In my life story, today is the anniversary of a major milestone. Thirty-three years ago I began an adventure when giving birth to a bouncing baby boy. As he grew inside me, I loved him more and more every day (though I didn’t know yet if it was a him or a her). As the time grew close, I couldn’t wait to meet him face to face. The labor and delivery were typical, though it took a while. When he was born, his Apgar scores were low because his temperature was low. The nurse held him up in front of me for about 2 seconds, then whisked him away to put him in a warmer in the nursery. I couldn’t believe I didn’t get to hold my new baby. In the olden days, dads were not allowed in the delivery room unless you had both taken classes for some weird new thing called LaMaze. I had no intention of having a natural childbirth, so we did not take the classes. I remember wishing that we had just so he could have been with me. DH got to see his new son for just a few seconds in the hallway.
He finally warmed up and was brought to us to inspect. Holding him in my arms was the most monumental moment of my life. I could not believe the love that poured through me. It isn’t describable. We checked his fingers and toes; he was perfectly made.
During labor I had been given a spinal block, the precursor of the epidural. It did its job, and I was warned that I had to lay down for the next however-many hours. Not fun, but I could handle that, I thought. My back began to hurt sometime during the night, so I adjusted my hospital bed upward just slightly and went back to sleep. I felt fine when sitting up the next morning, then it felt like a hammer fell on my head. I had the dreaded spinal headache, which stayed with me a good 2 months. I also shook like crazy for the first 24 hours, another side effect of the injection into my spine.
In those days, having a baby meant a 3-day stay in the hospital. He was brought to me every couple of hours during the day. What a time we had bonding together! I looked forward to hearing the baby train coming down the hallway, squalling babies in rolling cribs being pulled by the nurse. One particular day I got myself ready and waited for the cacaphony. The baby cries got closer and closer….then began to fade. I waited and waited till the noise in the hallway had ceased. I was very agitated to have been overlooked, and where was my baby???? Was he lost somewhere? Given to the wrong mother? I called the nurse who explained to me in a perturbed voice over the intercom that I couldn’t have him since I had a fever. A fever? No one bothered to tell me that! I missed my son and was angry to have been treated so casually.
We finally got to take him home and began to enjoy our happy little family. We thought we were prepared, that we knew what we were doing. But we had a rough start. We thought he would eat every 2 hours as told to us. So, that’s what we did–fed him every 2 hours. But, he cried a lot in between. We finally called the doctor only to discover that our baby boy was hungry! We fed him more often, and he was a happy camper (typical man). He was a little colicky, but we lived through it.
From the beginning, this baby boy had an extraordinary personality. I had always thought that babies developed their personalities as they grew. Not this one! The ladies in the nursery at church argued over who was going to get to take care of this little guy. Personality plus, as they said! They nearly knocked each other down to see who could get to the half-door first to receive him.
When 6 weeks old, he “blew out” the pacifier, and that was the end of that. He did not want to be bothered with it. Fine by me! He was a hard one to keep up with, though. From about 3 weeks old, he was a scoocher. He obviously couldn’t crawl yet, but he could move! I remember “chasing” him around the crib mattress. I’d cover him up, he’d scooch out. Repeat, repeat. He could do laps around the crib! I would lay him on a blanket in the floor of the living room and sit next to him, my back against the couch, reading a magazine. Every few minutes I’d have to grab his little legs and “pull” him from under the couch. Like I said, a scoocher.
One moment is freeze-framed in my mind–a moment of terror for both of us. He was swinging in his wind-up swing, and I was folding laundry right there beside him. I turned my back for an instant when he let out a blood-curdling scream. I jerked around just in time to see him out of the swing, “flying” parallel to the floor Superman style, with one hand clenching the metal leg. He had grabbed the leg during an “up” moment and had jerked himself out. I wasn’t even 2 steps away; I reached out and grabbed him with both hands. Whew! Prying that metal pole out of his hand was not an easy thing to do.
Transitioning to solid food was a big problem, but not for the reason you might think. He screamed between bites. He screamed if his mouth wasn’t full enough. He was a very serious eater. We had to shovel it in continuously. Ambidextrous would have been an excellent attribute for feeding him!
There are many freeze-framed moments in my head of my blond-haired, blue-eyed cowboy/transformer/Jedi. He was a wonderful child, a blessing from God. He and I had a good time together. Here are some of my favorite photos.
Son, you were a happy child. Your father and I hope you find what you are looking for and that it is everything you need.
