I still remember the very first time that I saw him.
June 19th, 2:47 pm.
When the nurse handed him over to me, I was in awe. I guess I expected him to look exactly like his brother did when he was born. But he looked completely different. Creamy white skin. Big ears, one folded over, pressed against his head. Tiny, squinted eyes, perfect little lips.
I had worried that I’d not have enough love to give to a second child. I loved my first baby so much, I couldn’t imagine giving that love to another child. I think most mother’s worry about that and I certainly was no different.
That fear melted the minute I laid eyes on him.
Corny as it may sound, I knew in the first few weeks of his life I knew there was something incredibly special and wonderful about my son.
He had the most amazing personality. And Oh! how he loved loved loved his Mama. As a baby, he could grab my face and give me slobbery wet kisses. As a toddler, he would climb up on my lap, hold my face in his hands and say things like “I just wuv you so much my booyeeful mommy!” And if anyone dared to be mean to me, he would tell them where they could shove it. Like the one time my brother was teasing me at dinner. E was only 3 years old. We were out to dinner with the family. My brother kept teasing me saying things like “What about that what time you did *insert mocking words.*” E had had enough. He stood up, walked over to my brother and said “HEY, WHAT ABOUT YOUR BUTT?!”
E always loved to spend time with me. He was my little shadow and man, was he ever a joy to have around. He could be difficult– like, how he refused to wear plain t-shirts because “THEY ARE SO DUMB AND UGLY!” (when he was THREE.) but he could also be the sweetest, kindest, most considerate little person. I always knew where I stood with him. If he was mad, he would cross his precious little arms and say “I’m SO mad’tchu, Mommy!” Then, 5 minutes later, he’d wrap his arms around my legs and tell me how much he loved me and how I was the best mommy in the whole wide world.
Yesterday, that adorable little boy turned 12 years old. And even though he’s older, not much has changed. Sure, he’s older and more mature, but he’s still that same tenderhearted boy at heart. He still lets me know when he’s upset, but is always quick to tell me how much he loves me. He can hurt me deeply when he’s angry at me, but can melt my heart with his kindness.
Hard to believe it’s been 12 years since I first laid eyes on him. It takes my breath away every time he talks about how much he’s looking forward to starting junior high in August.
Junior high.
I didn’t post this yesterday because I’ve had the hardest time writing this post. Not because I don’t love him, but because he’s the most wonderful, unique, hilarious child in the world and I sob like a baby when I think of how wonderful our lives have been since he came along.
Happy Birthday, beautiful boy. Thank you for making me laugh so hard that it hurts on a daily basis. I love love love you.
What he looked like the morning he turned 12.
Category Archives: Parenthood
The Story of Our Joy Unexpected
I was asked to write a birth story to coincide with Discovery Health’s Baby Week. I agreed because it was the perfect motivation to finally write Her Story. (And no, I was not paid to write this.)
*******
It was August 2nd, two days before my due date. I had been down this road twice before. I knew what the beginning of labor felt like. I knew that the time had finally arrived. I was only 4 days late, but it felt like 4 months. This pregnancy was not planned. This pregnancy had come at a difficult time in our lives. But we had 9 months to get over the shock, 9 months to fall in love with The Baby We Never Thought We’d Have.
I wanted some time alone with my boys before I had the baby. I wanted one last chance to have just the two of them, only 11 and 7 years old, before their baby sister arrived.
“Mommy is going to have her baby soon.” I told them. “Would you like to lay on the couch with me until it’s time for Dad to take me to the hospital?”
In one of the sweetest, most touching moments of my life as a mother, my two beautiful sons lay on the sofa, one on each side of me, their heads on my lap. I ran my fingers through there hair as I told him how much I loved them. How lucky I was to be their Mama. Tears began running down my cheeks as I tried to imagine how our lives together would change with a new baby in the house.
“Why are you crying, Mommy? Does it hurt?” My youngest asked, while looking up at me. He always worries about his Mama, that one.
“Just a little bit.” I answered. “But don’t worry. I was fine when I had you and your brother. I’m going to be fine.”
