Are You Going To Try For A Girl?

‘Are you going to try for a girl after this one?’

I have been getting that question almost daily lately. I get it. People wonder when they find out that you are having your third boy. And in no way am I offended.

I am a big enough person to admit it. I would love a daughter. Of course. My mind immediately goes to pink tu-tu’s, gymnastics, prom, and being the mother-of-the-bride. My world right now is mud, dirt, Nerf Guns, Legos and poop. Yes, poop.

It’s wonderful and amazing. I wouldn’t trade my boys for the world. But the thought of a little pink sure does sound nice.

Who wouldn’t want all that?

But in our world, the question of a fourth baby is a little more complicated.

When asked, I always smile and say maybe. I tend to make a joke about Jamie losing his mind and leaving me if we have a fourth. I divert the conversation.

Or I say, we are just hoping for a healthy, happy baby.

But last week my doctor asked. She knows our story. She knows that we have a son with severe, nonverbal autism and that I am afraid of everything.

She knows how we agonized over whether or not we should have a third baby.

She knows that a doctor at the Mayo Clinic looked us squarely in the face and said, ‘do not have another baby until you meet with a geneticist.’ To this day, that was the most difficult sentence that has ever been said to me.

She also knows that Jamie and I had our worst fight ever after that. ‘Don’t make me do this. I will resent you if we have to go through this again. We can’t do this again Kate. It’s too hard. It’s not fair to Sawyer.’

Which I responded with, ‘I will resent you if you don’t let me have another baby. So I guess we are both screwed.’

He apologized after saying that. He felt terrible. But I understood where it was coming from. Because if I did make him have another baby and autism was a factor, I would feel guilty. What he said wasn’t wrong. It was honest. And I get it.

I sure did cry that night though. I still couldn’t believe that autism was even a factor in this decision. Let alone the deciding one.

My vision of a big family was fading away.

For months before our decision to have another child we laid awake at night saying things like…

‘How can we do this again?’

‘Maybe, it will be fine.’

‘Sawyer is fine.’

‘At least we would know what to do this time.’

‘How could we leave Sawyer with two autistic siblings?’

Or, ‘Sawyer would have a sibling to help care for Cooper.’

And, ‘What are the odds of the baby being as severe as Cooper? I mean really?’

‘If he is autistic, maybe it won’t be as serious.’

Those conversations are very real. And they get heated. Tears are shed. They put a very real and serious strain on a marriage.

I always pictured having three or four kids. That is until everything changed. Until we weren’t in control of our decisions.

The doctor said, ‘Do you think you will try for a fourth Kate? A little girl?’

I smiled. And I looked her right in the eye and said, ‘Well, that depends if this one is severely autistic or not.’

And without skipping a beat she said, ‘Yes, I assumed you would say that. I’m actually thankful that you did. It means you are acknowledging everything that could happen.’

Before you line up with your pitchforks and torches, please understand where we are coming from.

Our son’s autism is so much more than the quirky kid. It’s very serious.

And we went through hell to get where we are today with our amazing kid.

Today, Cooper is thriving. He is happy. We are slowly, and I mean sometimes painstakingly slow, clawing towards a sense of normal. Our new normal. The one with chairs lined up throughout our house, keypad locks on doors, and never-ending evaluations and medical appointments. And the one where we are just starting to be able to leave the house as a family. Seven years we waited. Seven, long years.

Our world is different. There is no sugarcoating that.

Our son will live with us forever. He may never speak. He may never have self-care. These aren’t negative thoughts. They are very realistic thoughts and worries.

This morning I fed my son breakfast, just like Jamie or I do every morning. We dressed him. I stopped him as he attempted to put a phone cord in his mouth. And then did a quick finger sweep to remove a Nerf Gun bullet from his mouth.

As Jamie and I drank our coffee we watched him dance in front of his mirror with his trains. Completely in his own world. We helped him put on his shorts over his pants. Always leggings or sweatpants. Never jeans. No skin showing.

We brushed his teeth. We wiped his bottom. Jamie walked him out to the car, a hand on his shoulder. He buckled him in. And off they went to his therapy center for the day where he works on tasks like sitting, understanding stop, and not pushing peers.

Tonight I will pick him up. And feed him the same dinner he has been eating for over a year. We will watch him one-to-one all night. We will bathe him, brush his teeth again and put him to bed.

We will keep him safe for the rest of his life. We will treasure him. We will forever see the unique joy and beauty in him.

And like every other day, we will collapse as the night draws to an end.

Conversations will turn too…

‘Did you call the social worker back’ and ‘Don’t forget to pay Cooper’s immunologist bill tomorrow.’

We pick up lines, move chairs, and gather up half-chewed photos. We plug his speech device in along with his Kindles.

We take a break from the sound, the anxiety, rigidity and energy that he seems to exude. If we have extra energy we will bring up topics like guardianship and setting up a trust for Cooper. But most nights, there just isn’t energy.

And we are thankful. Thankful for two healthy, happy boys. Thankful that after seven years we can say we finally have a handle on this.

Yes, Cooper is making amazing improvements. In a way we feel like we can let out that breath we’ve been holding for years. But the reality is, our world revolves around autism and Cooper. Every area of our lives has been impacted. And we do it willingly and with a smile on our faces and love in our hearts. And of course, if needed, we will do it again.

But good God the worry is real. I notice that I put a hand on my belly multiple times a day and say a silent prayer, ‘please be okay.’

That’s our reality.

Looking into the future, we know there is a chance we could be doing this with two kids now. So yes, this mama would love a baby girl. But right now, the focus is on the little baby growing in my tummy. Let’s get through this first.

Because I know Jamie and I are going to be holding our breath once he is born. Waiting. Watching. Observing. Worrying. And trying to enjoy every single second.

Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook and subscribe to our newsletter.

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(Photo Credit: Kacie K Photography)