to comfort him. I wanted to solve the problem. I wanted to confront her. I wanted to be his defender, protector.
He didn't want me to be that.
Ben's next relationship was equally distressing for me. She was interested in the dark side of spirituality, which was a dangerous place to play. It was at odds with everything we believed. Then came the betrayal, the trouncing on my son's heart. Again my heart ached for all that he was going through. I remember one tearful phone call when he wanted to know what was wrong with him that made women treat him like that. What was wrong with him? I was angered, irate that he was made to doubt himself because of their behavior.
When Ben moved back home, he was a broken man. Both heart and spirit. He needed time to heal. To process. To reconnect.
Ben began attending church again, and reconnecting with old friends who encouraged him spiritually. I know I have written a lot about God, church and spirituality in this post, but it's integral to Ben's story. I fully believe God's hand was on him through it all, even when it didn't seem like it.
Then Ben met Julia. In her he found a kindred spirit. She was someone who both challenged and complimented him. Early on, I knew she was "the one". I remember his startled expression when I asked him if he could see himself marrying her. He quickly said he could. My heart swelled with the joy I saw in him. When I looked back at the long, arduous path it took for him to get to that point, I fought back tears.
(Disclaimer: I have permission to share these things)
