I remember my mom saying that I would have made a perfect only child. She said this because in the first 2 ½ years of my life I was a sweet little thing. I was not one of the brats in the grocery store, throwing myself on the floor, screaming for a toy or candy, having tantrums in public. Then my brother Grant was born. Something in my sweet little head switched, and I became what my mom called, “The Queen of Negative Attention.” I never really understood what she meant, negative attention, until I became pregnant with my second child.
Zach was such an easy baby. He didn’t really cry for the first 6 months of his life, and I would joke that he knew his mommy would tweak out and not be able to deal with the added stress. He would just go with the flow, happy in any environment. Even in his infant stage, he was a rock star. Everywhere we went, people were drawn to him. Heck, even Chuck Norris’ ex-wife touched his little toes in St. Maarten! Ok, we do not know for sure it was Chuck Norris’ ex-wife, but we were confident enough to tell people it was her when we got home from vacation. At two years old, he made the local 5 o’clock news, just for being adorable and boogieing to a Big Band on stage at a community 4th of July event. His daycare adored him and always had amazing things to say about his progress and how bright he was.
In the early spring of 2006, I had the strong urge to take a pregnancy test while at work. Probably not the most opportune time, but it needed to be done. I was having difficulty interpreting the results, while pacing the floor of the 4th floor women’s room and felt I needed a second opinion. Who better to ask to read my pee stick than my boss? I restlessly walked into her office and shut the door behind me. “Can you please look at this and tell me what you see?” With a bewildered look on her face, she took the stick and looked at it. Evidently the results were much clearer now. “Honey, you are pregnant.”
I picked up Zach from daycare and drove home with two used pregnancy sticks in tow. We pulled into the driveway, and walked in the door. I had Zach carry one of the positive sticks over to Dave and he handed it to him. With a dazed and confused look, Dave stared at it for a moment and said, “Whose is this?” I giggled and said, “I found it in the street and thought you’d like it as a drink stirrer.” “Huh?” I laughed. “It’s mine!” Dave was now grinning, but still confounded. “Really, are you sure?” I then handed him the second test. I was sure.
After the shock wore off, Dave and I were overjoyed to learn that I was pregnant. In our minds, the timing was perfect. Our children would be 3 ½ years apart in age, which gave Zach the opportunity to be the baby all on his own without being overshadowed by a new addition to the family. Zach would be a big brother, and we were so excited to share the news. At first Zachary was very excited. Then, gradually, his behavior started to change.
By the time summer rolled around, I was definitely showing the baby bump. People started focusing more on me and less on Zach. This was not something Zach was used to at all. Until this point in his life, he was center stage. When we would walk into daycare, all the teachers would ask how I was feeling, how I was doing and Zach would be the second in line for questioning. Something in his sneaky smart brain was not going to tolerate this any longer. He started acting out in school and misbehaving more at home.
I was at work when I got the phone call. “Mrs. Blank, its Diana at Zach’s daycare. There has been an incident. Everyone is fine, but we need to let you know what happened. Zachary pulled the fire alarm at school today.” What? “How could he reach the fire alarm? What do you mean it’s within reach of a 3 year old? What happened??” She proceeded with entire story of how Zachary was walking with his class from the gym back to their classroom. While they were in line, Zach reached up and pulled the alarm. The entire child development center had to evacuate, including the infant rooms, where all the babies were put into a couple cribs and were rolled outside like freight on an assembly line. The police and fire departments came. They had to clear the building before anyone was allowed back in. Zach was excited because he got a “talking to” by the police and firefighters that had responded. It was almost a reward in his eyes.
I shut down my computer at work while calling Dave, telling him what happened. He agreed to meet me at the school and we were both there within 15 minutes. Zach was sitting behind the front desk in the lobby, hands in his lap. He looked so innocent peering up at Dave and me. So little. His eyes were puffy and red from crying. “Zach, what did you do?” I asked. In his tiny voice he said, “I just pulled the fire drill.” Dave asked him, “Why?” Zachary’s reply? “I don’t know. I wanted to see what would happen.” He got the attention he was looking for, that’s for sure.
After we got home, Zach was playing with his fire truck and police car reenacting the chaos from earlier in the day. Dave and I were starting to see the humor in the situation. Dave said, “I can’t blame him, I’ve wanted to pull a fire alarm my whole life. I am kind of proud of the kid.”
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