Stop Me if You've Heard This One

Where did the time go?

Suddenly all the sleepless nights, the noise-making toys, the baby kisses, the splish-splash baths, the board books, the giggles, the crawls, the first steps, the wiggles, the family vacations, the moves, the tiny onesies, the baby food, the doctor's visits, the snuggles, the boo-boos, the smiles, the stroller pushing, and the hot wheels cars have amounted to 17,520 hours--two years of Little Man's life.

And so I can't help, on this early morning before Little Man comes out of his bedroom for the first time as a two-year-old, to remember another morning in the not so distant past, when I was also up this early.

Stop me if you've heard this one.

It was a Tuesday, and it was hot. Too hot for me to even consider stepping outside our door. I slept in that day, lolling in bed until almost noon. I watched TV, read a little, and felt Little Man grooving around on the inside. I finally dragged my pregnant self out of bed, ate an entire container of raspberries and drank two glasses of milk, and took a shower. I was going to make dinner for Husband that night--I remember feeling like I was falling down on the wife job because we had been eating take out so often as I just didn't feel like cooking. So that night I was going to compromise--earlier that week I had purchased some pre-made yummies from our favorite organic grocery store.

I took time with my appearance that day, blowing out my hair and putting on clothes that made me look like a girl (albeit a very round one) instead of the maternity yoga pants and oversized T-shirt I had been sporting for the past few weeks. I painted my toenails (quite a feat when you're nine months pregnant). And when Husband came home I declared it movie night, and we sat in front of the TV and watched "Night at The Museum". He ate burritos and I ate chicken and mac & cheese, and we drank a bottle of martinellis apple cider. We didn't know how many opportunities we would have, just the two of us, with my due date only a week away and an induction plan already in place.

We weren't going to have to wait that long. Around 5:00 that night, I started to feel...funny. Not bad, just different. I'd been having contractions for so long that they felt like old hat, but siddenly they were different. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. We moved our movie night into the bedroom, where we watched "Star Wars". Around 9:00, I noticed the tiniest streak of pink when I went to the bathroom. The contractions were stronger now, but still not bad enough to make me consider another false alarm trip to the hospital. I told Husband to go to sleep. I figured I would try and sleep, too, and if I could sleep through the contractions then I would know it wasn't time.

I didn't sleep through the contractions. I didn't sleep at all. Instead, I paced the long hallway outside our bedroom, timing my contractions with the timer on my iPod. 9 minutes apart. 7 minutes apart. When I hit 5 minutes apart, two things happened: I had to hold on to the door frame to get through the peak of the contraction, and I woke Husband up.

What I remember most about that last night was the calm. I thought I should be panicking, but I didn't. It was just calm--watching the clock, counting the minutes, breathing.

By 4 AM, I was in a hospital gown, informing a chirpy blond nurse I didn't want to walk through my contractions--I'd take the epidural NOW, thanks. I liked that the epidural took the pain away, but I didn't like not being able to feel my legs. I fought at the feeling, knowing the next time I felt Little Man move, he would be in my arms.

At 5 AM, the nurse who would be there when Little Man came into the world told me I'd have a baby by lunch time. I called my mom while Husband called his parents.

"Are you okay?" My mother didn't even say hello when she picked up the phone.

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm having a baby today. Before lunch."

At 8 AM, the doctor came in to break my water, which felt WEIRD. He glanced over at Husband, who was sleeping.

"Does he always look like he's solving the world's problems in his sleep?" he asked me. I grinned at him.

"So we'll let you rest for a few more hours, and I'll come back around 11 and we'll get this party started," he said. He started to leave the room and I propped myself up on my elbow as best I could.

"Um, I didn't take the birthing class, so I'm going to need a few more details," I said. It was his turn to grin.

At 11 AM, I started to push--which, for the record, was nothing like in the movies. I couldn't feel anything, and in between contractions, the doctor told us about his kids. It all seemed a little anti-climactic, actually. Husband was an exceptionally good coach, making me smile in between contractions and keeping me focused during them.

