Eleven Years Later

This time, eleven years ago, I was at the doctor’s office, hooked up to yet another monitor.  I told them I was having contractions.

They didn’t believe me.

(When are doctors going to realize that we know our bodies?)

So they hooked me up, confirmed, but sent me home anyway.

Thing 2 was already a week late.  I had decided that I should start charging her rent.

And here I am 11 years later watching my baby girl thriving this first week in school, making strides that I never in a million years could’ve done.

I’m in awe of who she is.

Her face bubbles with excitement as she recaps her days at school — the people she’s met, the playdates she’s scheduling, the social activities planned at the school.  You’d never know that just three days ago she knew no one.

But eleven years ago today, I dropped Thing 1 off at the sitter and headed to the hospital.  My labor was harder with Thing 2.  I had already been in the hospital for her for a week at 36 weeks.  I remember cursing and my husband saying, “you need to stop that…” and I looked at him and said, “what are you going to do, take me home?”

I remember the contractions hurting so bad but not yet being to the point where I could get my epidural — and when they finally gave me stadol for the pain I remember saying to the nurse, “if I were an intravenous drug user, this would be my drug of choice.”

I also remember it wearing off in 45 minutes and the pain that came with it.

I remember my best friend calling and telling me to hang in there just a little longer, that she was wrapping up at work and would be there soon.

I remember her arriving, walking in my room and then telling the nurses to find the doctor… that it was time.  I was in transition.  (To this day, I have no idea what that means, but she was right.)

I remember the doctor coming in with pants that were way too short.  I remember calling him “flood boy” in my head.

I remember very little pushing before my baby girl let out a cry…. and I remember them weighing her and calling out “9 lbs, 1/2 oz” and my best friend following the comment with “three pounds of it are hair.”

Hair.

I knew she would have hair.  The only time in my life that I’ve ever had heartburn was the 41 weeks that I carried her.

And if I’m honest, she still gives me a little heartburn to this day.

Yes, eleven years ago my life changed dramatically again.

But I’m so glad it did.

Because she teaches me so much…and  I can’t wait to see where she goes in life.

My prayer is only that she accomplishes all that she sets out to do, she learns from my mistakes so that her life is all that she wants it to be and that she loves God first and foremost.

Love you less than God, Thing 2.

Happy Eleventh Birthday….

Until next time…