Construction 101 by Cassidy Shay (reading books for 7 year olds .txt) 📖

I remember that Wednesday clearly. My mom saw a letter on my hand, assumed it was blue ink. When she tried to rub it off, she discovered something much, much worse. In trying to cope with the stress, I'd caused myself harm. And of course, like most mothers do, she blamed herself.
The next couple weeks were difficult, as I had to find a way to be strong. And I think, really, that's where it all started. With those letters. Since then, I've always been strong for everyone else, and don't really care much about myself now. Being strong for my family is how I cope.
But really, it might have started before that. It might have started two years before, with another waiting room, another baby.

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When I was only ten, my world changed from one of schoolwork and friends to one filled with hospitals and doctors, worrying and waiting. My mom has never had very good luck with her pregnancies, and this one was no exception. My little brother was born at twenty eight weeks, and was in the hospital for the first two months of his life. My older brother Jake, younger sister Shelsey, and I had schedule changes, and our lives were changed forever. Those two months changed many things about me, and made a big impact on the person I am today. I’ve grown to have a stronger appreciation for life, and every day that I am given.
After my mom’s second or third pregnancy, I imagine that she experienced a moment of sheer terror when she discovered that she was expecting once again. Her pregnancy history starts with a dark day when my parents were told that they weren’t able to have children of their own. Years later, my mom delivered her first child two weeks premature, her second child four weeks premature, and her third child was born at 35 weeks. The pregnancies were shorter each time, so when my mom realized that she was with child once again, I can only imagine the feelings of fear that were mixed in with the excitement. Max, my mom’s fourth child, was her only miscarriage that we know about, but we never discovered why she miscarried. For all of her pregnancies, my mom was confined to either a bed or a couch for some period of time. For the last two, she was on bed rest in the hospital where the doctors could keep a close eye on her and the baby. These difficulties are why she was probably afraid for her new baby, but she never showed that fear when she made the announcement.
My mom always had strange ways to tell us that she was pregnant. One time, she pulled baby booties out of a bag and made us guess what was going on. After several guesses that missed by a mile, she finally told us that she was going to have another child. With my sister Jolie, I remember my mom asking me if I would be mad if we had another baby. The one that I remember the least was when she announced that we were going to have my brother Lawson. She asked us what we would think if we had an infant in the house. I remember that there was a change in the air, so thick and strong that you could almost taste it. Every one of us were exhilarated at the thought of a brand new brother or sister.
This time, after initially breaking the news to us, my mom was in a constant state of enthusiasm, creating lists of names and hanging the ultrasound pictures on the fridge, as well as letting us take them to school. One ultrasound that I remember well was when we found out if we would have a brother or sister. The tall, dark-haired doctor smiled and joked around with us as we watched the computer screen. My dad had taken the day off from work, and my brother, sister, and I were more ecstatic that any of us remember being before. When we discovered that a baby boy would be joining our family, we were all even more excited. Including our parents, we had three females and only two males in the house, so I think we were all secretly relieved that it was a boy.
Even though my mom was supposed to be in bed all day, she was up and around quite a bit. She stilled for us, and she went to the store and to Mass on Sundays. In January, she flew to Arizona for my aunt’s birthday. They left us in the care of my dad’s parents who lived an hour away from our home. That trip was probably one of the scariest trips that my family has ever experienced. My mom’s water almost broke, and she was admitted to the hospital. Mom’s short stay in that hospital was nothing compared to the number of hours she would soon start spending in St. Luke’s Hospital in Boise, Idaho. When she finally got home, she stayed in bed all day. Friends and neighbors brought over meals, and my mom stopped going to church. Even with all the support, she felt like she was failing as a mother, and it was because of this that as each day started, her resolve showed less and less.
One morning in late January, my mom’s water broke. For the 45 minutes that it took to get to the hospital, our Ford Expedition was a street racing care speeding down the windy mountain roads. I was scared for my little brother, and scared for my mom. After all that she’d been through during the pregnancy, I knew that she would have an extremely hard time moving on if something happened to the baby. My mom was admitted to the hospital, and was closely monitored by the nurses and doctors. They managed to keep my brother in the oven for about two more weeks. Every day that he stayed in the womb was the equivalent to a week that he would have otherwise been spending in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit.
