taken by Lauren Farmer at LLF walk
The birth was tomorrow. Three years ago. As par for the course, I went into labor on a Sunday night, leaving my Superhero exasperated at having to figure out lesson plans for the next day. Auntie Lynn came to hang with Will who I put to bed knowing that when he woke up, he would have a younger sibling and that everything would be different. My love for him wouldn't be, but the rest, yes. A weird, sweet sadness knowing that. He did not know that as I lay in bed with him, I was having contractions and was just waiting for Lynn to get to the house so we could go.
On the way to the hospital, there was a combine coming out of the field... going slow. Really slow. If you live in rural wherever, you know what I mean. And of course, it was a hilly road, with a no passing zone. And if you are not a woman, or haven't had children, then you don't know how absolutely awful it is to be riding in a car, buckled in a seat, having contractions. So not fun. I told Mark that if he didn't pass that combine there would be hell to pay (or something like that) and he reluctantly did so. Glad that ended up being a safe move, but mid-contraction I didn't care about many other consequences.
Got to the hospital at close to 11 or midnight. Crazy how the details escape me. Definitely was in labor. Debated about the epidural. Mark reminded me I didn't do well with pain. Got the epidural. Called Aunt Linda to come and help. She came. Eventually so did the doc on call. I had been laying, somewhat sleepily in my epidural-haze loving not being in pain any longer. The doc came in, checked me over and asked if I was ready to have a baby. Yikes! I guess I was. So I pushed and pushed for how long I can't remember but I think only an hour? And so very calmly, my beloved little guy entered the world.
I remember that night I had him in the room with me (can't stand the thought of not having the baby in the room with me) and he was fussy so I pulled him into my arms. We both fell asleep. For five straight hours. In the morning the nurse came in (who hadn't checked on us all night long) and scolded me for not feeding him (HELLO. I was SLEEPING). They weren't going to let me go home with him because he had lost so much birth weight (b/c I slept and didn't nurse him... lovely Catch 22 that was) and I soooo wanted to just get home and have Mark's help and be in my own bed. Finally the charge nurse negotiated with the pediatrician that if I promised to take him into the doc the following day, then I could go home.
Did what he asked (and he did call the pediatrician and check up on me to make sure I did). All went well. I should be grateful to have such concerned care, but I still get somewhat annoyed about it. It was my 2nd child, I have a devoted husband, caring family who came to see us, a lactation consultant, a pediatrician, don't live in poverty, have a graduate school education, etc. etc. I kinda felt as risk factors go, I didn't have many.
Suffice it to say his birth was as easy as he was those first many months of life. After colicky Thing One, that was a blessing. Thing Two slept quite a bit, and was a happy, smiley babe. Now Two tells me he hates me and tears around the house and sometimes beats on his brother and sister and me. But dang, he has a smile that melts your heart, and eyes that light up, and hilarious dance moves, and loves all things ball and to wrestle, was sweet to his Bumpa, apologizes when someone hurts him, forgives easily and (used to) calls me Maba... what's not to love? I will survive his third year as I did his second, and most certainly, plan to fall in love with him even more.
Batman party on Saturday. Utility belts will be provided. Pics to come (I hope!)
