Sorry, Grandma but that's it?! Seriously?? Of course, she hadn't met my little bundle of joy yet, so it was impossible for her to go on and on and on and on and on and on about how wonderful he was.
I have a need to bore with a few already-told details here, so you'll have to indulge me a bit. Up to and including this day, I hadn't had the Braxton-Hicks fake contractions that every book and every knowing mom said I would probably have. So, when something started happening at 2 or 3 in the morning on December 26, 1990, I thought they were the anticipated Braxton-Hicks. And every book and every doctor that talked to me and every knowing mom also said contractions get longer, stronger, and closer together. Mine didn't. Not even close. More proof that it was Braxton-Hicks, I figured. I knew if I said anything to Rick that I thought maybe something was up, he would call in sick to work and then sit and stare at me and wait for something to happen. And who could blame him? We had been waiting nine months for this.
So, I didn't let on and he went to work and I went to work. Kept Hicksing all morning. But they were fake contractions, so no big deal, right? I don't think I even let on to Nancy when we carpooled to work that day that this might be the day. Rick and I were a one-car household at that time and Rick was in the habit of calling me before he left work to see if I needed anything or wanted to come home. He obviously remembered the hormonal day I came home on the bus and was in tears when I got through the door because the driver ignored my buzz and missed my stop. By one block. And possibly the time I got irate at the nature video showing a bear attacking and killing a moose. Anyway, on this day he called and I said I was feeling lousy and wanted to go home. One of the lady attorneys walked by and excitedly hollered to those within earshot, "She's feeling lousy!!". I could have slugged her. That should probably have been my first clue that something new was going on since I normally had no desire whatsoever to exact violence upon her. So, Rick came to get me and as I had figured, he kinda stared at me when we were at home. Without going in to any of the gory details (you should thank me know for this), it eventually became apparent that we needed to call the doctor. He suggested we go to the hospital and see what they said there. I am calm by nature, and these were Braxton-Hicks for Pete's sake, so I was somewhat unimpressive when we hit the nurses' station. My delivery nurse told me later that the bet was on me not being a 'keeper' because I was simply not excited enough. Turns out I was at 4 cm of the needed 10 cm already. So, I was a 'keeper' after all. Even though I had read a good number of books in preparation and we had been to Lamaze class, it was still all very new and very exhilirating. Mitch's birth music was Leo Kottke (soothing acoustic guitar), carefully chosen to weed out the songs with too many minor chords. (Anna, in contrast, had The Three Tenors as her birth music -- I was a pro by then and could have a bit more "fun" with childbirth. Ha.) By 10:43 p.m. we had a bouncing baby boy. Eight and a half pounds, as Grandma recorded, and 21 1/2" long. He had a fever and so had to stay in the nursery for a bit. They wheeled me down and let Rick and I stare at him a while before we had to get out of the way. There we were staring at our miracle, the beginning of a new kind of existence for us, that dark hair, those perfect features and the nurse says with all the seriousness of a heart attack, "Where did he get his height?" Way to burst our bubble, lady. Can we blame her, she who saw this particular kind of miracle every day? If only she knew how tall he would eventually get.
So, it was a glorious day with a glorious ending. All tied up in the little bow of Grandma's post.
Love you, Mitch.
This might be your best entry yet.
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