They took turns asking questions. “What will it feel like?” “How long will it take?” “How bad will it hurt?” I would answer each question as honestly and delicately as I could, pausing only to breathe in between contractions. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more loved by my boys as I did on that night. Nor do I think I’ve ever felt such guilt– how could I put them through this? How could I make them worry about me? How could I bring another child into our perfect little family? Did they think they weren’t enough? Because oh my God, they were more than enough.
They eventually feel asleep, but I stayed awake, just staring at their precious faces. “If anything happens to me, I hope they know how very much I love them.” I thought to myself, as they lay there next to me.
The contractions began to get stronger and closer together and although I was determined to stay at home to labor on my own for as long as possible, I truly felt like “it was time.” I left the boys on the couch, made sure everything was packed and told my husband that it was time to go. We packed up the van, took the boys to Grandma’s house and left for the hospital.
Kissing them good bye that early morning wasn’t easy. I knew they were experiencing a plethora of emotions– fear, excitement, nervousness– and I couldn’t be there to help them through it.
I hated that.
The entire way to the hospital, I worried about my boys.
“Do you think they’re okay?” I’d ask, in between contractions.
“They’re fine.” My husband would respond.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Your Mom will take good care of them and they’ll come to see you in the morning. They’re fine!”
We arrived at the hospital at 6am. I was SURE they’d tell me I was already dilated to 10 and ready to push! SURE OF IT! But after checking me, the news was pretty much the exact opposite of “you’re ready to push!”
“You’re only dilated to 1 and a half. I know the contractions are close together, but you still have a while to go. We’re going to send you home. You’re scheduled for induction on the 4th– we’ll probably see you back then!”
It was the 2nd.
And I was 4 days late.
I looked at my husband and said “I want to kick her in the teeth! There is no possible way I can stand 2 more days of this! (I was in labor! Labor makes you say crazy things!)
They sent me home and I wasn’t happy about it. And I made sure that everyone in the elevator on the way down to the lobby knew it. I cursed and cried and cursed some more. If this wasn’t The Real Thing, how would I know when it was? How would I know when to come back? I was scared. And in pain. SO MUCH PAIN.
We arrived back home after what felt like an 8 hour drive. Time goes slow when you’re contracting and breathing and still cursing the nurse for sending you home. I was an emotional and physical wreck. My husband walked to the bedroom, where I stripped out of my clothes to TRY to find even a shred of comfort in my bed. Just as I laid down, there was a knock on our front door. “Who could that be?” I asked in horror. This was the absolute worst possible time for a visitor.
Turns out, it was my Mother in law and her cleaning crew. I forgot that she had offered to come over and clean my house before I had the baby. (Which I recognized later was such a kind, thoughtful thing to do. it’s just kind of hard to sees things that way when you’re laying naked on your bed, four days past your due date, having contractions and stuff.)
“I don’t want her here!” I cried. “I’m in labor! I don’t want to deal with anyone right now.”
“You won’t have to deal with her, Babe.” My husband said, trying to reason with a woman in labor.
“But what if she comes in here and WANTS TO TALK TO ME? I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO HER RIGHT NOW.” I snapped back. “Ohh, FINE. Let her in, just make sure you tell her not to come in my room. I DON’T WANT ANYONE IN HERE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
It was almost impossible to relax while I heard the scrubbing of tubs and the vacuuming of carpets. I kept reminding myself that she was doing something nice! (Which, she was.) But the noise, it was too much for me to deal with. I left the house and went for a walk up and down my street. That was a lovely sight for my neighbors, I’m sure! Here I was, in full blown labor, taking a few steps, stopping, breathing and then crying because “It huuuurts!”
I had been having contractions for over 14 hours, I was in pain, I was tired, but mostly, I was scared and confused. Was it too early to go back to the hospital? Or what if I had waited too long? I told my husband I wanted to go back.
When we arrived at the hospital, they hooked me up to the monitor. Contractions were strong. They checked my cervix again. It was only dilated to 2-3. I couldn’t believe it. “Can you break my water?” I asked, in a very desperate tone. “Won’t that help speed things along?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t. The baby’s head is still too high and the cervix is still too hard. We’re going to keep you here now, though, because the baby’s heart beat is dropping a little with the contractions.” I immediately panicked on the inside, but kept it together on the outside. She then said things like “monitor closely” and “possible emergency c-section.”
