Our oldest son turns 10 today. Ten years of love, snuggles, tenderness and fascination, on my part, with all of the things boys go through. (Really, who knew the military channel could be so compelling?)
A decade ago while living in VA, we went to dinner at an old friend of the hubby's (who is now a mutual friend). When we arrived, this guy and his then-girlfriend were hammered beyond belief. Whiskey, I believe. While it made for a really interesting/fun night out, mainly because he's a very sweet and funny character, it probably wasn't best for someone who was >9 months preggers and counting (i.e., me) -- especially since they left out the actual serving dinner portion of the evening. I finally asked if there was any food. They fired up the grill, put on a hot dog for me and promptly forgot about it.
I ate a single, bun-less, burnt hot dog. No condiments. No chips. And then I went into labor.
Uber-nerd that I am, I couldn't sleep. Instead, I spent the night tracking my contractions in Excel and calculating/charting the a) length of time between them and b) rate of acceleration. Finally, around 6:30 a.m. I woke the hubby up to drive me to the hospital.
As we drove, my brain went into hyperactivity. OMG: How do they get this thing out of me? Is it too late to outsource? Once we got to the hospital, I was fine. And by fine, I mean that I was weak and exhausted from staying up all night and not eating dinner. Good Lord. Just a few short, strenuous, puking orange Popsicle, drug free* hours later, our little dude was born.
Had I known I was a birthing machine, I would have started younger and put some on the black market. Anything for a buck.
With that said, I'm unbelievably grateful for the past ten years and feel blessed beyond belief. He's a wonderful little man; I'm honored to know him and to be his mom. Happy birthday dude.
*I didn't intend to do labor drug-free. My OB-GYN practice was highly professional but also run by hippy chick MDs (no hip, hip, hip, hip, no hippy chick). Alternative medicine. Doulas. The whole nine yards. Through them, we signed up for the Bradley Method without realizing that it stressed natural birth. First class: show of hands, who's planning to use drugs? Only hand up: mine. Me drug free? During excruciating pain? Yep. I did it. Crazy but true.
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