But even though I couldn't feel the pushing I was doing, it still wore me out. And after an hour of it, I was tired and Little Man was stubbornly staying on the inside. Seems that he was quite comfortable in his slightly diagonal position.

And so he needed a little help from the doc and his forceps. The last push was the worst--the epidural was wearing off and I could feel far more than I ever wanted to. It was the only time during the process I cried out, and I told Husband I couldn't do it.

"Hey," he said, catching my eye, and speaking so quietly that I don't even know how I heard him. "Yes you can."

And so I did.

The relief I felt when Little Man was out was euphoric. Husband put his forehead against mine and said, "He's here, he's here, he's perfect."

Little Man didn't cry. The doctor didn't want him to because of a respiratory issue he was having. So he went straight to his little baby cart, and I sent Husband over to be with him while the doctor stitched me up.

And it was quiet in the room, despite all the people there taking care of me and the baby, and I felt hazy and drugged. I kept asking the doctor how much he weighed, if he was okay--and the doctor told me he didn't know. I was just started to freak out when I heard Husband laugh--and I relaxed, because I knew everything was okay.

Husband carried Little Man over to me a few minutes later. He was a little burrito. All you could see of him between the blanket and the blue hat was his eyes and nose and the little furrow between his eyes that made him look like he was solving the world's problems in his sleep.

Husband held the baby's face to mine and I studied him. Throught my whole pregnancy I wondered what he would look like, who he would take after. And there he was, looking just like himself--so much so that I thought, "well, of course he looks like that. Who else would he look like?"

It took about an hour for the doctor to finish with me, and Husband pulled the rocking chair close to my bed and rocked him. He held him in his arms, up high, close to his face and whispered things I couldn't hear. It is my favorite memory of the entire day--watching the man I married become a father.

And finally he was in my arms, feeling much lighter than he felt when he was on the inside. He felt like air, even though he was almost 9 pounds. When Husband handed him to me, he opened his eyes lazily, looked at me for an instant, and closed them again. I imagined him thinking, oh, I know her.

I unwrapped him from his blanket burrito--I wanted to see more than his face. I counted toes and fingers, marveling at how his knuckles were already wrinkled. I ran my finger down his spine--the spine I'd been watching for 9 months. Could this whole little person be the same blip-blip of a heartbeat we'd seem back on that rainy December day?

I peeked under his cap and smiled at the dark, spiky hair I found under there. Two years later, it's blonde and curly. Two years later, I still like to count his fingers and toes, only he does it with me. I still run my finger down his spine, making him giggle. And I still marvel at the little heartbeat I feel--the same little heartbeat we saw when that's all he was.

Happiest of birthdays, my Little Man. I promise I'll try my best not to embarass you by telling this story every year. But I can't make any promises, because it's the best story I know.

Rules for the Pool

We've been taking full advantage of the pool in our new home. And Little Man is a bonafied water baby.

He loves the water, and he's fearless. When we started going to the pool, we had two rules:

1. Mama gets in the water first.
2. Don't push. (This rule came into existence because Little Man wants to be independent at the pool, and shoves against my legs so that I'll back up and he can have his space. Not happening in the water, sorry kid).

Today we started working on a new rule:

3. Make eye contact with Mama before you jump off the side of the pool.

I've been considering swimming lessons for Little Man, but based on his resistance with other group activities, I decided to at least start the process myself. He'll put his face in the water and "blow bubbles", kick his feet and wave his arms when I float him on his belly. That's about where it ends--not because of him, but because I'm not sure where to go next. I see some google research in my very near future.

Aside from the makeshift swimming lessons he's been getting, Little Man is happy to play on the water shelf, sit in the in-pool lounge chairs and gaze up at the sky in hopes of spotting an air plane, stalk the fountains, and--as I mentioned before--jump off the side of the pool.

Watching him laugh and splash around makes me happy that here in the south, the summers are long--because this is summer at its best.