Do I need to tell you how scared I was? Because I was scared.
I thought this birth would be so easy! I mean, I had done it twice before! I thought by the time you got to the third one, they practically just FELL OUT.” Apparently, I was wrong about that.
The nurse asked me several times if I wanted an epidural. The answer was, no, I didn’t want an epidural. “But, the pain.” She said, as if I had NO clue that it would be painful. As if I needed a reminder. “I am terrified of needles.” I explained. “And the thought of a needle IN MY SPINE is worse than the pain as far as I’m concerned. Also? The idea of not being able to fell my legs freaks me out!”
Next, it was the doctors turn to ask me if I wanted an epidural.
The answer was the same as the one I had given the nurse. “No.”
“But, the pain.” He said. (Again,with The Pain reasoning.)
“I know about the pain.” I snapped back. “But I’m scared of needles in my back!”
And then, he said something that made me want to kick him in the place it would hurt him the most.
“Well, if I were you, I’d be more scared of The Pain than of a needle.”
Way to be supportive of my choices, Doctor!
Labor went on for what seemed like forever with very little results. They finally decided it was safe to break my water, but only after I begged them over and over again. After the water was broke, things finally began to progress. Contractions became more regular and more intense. I started to dilate. And then? I started to SCREAM FOR DRUGS!
The nurse gladly gave me a shot of I don’t remember what. But I do remember that it made me pass out. And of course that was the exact moment that my boys came in to visit me. I remember they came in and stood next to me. I remember they asked me if I was okay. I remember hearing their voices, but not seeing their faces as I had a hard time opening my eyes. They love to imitate me during that visit. They thought it was HILARIOUS that I was unable to say words properly and that I was quite possible drooling. They kissed me good bye and went back to the waiting room with the family. Shortly after they left, my Dad came in to visit and to pray for me. (My Dad is a pastor.) He went to lay his hands on me. “Don’t touch me.” I slurred at him, in my drugged out state of mine. He ignored me and placed his hand on my forehead. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” I said, possibly while slapping his hand away from me. I was in so much pain, so miserable, the last thing I wanted was to be touched. (I blame the drugs!)
The medication began to wear off and oh, how it hurt. It felt like one continuous contraction that WOULD.NOT.END. I called my husband over.
“Baby.” I cried. “It hurts so bad! I need more drugs.”
“Oh, honey.” He said, all lovingly. “Your breath is HORRID. You need a breath mint.
NOT “Okay, I’ll get the nurse and get you some more drugs!” NOT “Can I get you some ice chips?” NOT any of those things that a husband most definitely should say to his wife who is in labor. Nope. His answer was “You need a breath mint.”
I literally could not believe he said that. COULD.NOT.BELIEVE.IT.
“I don’t give a @#%@ if my@@%&#!! breath stinks! I’m TRYING TO HAVE A BABY HERE! I’M IN PAIN!”
Apparently, my breath was so bad, he was willing to risk his life to continue to convince me that I should pop a breath mint in my mouth.
“But honey. Think of the doctor. It’s really bad. I’ll be right back.” And he left the room. He returned within a few minutes, with smile on his face and package of breath mints in his hand. He then proceeded to open it and lovingly put one in my mouth.
And then I punched him in the neck.
KIDDING! But I really, really wanted to.
Twenty two-ish hours had passed since I first began labor. There are no words to describe how tired I was or how much pain I was in.
“I WANT AN EPIDURAL!” I shouted, surprising everyone, including myself. But I simply couldn’t take the pain for a minute longer. I thought I would die.
A few minutes later, I was sitting up, bent over, trying not to pass out as a woman inserted the needle into my lower back. I was surprised at how easy the whole thing was and wanted to kick myself for not having done it sooner, or with my previous two births. I waited for it to numb things up, but I still felt pain. “Should it still be hurting?” I asked the nurse. “Why is it still hurting?”