At 2:57 AM on February 3, 2007, Lawson James was born at 28 weeks, weighing in at two pounds, six ounces. His head was like a baseball. Small and round, it fit easily into someone’s hand. Almost immediately after being born, Lawson was taken to the NICU. Because he was delivered so early, his skin was fragile and sensitive, so my mom was not allowed to hold him until a few days later, when the slightest touch no longer imposed a threat on his survival. My mom called my dad, and he got Jake, Shelsey, and I in the car and for the second time in two weeks, rushed us to the hospital.
The acronym “NICU” has become something that I despise, along with the doctors and nurses that work there. Of course, without them, Lawson would not be here today. But no matter how many babies they save, that fact will never be my first thought when I see or hear those four capital letters. Those two months that Lawson was there lasted years as I waited to meet him. Because it was cold and flu season and because we were under 18, my siblings and I were told that we were not allowed to see him until he was released. Because we could not see him, my mom printed off pictures for us that we showed to our friends. The pictures were a safety net, they reassurance that everything would be okay. Surely a baby as perfect and beautiful as an angel would pull through and survive. Even with those thoughts, I worried and I grew angry at the rules set by the doctors. The fear, anger, and sadness took over my mind and body like an addiction, becoming the one and only thing that consumed my thoughts and actions. The tubes and wired connecting Lawson to the machines were a ball and chain with full custody of his movement.
Lawson’s time in NICU was the time that everything changed. Mom’s friends and family came to help us out, flying from as far as Arizona. Our school schedules were altered so that my mom could see all of her kids during the week instead of choosing to stay at the hospital or with us. On Mondays through Thursdays, we were in Boise, doing our homework in the waiting room of the NICU. On Fridays, we picked the next week’s homework and attended school. Then we stayed in Garden Valley for the weekend so that we could see our church family. Because we only saw out friends once a week, we all had friendships that not only shifted, but also were whisked away with the wind.
Towards the end of the two months, things were going well. Lawson weighed almost five pounds, which was the weight that the doctors wanted him to be at before they released him. His vitals were all satisfactory, and all of our moods elevated higher than the roof of the hospital. At one point, he was doing so well that they brought him to the doors so we could see him. I remember that day like it happened only last week.
The NICU waiting room was empty except for my brother, my sister, and I. Shelsey played with the toys in the corner while Jake played games on the computer. I had my feet on the couch and my nose in a book as I waited. The refrigerator whirred, a still beast sitting in the kitchenette.
The automatic doors hissed as they opened, revealing the three figures that stood behind them. Finally, the weight was over. I sprung up from the couch, almost tripping as I scrambled to greet the people waiting by the door. Shelsey dropped all of the toys and Jake abandoned his game as they lunged towards the doorway. The nurse in dinosaur scrubs stood next to my mom, who tried to get the three of us under control. Trailing behind them was an IV pole hooked up to the small, wiggling figure that the nurse cradled in her arms.
We all looked at him for a minute, and then we reached for him at the same time. We knew that holding him was out of the question. They were stretching the rules enough just by bringing him out. I reached for him and I felt his small fingers wrap around my own. As I held his hand, something shifted. Instantly, a bond was formed between my brother and I. It was a bond that you can only understand if you have experienced it yourself. His hand was soft and simple, untouched by any corruption, hatred, or sin. His small hand was a clean slate, a brand new day that gave me hope.
The day that Lawson was brought home, everyone was in high spirits. The stress of the whole situation had been an anchor, holding us down both physically and emotionally, making it impossible for us to move on. That day, the anchor was removed. There were last minute tests before he could be released, such as the car seat test. Because he was doing so well, they released him before he hit the five pound milestone. I remember this event as the day that brought everything back together.
Jake, Shelsey, and I sat on the counter, our faces plastered to the window above it as we waited for the new arrival. Grandma sat at the breakfast bar,