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Our son Aidan was born on 5th June 2000, a millennial baby. The pregnancy, my first, at age 33, progressed normally, and I worked up until two days before my due date. Labor and delivery went smoothly; I did have an epidural for pain relief, and I recall asking the doctor what Aidan’s Apgar score was and being told that it was nine.
I remember, so clearly, when I went to the nursery, and the nurse was holding him, and he was crying, loudly, but as soon as I took him into my arms he quieted right down and I knew that, in some very basic and visceral manner, he knew me and was connected to me. I filled his baby book with all the bits and pieces of information about him, what gifts he received from relatives and friends, pasting in the birth announcement and the invitation to his christening. I was Aidan’s primary caretaker; my husband was, at that time, working in a Manhattan hotel (audio-visual services for conferences/meetings) so his schedule was often irregular, with very early mornings and very late evenings. We had decided that I would stay at home with Aidan until he was old enough to attend school.
image2Aidan and I stuck close to home, walking to our local park, and, on the weekend, visiting with Mark’s parents in Manhattan, avoiding bringing him to places, such as malls and churches, that would have large groups of people, since he was so little and we did not want to expose him to anyone who might be ill. He wasn’t put into daycare or left with a babysitter.
I recall, vividly, when doing one of his nighttime feedings, that our eyes locked and he was gazing steadily at me. His appetite was good and he thrived, and, as a matter of course, we brought him for his well-visits to our local paediatrician, who we had met with prior to Aidan’s being born. There was never any concern about his weight or any of his measurements, and he seemed to be progressing, happy and healthy, in those months leading up to his first birthday. His paediatrician did not, at any time, note that his behavior diverged from that of any other typically developing child, nor did his Grandparents or Aunt and Uncle note anything amiss in him.
While I realize it is a controversial subject, I do believe my son suffered an adverse reaction to the vaccines administered to him just before his first birthday. The last time I remember him showing connectedness to us was on a trip we took to Bar Harbor, Maine. We had rented a small cottage around which were scattered picnic tables. The playpen Aidan was in had been placed next to one of the windows, so that he could see us sitting, outside, a small distance away. I remember his crying in distress when he realized that we were separated, so I returned to the cottage to hold him. The time would shortly come when he would no longer seek me out for comfort.
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[JR: Dona Nobis Pacem]
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