Three years ago (well, almost, because you were delivered just before midnight), you were born. I spent the day wrapping gifts, finalizing some candle sales, and baking some Christmas goodies. Kendra was in Kindergarten, Alex was in first grade, and Hannah was two, and terrorizing the house. (She proved to be a good example for you, unfortunately. Waaaay too good.) Great-Grandma OK had recently passed away, and since Grandma had finished with all of the funeral arrangements and services, she gave the go-ahead for you to be born.
(I was having strong, regular contractions at our ward Christmas party the day after Grandma OK died, which would have been December 7, I think. I came home, took a warm bath to see if I could get the contractions to speed up, and suddenly you did a huge flip and turned yourself breech. Grandma was relieved that with no impending birth, she could focus on Grandma OK’s funeral stuff. We also joked that Grandma OK needed some extra snuggle time with you in Heaven, since she didn’t get any with you here. You would have LOVED Grandma OK, and she would have loved you right back. You both have– had– similar feisty personalities.)
Daddy was working at Great Escapes, and all day he’d been on the phone with Lisa from HR, trying to figure out the insurance information and get it back-dated for us to have coverage. (The insurnace was a nightmare. At that point, we had none.) At about 5:30 PM, we drove a check for the first month’s premiums to Daddy’s work, so they could credit us. He asked how I was feeling, which was weird and sort of spacey, with a few irregular contractions. He said to call if I needed something. We drove home, and I started making dinner.
Then the contractions came.
I timed them for about an hour, and then called Grandma, to ask her advice. She told me she’d come over, but thought I should call Daddy and have him come home early. He was in a presentation (I think he was actually GIVING the presentation), and I had Terryn, the receptionist, break in and tell him it was time to go to the hospital. Daddy giggled like an idiot (his words, not mine), stammered his apologies to the crowded room, and left.
He was home in less than five minutes.
We headed to the hospital where they hooked me up to monitors, saw that the contractions weren’t progressing my labor, and decided that you were laying sideways across my body. (You were a stinker, even in utero.) Because of my previous C-section, the nurse said Dr. Later would never try to turn you, so it looked like I’d have to deliver you that way, too. The nurse said she’d consult with Dr. Later, and I would stay for observation for an hour or so. I was disappointed, because I’d hoped for another VBAC, but glad to know you’d be born soon.
(We were also eternally grateful that you waited until the insurance papers had been signed, and the check sent, to be born. It was like you were waiting until things were settled to make your appearance.)
It was a long, boring hour, followed by another one. My nurse said I would be spending the night just to be safe, and they would do the C-section in the morning, so Daddy went home to change his clothes, pack an overnight bag and get some dinner.
A few minutes later, the nurse came back to tell me that the contractions were really, really hard (which, duh, I TOTALLY knew), and getting closer together, and Dr. Later was worried that my water would break and your cord would prolapse. She said he was coming in to do an emergency C-section. I called home to let Grandma know that Daddy needed to come back to the hospital immediately, but no one knew where he was.
I was prepped for surgery and anxiously waiting for Daddy to come back, when the nurse and the anesthesiologist came back to the room, saying there wasn’t time to wait. It all happened very fast, and I was scared, but excited for you to be born. Luckily, they pushed my bed out of the door just as Daddy was walking down the hallway, so he dropped everything and went to the OR with us.
You were born at 11:26 PM (Daddy commented, “That’s his sister’s birthday!” I will never forget the time you were born!), and you were big– 7 pounds, 10 ounces, and 21 inches long. You had blonde hair and it was curly, curly, curly, and you had ginormous dimples. I remember the nurse talking to me in the recovery room, saying how sweet it was that you had inherited your dad’s dimples, and Daddy argued with her that he didn’t have any. He rushed to the mirror to check, and sure enough– dimples. I was just drugged enough to find that hilarious, and I still tease Daddy about that.
You were an amazing baby. You slept well, you ate well, you were good-natured and loved to cuddle. I loved the time we spent snuggled together on the couch. I also loved how I could take you anywhere. Most of the time, people didn’t even realize I had a baby with me, because you were so quiet.
And then you turned one.
(Those pictures look deceptively sweet.)
Now that you’re (almost) three, I’d really love it if you could stop with the spitting, the hitting, the hair-pulling, the disobedience, the tantrums and the throwing. Two years is long enough for that behavior to have run its course. (Although if you grow up to be a Heisman-winning quarterback, well, I guess it will have been worth it.). I much prefer the story-reading, hugs and kisses, “I love you more”s, the singing Primary songs, and coloring together. Thankfully, I get almost enough of the latter to make up for the former.
I love you, my little guy. I love how excited you get, how your mind works, all the new things you’re learning to do, your sense of humor (that manifested itself at about six months– what is that about?) and your love for your family and friends in the nursery. I love your bright blue eyes, your dimples, and your curly hair. I love the way you smell, the way you fit on my lap, and the little happy dance you did this morning when we sang “Happy Birthday” to you. I even love you when you’re naughty, and that’s a whole lotta love.
I am so blessed to have you, and I will work harder to appreciate you in your naughty times as well as your good ones.