The anesthesiologist came back right away to adjust things, but the pain was still there. It was at that point the nurse decided it was time to “check down there” again.
“Oh my goodness” she said “you’re dilated to 10! It’s time to start pushing!”
I suddenly didn’t care that I still had pain because, I could push! My baby was almost here! Pain? What pain?
I was wheeled into the delivery room, followed by my husband and my sister who would be recording the birth. I couldn’t believe that the moment had finally arrived. Suddenly, I felt energized, excited to finally meet my daughter.
“P-U-S-H!” The nurse shouted. “Come on, you’re doing so good! Keep going! Harder! Harder!”
“Oh, baby.” My husband said. “I can see her hair. She has so much hair!”
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “What color is it?” I asked
“It’s black. Jet black. And it’s so thick!”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see her. I can’t wait to meet my daughter.”
I pushed for almost an hour.
“The head is out.” The doctor said. “Give me one more push and you’ll get to meet your daughter.”
My daughter. The daughter I never thought I’d have. Just one more push til I’d get to see her beautiful face.
I pushed with everything that I had left in me.
It was 12:18 am, my daughter took her very first breath. “It’s a girl!” the doctor said while holding her up for me to see.
There she was. My daughter. She was more beautiful than I had imagined she would be.
My husband wept as he started at the little girl he had always dreamed of having.
They placed her in my arms. I placed my nose against her warm, damp cheeks and inhaled. “I love you. I love you I love you I love you.” I whispered. My husband leaned in and kissed me. Then he kissed his daughter. All of the fears I had about bringing a new baby into our family vanished in that moment. She belonged with us. I couldn’t wait for her brothers to see her, to hold her. They’d love her, I just knew it. And oh, how she would love them.
In that moment, I knew that life was as she should be.
My Blog May Suck , But My Life Sure as Hell Doesn’t.
I apologize in advance for posting another video. It’s so very Mommy Blogger of me, I know. But, you guys– my boys. MY BOYS! They played their first “gig” this weekend at a Relay for Life event.
It was one of the proudest moments I’ve had as their mother.
Especially for my sweet E. He had a little “Moment of Glory” during the song (Drum Solo at 2:05!) Yes, I cried and YES, I said “that’s my boy!” I was so glad to see him get some much deserved attention.
I Love Little Surprises.
I don’t mind if he records himself playing the drums, but if I ever catch him vlogging, he’ll be BANNED FROM THE FLIPCAM
Matchbox Do DO DOOOO
Is there anything funnier than kids singing songs that they don’t know the words to? Besides kids doing jumping jacks?
I don’t think that there is.
I have amazing videos of my boys singing to Backstreet boys and N’Sync when they were little dudes. (Lucky for them, those are still on VHS-c tapes. Must get them converted to dvds STAT!) I remember when they’d perform for me, I’d fight back the laughter as I wondered to myself “what do they think this song means? Because those are not actual words!” My daughter has started doing the same thing with songs that I love and it is THE sweetest, most adorable, most hilarious thing in my life right now.
Because, seriously.
THIS.
Hem THIS.
My daughter has had a bit of a growth spurt recently. She’s still a short little thing, but some of her jeans are suddenly looking a little questionable in the length. So, to avoid her getting teased in preschool for wearing “high waters” (Kids, these days.) I decided it was time to get rid of the jeans.
As I was stacking the clothes into little storage box, I had an amazing idea. One that would save us money! Because it’s a recession! I was all “I’ll just cut these jeans and turn them into shorts!”
I cut coupons, why not cut my daughter’s jeans?
Logical, yes?
There were only two possible problems.
1. The only thing that I have ever sewn in my entire life is potholders made from my Grandma’s material scraps.
2. I do not own a sewing machine.
But who needs a sewing machine when one has a sewing kit in a bag that one bought at Target on clearance for $4.99?
If thine can thread a needle, thine can turn jeans into shorts. (I learned that from The Bible. Of FRUGALITY.)
