Our Third (Fourth) Baby

We had a 17 month old son at the time.

He was our third.

Actually he could have been our fourth, but my husband didn’t want a third child.

And then he did.

And when he told me he was ready for a third child, we got pregnant, like magic.

By magic, I mean it was me finding out I was pregnant in Texas, while I was waiting to have major surgery, and cancelling that surgery, and then flying home, and taking care of two children while I was pregnant, while also working full time, while my husband hid in the basement. By magic I mean it was me taking my two older children to school and learning to hold the steering wheel with one hand while I threw up into the paper bag I was holding with the other hand because my husband didn’t help with pick ups and drop offs. That was part of my job.

My job was also laundry. My job was also dinner. My job was also grocery shopping. My job was also doctor appointments, and school appointments, and feeding the children breakfast and dinner, and packing lunches, and getting them dressed, and changing diapers, and making playdates, and putting them to bed. And throwing up while driving because I was pregnant.

Occasionally my husband would give the children a bath. He would sit on the closed toilet seat and play on his ipad while the kids splashed and squealed.

Occasionally my husband would read to the children.

Occasionally he would swing them on the swing outside.

Mostly he was in the basement.

But my husband loved our third (fourth) baby because he had decided to have our third (fourth) baby.  And our third (fourth) baby loved him.

For a few months, it seemed like maybe the third (fourth) baby would save us. That maybe our third (fourth) baby was the key to my husband’s happiness. That the third (fourth) baby was the key that would allow my husband to participate as a husband and a father. But really the third (fourth) baby became an escape for him from other things, like the gambling and the drinking and the basement.

My third (fourth) baby does not know who his father is. I have shown him pictures and have said “Erez, who is this?” pointing to the photo of his father holding him or carrying him or loving on him almost like a normal father would. And my third (fourth) baby looks at the photo and then looks at me with a question in his eyes, wondering why I am asking him to identify a stranger.

My husband loved our third (fourth) baby as much as he was capable of loving a baby. And by that I mean he was still able to leave the baby when the baby was only 17 months old.