5 years ago today (written October 18, 2005), a crisp and sparkly early autumn morning, we arose to head to the hospital. I was tired. Who isn’t at 10 (why do people say 9 months? 40 weeks is 10 4 week months - do the math, doc!) months pregnant with 2 toddlers at home? Hadn’t been sleeping, had been griping about my siatic (sp?) nerve thing rendering me nearly unable to walk the last 3 weeks, much less rest. Had been eating a lot, also. An avocado (the whole thing, thank you) and a coke every morning for the previous 8 months. That’s a whopping lot of calories, and don’t give me the good fat thing…fat is fat. Between those breakfasts, and my insatiable craving for Wendy’s cheeseburgers, mustard/pickle only, please, there was going to be a lot of “recovery” going on for the next year (little did I realize that also turning 30 only 10 weeks later would extend that “recovery” by like, 4-5 more years, I’m still losing 10 pounds…so much for that 20s metabolism).I’d actually been a vegetarian prior to this pregnancy, making my own granola, multi-grain burgers, and whole wheat bread…the whole nine veggie yards. Even sprinkled the children’s cereal with toasted wheat germ each morning, and gave them soy or rice milk instead of dairy. Had no will power pregant. And introduced the kids to Happy Meals, God forgive me. Anything to get to the end, and the morning of October 18, 2000 was IT.
Unfortunately, I was scheduled for a c-section. Previous 2 babies had ended up with a last minute “emergency”, so my midwife was recommending this route. I can second guess all day, and did till the 6th month, but in the end, went for the sunroof exit. Fortunately, that decision allowed me to miss all the last few days torture of “is this it”,”was that a real contraction”, “hey, look at that mucous plug, hon” fun. I knew that morning, from start to fisnish, I’d be holding our new baby in about 40 minutes. I got into the gown, did the epidural, got masked and hair-netted (after a charming pubic shave, have to go low on those incisions) and held Mr 4tops’s hand while we contemplated silently what this new one would do to our lives, and what he would be like, look like, and I wondered if he would nurse well, and how low my belly would sag this time. And then he was here. Some tugging, some pulling, a squeak, and they lifted him over the sheet. The one thing I’ve really regreted about the sections is the inability to hold, touch and see my babies up close right away…it’s usually 30-45 minutes till they can get you stitched and to recovery. Just made me crazy every time. But then I got him, gazed wonderously at him, nursed him, and marveled at how completely you can fall in love, over and over and over. The children said it once, it’s as if God makes your heart bigger every time you love some one else. It’s never crowded, and no one ever need be left out. But in light of that young wisdom, I remain amazed at how absolutely, completely, and utterly full, near to bursting even, my heart would feel each time I held our new babies for the first time. Thank you, God, for stretching it just enough, as needed. And Happy, Happy Birthday, my Baby Boy.
