Today is my first born’s 19th birthday. I know everyone says this and it sounds cliche but where did the time go? I thought it was just yesterday he was saying fridgafrator for refrigerator and pskettie for spaghetti. Now he’s in college studying things I couldn’t begin to understand (computer science) and discussing politics with his father and I. Don’t blink people.
I spent my entire pregnancy with W terrified that I would lose him. I didn’t feel like I deserved such happiness so surely God would take him from me. But of course he didn’t. I woke up in the wee hours of March 5th after having an incredibly restless night, knowing I was in labor. When it’s your first you’re afraid you won’t know…you KNOW ladies.
I was so considerate of my husband. I didn’t wake him while I showered (knowing I might not get another one for awhile) and got dressed while timing the contractions. When they got to 5 mins apart I woke him and told him we had to go to the hospital. He proceeded TO MAKE COFFEE!!! Are you freaking kidding me? 1. You know I can’t have any so that’s just plain wrong and 2. You know how slow our coffee maker is – what in the hell makes you think we have time to wait? He was confused. I “unconfused” him. He still drank his coffee.
Once at the hospital I got settled and waited….waited…waited… The contractions were strong but bearable and I began to think I could do this without meds. Then they broke my water and the four most beautiful words in the English language came out of my mouth – I WANT MY EPIDURAL!!! Eventually it came and I returned to the land of the non-exorcist, pea-soup spewing, head spinning around world of the living.
W was stubborn but eventually entered world at 7:53 pm right as the Double Jeopardy question/answer was being read. I know this because I had to smack my husband upside the head and yell at the nurses because they were all watching the show while I was pushing! We never did find out what the answer was…
My sweet baby was born looking up at the world (which explained my back labor). He was slightly jaundiced which I mistook for “really great color” but otherwise perfect in every way. Still is, in my humble opinion. And at that moment, nothing was ever the same again.
His little baby heart reached into mine and uncovered places I never knew existed. I thought I knew how to love, but this was something so different. This was a little helpless child that God had entrusted to this imperfect soul to care for and raise. Holy crap what was He thinking. Holy, holy crap what have we done?
But it was too late, my heart had already been exposed and I was ready. I knew how I wanted to raise him (just do everything exactly opposite of the way you were raised and it should all be okay), and what I wanted him to be…happy, secure and unconditionally loved.
So now I have this grown man living in my house that still calls me Mommy and I think we did a pretty damn good job with him. He is handsome (looks just like his dad), compassionate and loving, funny and charming, witty and smart and above all…our son.
Happy Birthday dude. You rock my world and I’m proud of you every minute of every day.