I am very fortunate to have given birth to two amazing babies. I mean...AMAZING. I wanted to have children, and as soon as I married, I tried to get pregnant. It took a couple of months but it worked. The feeling of elation I felt when the extra line showed up on the home pregnancy test almost made me hyperventilate. I have never been that excited in my life. Both times, even.
My first child is now 22 years old. He is gorgeous, brilliant, creative, and is studying Art in college. Always wanted to be a paleontologist, but then switched to Art two years into college. Let your freak flag fly, my child.
When I went to my first obstetrical appointment with him, and I met my Dr., I was instantaneously in love. He was funny, cute and when I said, "I just want you to know, I HAVE A BIRTH PLAN, AND I WON'T STRAY FROM IT AND NOBODY ELSE BETTER, EITHER!" He smiled and calmly said, "Good, I was going to recommend that." Score one for him. Then I informed him I would be doing Bradley natural childbirth and that Lamaze was a joke. He agreed 100%. He asked pregnant women to take Bradley classes. Score 2 for him. Bradley classes are amazing and last much longer than Lamaze stupidity. Bradley takes more than 6 weeks, so you have to plan, and I've never heard a hospital say that you must take them in order to use their facilities, although with my second child I was told I must take their mandatory Lamaze to give birth there.
Anyhow, Bradley is a miracle, in my opinion. My pregnancy was healthy and completely uneventful. I knew I was in labor because my water broke. Actually, it was like Niagra Falls. If you aren't aware, it never stops. It keeps flowing out until you have the baby. Your body keeps producing it. So, "dry birth" is a total lie. (I think...I'm no doctor.)
We got to the hospital and since my birthing "suite' wasn't ready, I had to wait awhile in a regular labor and delivery room. Boring. Very small. I was bored. Plus, I could hear women screaming. It didn't scare me, because I thought they were being a bit overdramatic. If you can breathe enough to scream like that...well...you must be ok.
24 hours later with almost no pain until about 4 hours before birth, I pushed MAYBE four times and met Jack. His eyes were open and it was a silent, beautiful birth. I grabbed him and held him to me and said, "Hi! I love you! I'm your Mommy and I've been waiting for you for so long..." He stared at me. He blinked slowly. He was the most Zen little dude ever. (I thought at the time..)
Over the years, he has tested my patience to such a degree I'm lucky I'm not in jail. However, my overwhelming, all consuming love for him always wins out. He is cranky, impatient, and usually unpleasant to me. I have threatened him and done many things to rectify it, but he has been this way since the day AFTER he was born when he smelled fried chicken and threw the most amazing fit I've ever seen a newborn throw. He got us kicked out of the Auburn Hills, MI public library and banned for life, and we had the same thing happen on the nature trail adjacent to the library. Why? He said the puppet thing we were doing at Mommy and Me at the library was "tupid" and he wanted to read about Dinosaurs. He could not be stopped from loudly proclaiming these activities childish and beneath him. He continued to attempt to get out of my lap and we ended up struggling on the floor like we were wrestling. "Ma'am, we regret to say we must revoke your library card and ask that you never return." WHAT? WHAT? Philistines.
A few weeks later at the Nature Trail, they had two park rangers give a little talk and hike to children. Of course, my sweet angel and I went. Everything was fine. The rangers were talking about the dangers of taking things out of nature and the "leave no trace" policy, when my child raised his chubby little arm. (he was two years old when all of this happened.) The ranger called on him and my baby boy said, "If we leave no trace, how can we find dinosaur bones?" Of course this was all said in "Jackspeak". I was the only person who understood him most of the time. The two kind rangers were about to be blindsided by the wrath of Jack...oh the poor rangers. I was talking through gritted teeth to him..."Jack stop it...we aren't here for dinosaurs! Put your hand down and listen! I will take you home right now and spank your legs if you don't stop this right now!" My words had no affect. Jack would not be dissuaded. After the rangers awkwardly attempted to explain that there were NO dinosaur bones there, Jack said, "Of course they are. Everything was an ocean once. There are fossils everywhere." Touche' Jack. Touche'. The rangers were displeased and Jack continued to insist and I continued to threaten, so they finally asked us to leave and never come back to their presentations. I was stunned and again humiliated, although I don't know why. I picked him up and he began struggling against me. It was much like Friday night at the fights. I got him into his car seat, which was pretty damned almost impossible, and we drove home. He screamed and cried the entire time. It was about a five minute car trip to our house. We got out, and I told him he was going to sit in his room until he could control himself. He didn't care at all. He sat in his room and SCREAMED HIS LUNGS OUT FOR A GOOD 45 MINUTES. The neighbors even came over to check on him. He was a bit of a fit thrower. I didn't give in to him. If he began to throw a fit at a restaurant, we left. If he tried to throw a fit over a toy he wanted, we left. We didn't cajole or plead. Did he care? Nope. Nuh-uh.