I was very confident I could do this and make it look good. So, I laid the jeans on the floor and began to cut. I did my best to make sure the cuts were straight and even. (Keep in mind that “my best” probably equals “your worst” when it comes to cutting things. See: This Post.) After I finished cutting the jeans, I threaded the needle and began to “sew” away. I can’t lie, I was totally excited about a)my desire to do something so “homemaker-y” b) saving a little money on buying new shorts for my daughter I even had a blog post in mind titled something like “Y’s guide to save money on back to school shopping. FRUGALITY RULEZ!”
But about 8 stitches in I realized I couldn’t sew a straight hemline. Nor could I space the stitches out properly. The vision I had in my head of a slightly flawed, yet well done hemline started to look a little bit like this:
But I kept going. I started this bitch, I was going to finish it.
It only took me about 30 minutes and 67 bad words to finish. And in the end, I had a cute little pair of shorts.
A cute little pair of shorts with an effed up hemline that she can’t wear anywhere in public.
Which, fine. Whatever. PLAY SHORTS!
I’d love to hear any stories you have of “frugal gone wrong.” I mean, I’m not the only one who fails hard at these kind of things, right?
16
My love for my children is divided equally.
One is not more loved than the other, but they each possess unique traits that make them special to me.
G is special because she is the daughter I never thought I would have. When she came into our lives, she brought a fresh, new joy to our family that was much needed.
The Middle Child is special because he was the brother we always wanted our first son to have. And he came into this world with Personality and character. He was a Momma’s Boy from the very start. To this day, I think of the way he would squish my face with his chubby little hands and say “I just yuv you SO MUCH Mommy. Your SO booful, Mommy.” when he was just a little guy and it my heart will expand 10 sizes.
The Teenager. (Let’s see if I can get through this one without doing The Ugly Cry.) That boys is special to me for many reasons, but mostly, because he is the baby that made me a mother. I was only 22 years old when he came into my life exactly 16 years ago today.
Being his mother has never felt difficult. As a baby, he was easy in every sense. And 16 years later, that is still very true. Sure, things have become a bit more complicated now that he’s a teenager. He’s NOT perfect. However, my son has a good heart and a desire to do the right thing.
I’m a lucky Mom in that way.
I am going to end this by re-posting a portion of what I wrote on his 13th birthday. Because 3 years later, the emotions I expressed in that post still hold true.
She is The Champion, My Friend.
A few weeks ago, my daughter woke up from her nap in One of Those Moods. She was upset that her Daddy had the FLIPPING NERVE to leave to go to the grocery store while she was sleeping.
“But why did he leave without me?” She asked, while tears formed in her eyes.
“Because you were sleeping, honey.”
“But Mommy, I love Daddy! I wanted to go with him! Why didn’t he wait…for…(*tears*) MEEEEEEEE.”
“No! No! Don’t cry, Sweetie! It’s okay. He’ll be right back!”
Nothing I did to comfort her helped.
But then, I had a Spontaneous Moment of Parenting Genius.
“Look at how fast I can blink my eyes!” I said. I began to blink my eyes as fast as I could. She looked up at me, not having it at first. But I pressed on and kept blinking.
“I bet you can’t blink your eyes this fast! Only Mommy can blink her eyes faster!”
Tears, stopped.
I had just challenged her to a blink off and because she inherited my competitive spirit, it was SO ON.
What happened next was amazing.
And hilarious.
And something that The Middle Child decided MUST BE RECORDED ON VIDEO. So, later that night he took out the Flipcam and let the magic happen. I hope you think it is as funny as my entire family does.
The Blinking Faster Game.
The Champion of Blinking from mamarosa on Vimeo.
Everything is Right With The World Again.
Home from 6th grade camp, safe and sound. I can exhale now.
The One About Sixth Grade Camp.
On Monday morning, we packed our 6th graders bags into our van and headed off in the pouring rain to school at 5 in the morning. It was the day he would leave for 6th grade camp.
When I was in 6th grade, I wasn’t allowed to go to 6th grade camp. (“You only want to go to chase the BOYS!”) I was one of 5 kids to stay behind. I hated every minute of that week. And I hated the following week even more. I had to listen to everyone talk about how much fun it was! The campfires! The songs! The plays! Ugh. I always said I would never deprive my children of such experiences. So when we moved to a new school district last year and found out there would be 6th grade camp at the new school, there was no question in my mind he would go. If he wanted to go. (Which, of course he did.)
