“Crying” is too tidy of a word to explain what I was doing.

That was the day I found out the sex of my second child.

Surely, those were tears of joy?

No.

It was a full-on adult temper tantrum.

“But I don’t want a BOY! I don’t know how to BOY!  I only know GIRLS!”

Snot mixed with soap bubbles in the kitchen sink. My mother took the plate from my hands,  and sat me down, snotty suds dripping to the floor,

“Boo, everything will be fine. These are your hormones speaking,” my saint-of-a-mom calmly reassured me. “Once your little guy is here, things will come together. You two will hit your stride.”

Before bed, I sought the Google Gods for advice.  “How to not suck at raising a son”, “Am I a bad mom for feeling disappointed over my baby’s sex?”, “Who performs the circumcision if you’re not Jewish?”

In April 2015, Robert careened into the world after 9 short minutes of pushing. He was absolutely beautiful. Honestly, lots of newborns look like deranged eggplants. Not Robert; he was round, pink and perfect.

I looked into his squishy face and immediately fell in love.

“Hey Buddy,  I take back everything I said. You’re exactly who I want. We’ve got this.” I promised Robert, from that day forward I would always have his back.

We had a rocky start. Eight deafening months of Robert screaming like a howler monkey. We spent many long nights and sleepy mornings together, really getting to know each other.

Robert continued to grow and thrive into an adorable toddler, and also began collecting an impressive amount of quirks.

Feet touched the grass? Let’s scream!
Sticky hands? Hit Mommy!
Shoes too tight?  Throw them and refuse to walk!
Pillow is too rectangle-y? “Hello? Early intervention. Please help!”

We landed on a Sensory Processing diagnosis. We immediately started our weekly schedule with an at-home Developmental Instructor and twice weekly Occupational Therapy.

Shortly thereafter, we threw Physical Therapy into the mix when Robert began exhibiting debilitating gastrointestinal issues.  And just for fun, we added a dash of uncomfortable medical testing, and a sprinkle of painful surgeries.

Through it all, my guy was a total champ. After all this hard work, things were really starting to come together. Robert was hitting his stride!

Then, ADHD entered the chat.

As a special education teacher, this was not a surprising, or even worrisome diagnosis.  I could help him with this!  But after all the trials Robert had been through over his eight short years, I really felt like this kid needed a win. The tricky part was that he wasn’t the athletic kid or the musical kid. He wasn’t the book kid or movie kid. What could he identify with?

A bearded dragon, of course.

Yes, a giant, worm eating lizard would be his THING. Every night for weeks, I dutifully researched how to care for a miniature dinosaur. We looked for one who needed a home (Adopt, Don’t Shop), and found our Francesco. For one blissful month, Robert and I stiffly snuggled this bearded relic. We gave him daily baths to moisturize his scaly skin. We learned raspberries were his favorite treat, and even how to feed him Dubia roaches without screaming. Things were really starting to come together. We were really starting to hit our stride.

Until, I killed our dragon. I killed Francesco CaveMan Campbell. I failed.

Even though his untimely death was beyond my control (that even an exotic pet vet and a $200 bill couldn’t help), I FOUGHT for him, damn it!

Still, I cried as I watched our prehistoric pet take his final breath. The same unhinged tears I cried all those years ago at the kitchen sink.

My husband, while acknowledging this sad occasion, wondered why I was taking this loss so hard. We only had him for a month, and bearded dragons aren’t exactly known for exuding affection towards their owners.

I cried for Francesco. But truly, I cried for Robert. I cried for all the struggles he’s been through. I cried for how far he’s come. I cried because I felt my failure towards that dragon was a failure to the promise I made my son when he was born.

I held Robert as we both sobbed. I told him that he gave Francesco a great life. I told him he was an excellent dragon keeper. I told him I loved him and when he was ready to open his heart  to another pet, I’d be right by his side.

Two weeks later, we rescued Mikey and Sheldon, our guinea pigs.

Once again, things came together. Robert will continue hitting his stride. Just as they always have, and just as they always will. I will be there cheering him on every step of the way.

Melissa and her husband own a Bed and Breakfast lakeside in Maine.