Chapter 3 - And Rando Makes Three

Why is it, people say bad things always happen in threes? Is there something wrong with the number three that it was given such a dreaded expectation?

Summer of 2003 found me swollen and pregnant yet again. No matter how many times I swore I would never again face the third trimester during the hottest time of the year; it didn’t matter. Here it was again, my third inescapably hot summer, in the third trimester of my third pregnancy with my third baby boy. Strike three—I was out! Oh how I had wanted a girl. But it appeared, even after going back for our third ultrasound just to make sure they hadn’t been mistaken in their gender determination or that I wouldn’t be that unexplainable phenomena whose baby mysteriously switched sexes mid pregnancy, I was destined to have three boys.

It was September, exactly one month from Connor turning three and two months from Riley turning six. The delivery was scheduled and penciled in on the calendar, like a lunch appointment or a trip to the barber. We made arrangements for Riley and Connor, cleaned the house, did the laundry and went grocery shopping. I had a bag packed and rode calmly to the hospital. How was this possible—no waddling around the block 20 times at an unimaginable pace attempting to induce labor? No sleepless nights, propped up on the couch because if I laid down I suffocated myself with the extra 80 pounds Riley had so generously gathered up for me on his journey to full term and not a second sooner? No water breaking three weeks early, like with Connor, leaving me unprepared and uncomfortable walking into the hospital with a towel embarrassingly wrapped around me like a big diaper, visible to all I walked by? Arrangements, planning, scheduling—who knew it could be like this?

He eased into our lives almost apologetically, as if to say “pardon me, excuse me for the interruption.” His seven pound five ounce frame was child’s play in comparison to his predecessors, of whom he looked a perfect combination of. Had he sensed my disappointment, felt the tears form within me reacting to the announcement of yet another boy and no girl for me? Had I offended this beautiful baby into submission? I swore then that I would make it up to him, for how could I have possibly wanted anything different?

Two years ago, on a family trip to Mexico, we learned that our youngest son loved the water just as much as his two older brothers. However, this being the first real time we had taken him to a swimming pool, he was only 2, we weren’t real sure how he would do. To our surprise, our little amphibian decided he preferred to be underwater far more than above. After quickly dodging the full time guardians assigned to him at the time, he would jump off the edge to the depths below. It was hilarious to see him underwater; eyes wide open with a huge grin plastered across his face, completely content. He knew eventually two hands would appear from above; ready to pull him up to the surface. But he wasn’t ever ready for them. As the hands grabbed hold of the slippery bobber’s waist and started to bring him up, his head instantly plunged down as deep as he could get it. That would always be the last body part to surface, his head, fighting to stay under every step of the way. Numerous vacationers were amazed and by the end of the week they knew his name and came down to the pool with video camera in hand to capture the two-year old fish.

There isn’t much my pint-sized grand finale can’t get me to do, and I am sure he knows this even with my attempts to conceal it. He has so many facial expressions. I keep thinking that I have witnessed them all, until he uses a new one on me. He is a delight to observe. He approached me the other day, with a look of having something weighing heavily on his mind. “I want a different name,” he began. “A different name,” I asked. “Why?” He proceeded to explain how he was tired of people telling him he was cute and somehow blamed it on his name. He felt as though at the ripe old age of four, he had definitely outgrown cute and was ready to move on to cool. He firmly believed that if he had a cool name, people in turn would stop calling him cute and would undoubtedly see him for his true, cool self. This made perfect sense. Therefore, as of a short time ago, Randon became Rando and way totally cool!

How fun it is to watch him with his brothers, his posse, “my boys,” as he so proudly calls them. I’m sure that in his eyes he is every bit as big as they are; it is evident in every word and deed. It is also clear that he is following in their footsteps and teaching me more than I feel he learns from me. Numbered in that list, Rando has taught me the true meaning of patience and that I have a ways to go to be good at exercising it. I have learned that indeed I am a push over and a sucker for a cute face and an innocent smile; I have learned that having no fear sure looks like a lot of fun; I have learned that intelligence comes in all shapes and sizes and to never judge a book by it’s cover, no matter how small the book; and ultimately, I have learned that more emotion and more love can be felt in a simple, snuggling hug than words can ever, ever express.