Happy Birthday, Luke

April of 2004, a couple of robins made a nest on top of a gutter under the soffet of our house. The nest was just outside of our kitchen window and made for really good viewing for Ben. To get him a better view I rigged an old video camera up to a monitor and zoomed in so that Ben could see the little baby birds popping their heads up when the food arrived.

We counted four babies and Ben and I both enjoyed watching them. It wasn't long before they were covered in fluffy down and starting to look a little crowded in their quarters. Even with the windows closed you could hear their enthusiastic chirping whenever Mom or Dad returned to the nest.

Paula was pregnant with Luke at this time. Really pregnant with a scheduled delivery date of May 13th. I was feeling pretty nervous; more nervous than when we had Ben. You see, Ben didn't scare me until they took him out and he was horribly cyanotic (medical jargon for when you turn blue from lack of oxygen.) So with the history of Ben's birth and the previous two miscarriages I was beginning to really get myself worked up.

Now, in previous instances when I thought I was in control of my outward appearance I found out later that I wasn't concealing a thing. Case in point: when I cut the first 3/4 of an inch of the end of my finger off in high school and calmly proceeded to the front office. I was told later that my complexion was a muted green and my eyes were wide as saucers.

But this time I was not going to let on to Paula any of my worry because she is a worrier and I didn't want to add to it. Besides, the birds were a really good omen. So I repeated to her my usual, "Everything will be okay."

Two days before we were to head to the hospital, we were busy making preparations. We had noticed the day before that the baby robins had left the nest for the world. Concerned about them, I searched the bushes below the nest and the rest of the yard to no avail. Hours later I spotted one of the babies in the yard with what appeared to be a hurt leg. This didn't help to ease my nerves any. After all, I was reasonably sure that the bird couldn't survive with a hurt leg.

The following day I spotted another of the babies learning to fly, with the father close by. Instantly in my mind I was the father and the bird learning its way was Ben, and that made me feel much better. But I still couldn't find the other two babies. I looked and looked but had to get back to chores.

One hour later, I found the third baby dead in the grass. Even though I had searched the yard thoroughly, and kept my eyes scanning constantly, I had apparently killed it with the lawnmower. My heart sank. I'm sure anyone watching would have thought I was wiping sweat away as I continued to mow. The next day, on the way to the hospital I prayed in earnest for that little bird.

In spite of my worrying, Lucas was born without complications much to my relief. At first the doctors thought he couldn't hear, but that cleared up in a day or two. Luke is doing great, and, consequently, I have to think that everything turned out alright for that fourth little robin. Despite the fact that, as the nurses pointed out in the delivery room, he was born at 1313 hrs on the 13th of May. (I don't subscribe to the superstition of any "unlucky number." But bird signs? Well, bird signs are different, right?)

He's four years old today and an incredible little kid. He's small for his age but has a maturity about him like his brother. He sure can make me laugh, and he can be sweet and devious simultaneously. But I'm often not as hard on him as I am Ben, no matter how hard I try to be fair. Probably because in my mind, he'll always be that little bird. The one that worried me so much, and that, to this day, I look for whenever I'm in the yard.