He has grown, and he has matured. The maturity is still ongoing, but he is my heart. He is a bit solitary, like me. He has a HORRIBLE temper, like me...but not as bad as the 2-5 year old Jack. He is terribly talented with anything creative. He is a masterful writer, and his painting is amazing. He does not take advice from ANYONE. He is stubborn. He is suffering us peasants for now.
That brings me to my beloved second child. Again, easy pregnancy. Jack was 3 years old. I figured since my brother and I were four years apart as were my husband and his brother, that it would be a good time. Turns out it didn't really matter. Anyhow, this obstetrician was boring. The hospital DEMANDED we take their stupid Lamaze class. At the first class, we had to close our eyes and lay back against our husbands. ( I was the only person who already had a child in the class...the rest were glowing first timers.) Anyhow, we were to close our eyes, (NEVER DO THAT, IT MAKES YOU CONCENTRATE ON THE PAIN.), imagine the word "PAIN" written in the sand and then the wave coming and washing it away....breathe.... I couldn't help it. I guffawed out loud. Which awarded me with a roomful of glares. The teacher asked why I did that and I told her that I had used Bradley and this was all bullcrap I was just there because the hospital forced me to be. I told her when I had my baby, the nurses had been stunned how fast and how silent it had been. They called me a hippie Earth mother. I thought I could go into the surrogate business. She told me to be quiet and do whatever I wanted, but please don't disillusion the others. WHO BY THE WAY WERE ALL HAVING SCHEDULED C-SECTIONS. I was appalled. Who does that? You wait until it's time, then you go and if there is something wrong, the Dr. does a C-Section. You don't plan it around family coming into town or the Dr.s vacation or some dumbass reason. They were saying, that their baby was too big to deliver normally...it was going to be a whopping 8 pounds! Idiots. Cowards. A few weeks later, I gave birth naturally to an 11 pound baby who was 24" long. It was NOT expected but there you are. He came out demanding a steak got God's sake. 8 pounds? Puh. A cakewalk. My first was 7 13.5. So what? The dr.'s had said my second would come quickly and weight probably around 8 pounds. Neither one was true. It was an entirely different situation, and if he had been the first, he would have been the last. I'll spare all of the details, but I thought he and I were going to die, and we would have had it not been for one nurse.
Now, this baby...he was....hmmmm....how should I say this? He was perfect. He slept through the night from the very beginning, he nursed perfectly right away, (of course I knew how to do it, too.) and when he emptied that food source we had to give him formula. HOT formula. He liked it STEAMING HOT. My first? His lips never touched a bottle once in his life. Nursing was all he would do. He went from that at 13 months old to sippy cups and/or straws. This one? He took it any way he could get it. He smiled ALL THE TIME, if he was with me. If he couldn't see me, he screamed and cried. Going to the store with him in the rear facing baby seat was hell. I'd have to pull over every couple of blocks and get out and open the back door so he could see me, kiss him, do whatever, then slam the door, get back in my seat and haul ass to wherever we were going, while he screamed. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. Guess what? He is now 18, in college and has not changed much since he was born. With the exception of screaming when he couldn't see me. Now, he just comes and checks on me every 10-15 minutes. He is a worry wart. He is sweet and caring and has never yelled at me or used foul language with me.
Two very different boys, but both my heart and soul. They are my reason for living. I honestly feel sorry for people who didn't have them. They are my everything. If everything else disappeared, I would be fine as long as I had them. I've always told them a story since they were babies..I told them that no matter where we were, no matter how near or far, that three of us were connected by a silver string. It would keep us connected always. They both still remember it, and it's gotten me through some hard times. They have grown up, but to me, they are babies. I would give anything to go back to their baby and toddlerhoods. We don't appreciate it when it's happening. We are too worried, or harried or whatever. Now, I could appreciate it. I would hold them more...even when they struggled to get down. I'd smell their heads more. I'd make bathtime longer because that is where they learned their ABC's and many fairy tales and all the sounds of animals. It was just them and me...or earlier, just Jack and me. I would let them make messes and not worry about it. I would cook with them more, allow them to finger paint more, go to parks and watch them play more...without the constant fear that they would get hurt. I'd have them out more where they could meet more children their ages who could be their friends.
I'll never get that chance. I will have to content myself with grandchildren, who, although I will love beyond all reason, better not show up for quite a few years.
This is the truest of love stories. This love cannot and will not ever die. Not even in death. We have a silver string.
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