We were all excited about the trip– it was the topic of dinner conversations pretty much every night. And then over the weekend, we went shopping to get everything he needed for the trip. Flashlights, rain ponchos, disposable cameras, water bottles and so on and so forth.
“Are you excited?” I’d ask him. Every 5 minutes.
“I’m so excited, Mom!” He say. Every time.
And as it got closer, he’d add “but I’m also nervous.”
“Why?” I’d ask. “You’re going to have so much fun! No need to be nervous.”
“But I’m going to miss home.” He’d say.
And I’d fight back the tears and try to be strong and say something supportive like “We’re going to miss you too, but you know what? The time is going to fly and you’re going to have so much fun, you won’t miss us once you’re there.”
Then, I’d hug him.
On Sunday night, after we packed everything and double checked the bag at least 20 times, I kissed him good night, shut his door and went straight to my room to write him a letter.
You see, every time my children leave to go on any kind of a trip without me I write them a letter and tuck it away in their bag where they’ll find it when they unpack. It started as a way for me to deal with the emotion of sending my boys on a trip without me, and ended up being a tradition that they love and look forward to.
As I was writing his letter, I began to get nervous. This was the first trip he’d go on where he wasn’t with a family member. This was the first trip in which I WOULD NOT HAVE CONTACT WITH HIM FOR THREE ENTIRE DAYS. It was the first time I felt apprehension about letting him go. Up until that point, it was like “it will be a great experience! He’ll have wonderful memories to carry with him for the rest of his life!” I think it’s natural to be nervous and feel over protective when your children are going to be out of your care. The trick is to know when that fear is warranted and when to take a deep breath and let them experience and enjoy life.
After I finished the letter and tucked it away in his bag and headed off to bed. Four hours later, I was kneeling by his bed, whispering in his ear.
“Wake up, dude. It’s time to leave for camp!”
He opened one eye. “Already?”
“Yep. Why don’t you go eat breakfast. We have to leave in 20 minutes.”
The morning went by smoothly, because for the first time in maybe EVER, I had everything ready to go. There was no frantic running around the house saying “BUT WHERE IS THIS? AND WHERE IS THAT? AND OH MY GOD I CAN’T FIND THAT ONE THING I REALLY NEED.” I think I need to try the whole “Being Organized” thing more often.
We arrived at the school at 5:20. It was freezing cold and it was pouring rain. I could tell The Boy was excited, but also nervous. I did my best to assure him he was going to have the Most! Fun! Ever!
“I know I will.” He said. “I’m just going to miss home.”
(My heart! It hurt!)
Once we entered the multipurpose room, there were what seemed like hundreds of kids in there. He found his friends and they all gave each other fist bumps and secret handshakes while they laughed and talked about the trip. I knew in that instant he was going to be just fine.
When it was time for the kids to get on the bus, I hugged him, kissed him and said all of the motherly things to him “have fun! Be careful! Stay with your group at all times! I LOVE YOU!”
“Love you too, Mom. Love you Dad.” He said and then he disappeared into the big yellow bus.
The entire drive home, we talked about how much we were going to miss him, but how thrilled we were that he was going to have this awesome experience. But after I got home and the hours passed by, I begin to dwell on the fact that I won’t be able to have any contact with him or be able to see him for 3 ENTIRE DAYS.
I finally cried.
All last night, I kept turning to Tony and saying things like “do you think he’ll be warm enough tonight?” “Did we pack him enough socks?” “What if he hates the food and is hungry?”
And today, I’m missing him something FIERCE. Maybe I’m a freak of a mother, but I’m not liking this whole “not being able to talk to my kid at least once a day to make sure he’s okay” business. Deep down, I know he’s fine and that he IS having the experience of his short little life time, so I take comfort in that.
Luckily, it’s only a three day trip, so he’ll be home tomorrow. I don’t think my heart could stand an entire week of this.
.