It was in the restroom of a CVS where I discovered that I was pregnant, with my third son. Yes, a CVS restroom. Let me tell you a story…
I gave blood and platelets regularly at a Red Cross donation center. When you have a common blood type, “O” positive, the vampires seek you out. But I enjoyed donating. It made me feel good, and I loved the idea that my blood was out there, circulating, possibly saving someone’s life. Besides, the free cookies were delicious!
As I flopped down once again in a Red Cross registration chair, the technologist checked my information while I held out my finger, so she could take a drop of blood to examine its worthiness. Soon, the little vampiress smiled at me and shared that my Iron level was low, unusually low. She asked a few more questions, including, “Is there any chance that you might be pregnant?” I laughed out loud, adding that no, I didn’t think so. Undaunted, she released me off into the afternoon, to verify that I was most decidedly not pregnant. She told me to return with confirmation. My mind was swimming with the possibility.
Out of the past, I could still hear the haunting echo of the nurse’s voice as I sat up on the ultrasound table, “I’m going to get the doctor; I’ll be right back.” I turned my head to the side, the tears readily falling. Muffled sobs would not be stifled. I had been through this once already and knew what was coming. The door opened and in walked my doc, tall, manly, deep voice. He came over and took my hand, looked at me and told me how sorry he was, how deeply sorry. He kept my hand in his and shifted, so I could look toward the door.
Clear as day, I remember my husband, Tim, and my two sweet boys, then seven and five, standing there. Whenever I saw their faces, my mouth automatically smiled. That day, through the tears, I smiled. My doctor asked me to look at those two beautiful boys, to think about how much they loved me, and, if I wanted to, when I wanted to, we should try again. Try again, I thought. I held my arms open and wrapped myself up in Jake, Nick, and Tim, laughing through the tears, relishing what I had right before me.
I was thirty-six when I bought the test at CVS, marched into a stall in the CVS restroom, waited, and then, I saw the positive sign. I sank down on my knees, still in the stall, and began to cry, laughing, ridiculous and silly, no worry in sight. I looked up and whispered, “Thank you.” Tim’s reaction, although slightly different (“Seriously?!?”), was tinged with laughter and great joy.
I didn’t even mind the inevitability of morning sickness, which I had a lot of with Jake and Nick. Out walking our dog, Riley, before the boys had to go to school, I sometimes had to stop, on the street, lean over and throw up into a handy bag. I would return home to pack lunches and heat up some soup to settle my stomach. Nevertheless, I loved being pregnant; I felt whole, natural, and the extra testosterone zooming around in my system seemed to level out my hormones!
I smiled at my husband as our third son, Ty Matthew Hawley, wrapped up like a burrito in his hospital blanket, was deposited into my arms. We had not just been waiting for our third child; we had been waiting for Ty. I kissed his tiny nose and held him against my chest. He was an 8-pound, 6-ounce bundle of love and joy. His dark, matted hair would quickly turn light as Ty became a “towhead.” That wild, blonde hair framed his sweet face for many years. Tim and I laughed when Ty asked us, much later, how he got his name. We had struggled to come to an agreement on that issue. I liked the name Tyler, but since it was very popular at the time, I suggested Ty, instead. It was my creative husband who told our little boy, “The T is for Tim and the Y is for Yvette.” His little face broke out with a smile and, to this day, he still loves that story.
Parenting when there are age gaps presents its own challenges, like when you have to drive your twelve-year-old to the fourth travel soccer practice that week, and your almost three-year-old is doing the “rigor mortis” flex away from his car booster seat, wailing that he “don’t wanna go.” There were times when I needed more hands. While I held Ty’s limbs in a demented version of the game Twister, someone else had to snap him in. Thank goodness, that was a short-lived stage.
When I picked Ty up after his first day of second grade at a new school, a mother came up to me and smiled, introducing herself and her son, who was standing by her side. With tears in her eyes, she told me that Ty had walked across the cafeteria and sat with her son to eat lunch. Her son had always sat alone. I looked down at our boys, smiling together and speaking an unspoken language, new friends. That is my son, intuitive, sensitive, kind, and, as he has grown, I see the burgeoning of a wry sense of humor. In just a few weeks, he will graduate from high school.
Eighteen years old, driving, and thinking about his future, he embodies the goodness and love that Tim and I had to give while the others went off to college. I treasure the years we had with another “little guy,” reading stories, teaching him to ride a bike, coloring Easter eggs, and caring for a wide variety of pets, from a bearded dragon named “Iggy” to a dwarf hamster, whose name escapes me. However, I definitely remember the story the pet store cashier told me—about how this breed usually goes insane before death—will stay with me forever. We also had two dogs, fish, and cats. These days, Panda, Ty’s alpha female cat, paces in front of his bedroom door, deciding who can go in. My son sometimes rolls his eyes before opening the door, so they both may enter his sacred space.
We were in Sam’s Club the other day, and I walked down the “diaper” aisle. Ty looked at me suspiciously, but I explained that I was checking prices because the local nonprofit that hands them out, runs out constantly. We were about to go to the next aisle when he grabbed a box, put it in the cart and told me that he would pay for it. When we got home, he headed to his room to get his wallet and handed me $40.00.
Parenting Ty gave us the answer to that question parents oft ponder: “What if I could do it one more time?” Every day, watching him grow as he challenged himself and learned new things has been a gift of “one more time.” I love how he used to love to swing, with his toes stretching to the clouds. He sang while he rode his bike. He liked skateboarding camp and using his plastic sword to demolish cardboard boxes. He loves animals and peanut butter and chocolate. He is developing his own voice, his own perspective, and as I watched him vote for the first time in 2024, I was insanely proud.
I hold fast while he rapidly hurls himself toward that pinnacle in time, that moment where you feel yourself simultaneously helping them step across the last threshold of childhood while secretly untying their shoes, so they have to slow down just a bit, so they have to pause, so you can spend that extra minute together. Over the years, we build their “Exit”; we nurture them, knowing and accepting that one day, they will walk through that door into their own life. Despite the irony, despite the realization that you might never be ready, you build it, so they can go.
For most of my life, I had thought that teaching was my legacy, imparting thoughts, sharing knowledge; it was a wondrous career. But I have since realized that it is not my career or friendships; it is not how much good I might do, or how clean my house is. Raising my sons, guiding them, showing the love Tim and I have for them, helping them grow into the men they have become has brought me to a different conclusion. My legacy is that little towheaded boy, chocolate ice cream smeared across his face, laughing as the cat tries to lick his cheeks. My legacy lives within the three wonderful people we have brought into this world, who gave us profound purpose and filled our souls with peace.
Congratulations, to our forever little boy. May you carry with you, all your life, the joy and wonder that I felt the moment I realized you were on your way. I hope that love defines your next steps. Thank you, Ty, for being our son and for completing our family. We love you, always!
