Beautiful boy …
Today, of all days, I wish my memory was better, because I wish I could remember every second of this day two years ago. I never wrote out my birth story for you, so here, two years later, I will do my best.
I woke up at 1am with pains that I couldn’t understand. In all my readings and discussions, nobody had ever explained to me how much labor would feel like menstrual cramps! I thought I had gas, so I decided not to wake Dada up. We had an appointment at noon that day anyway, so I could ask them then what was going on. At about 2am I took a Tylenol PM (something I would never do normally) and tried to get more sleep. The next several hours are a big haze of watching a cool program about the Comanches on TV, attempting to sleep, trying to time the cramps to figure out if they were contractions, and being in pretty strong denial about the fact that I was in labor. At 8am I called your Tika and said, “I don’t know what’s happening, but you might want to think about getting in your car and heading up here.” Unfortunately she was at work, but she managed to remain calm and told me that she’d head out as soon as she could. With the 3.5 hour drive from Boston to Vermont in front of her, she needed as much advanced notice as possible.
At 10:30 I gave up and went in to wake up your Dada. I said the same thing to him that I had to Tika, that I didn’t know what was going on, but that something was definitely happening and that I needed him to wake up. He grumbled and rolled around for a while, then got up and took a shower. By the time he got out of the shower the contractions were strong enough that I needed to hold onto something in order to keep standing while they washed over me. We packed up the car with the pre-packed “we’re having a baby” bag and headed to the hospital.
Our appointment was at noon on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the last appointment that they were offering that day. When we arrived, Dada pushing me in a wheelchair, the waiting room of the OB/GYN/Midwives office was entirely empty. The incredibly nice receptionist, who we were on a first-name basis with by that point, took one look at me and sent us up to labor and delivery. She could tell that it wasn’t just gas … I was well on my way to having this baby.
And how true that was: I was 5 centimeters dilated the first time they checked me! After a short while of dealing with which room we were going to be in and Dada getting some food, they filled up the birthing tub and I settled in.
Nothing has ever felt that good or relaxing to me. Dada stripped down to his skivvies and sat in the tub behind me, holding me up, supporting me, helping me to relax. We turned off all the lights and put on a mix I had made for our wedding of soul/r&b/motown. The next several hours passed by without my being capable of paying too much attention to them. I was so exhausted that I was falling asleep between contractions. And I was in labor, so I was having a very personal and intense experience. For probably the first and last time in our relationship, your Dada did exactly what I told him to. Whenever he made a stupid joke I’d tell him to shut up and he would. It was marvelous. Our midwife, Krista, would occasionally check my cervix’s progress or ask me to drink water, but mostly I was left alone. The light faded from the sky without my noticing as the contractions got closer and more intense. And then, at some point, Tika showed up and Krista told me it was time to push.
This is the part of the experience that Dada and Tika remember most fondly. When your head crowned I was so exhausted that I couldn’t imagine continuing to push. Krista said to me, “Margaret, every time you push the head comes out a little more and then goes right back in,” to which I responded, “I don’t want it to go back in.” In retrospect this was obviously hilarious, but at the time it was pure exhaustion speaking.
And then they stood me up, Dada pushing from behind and Tika grabbing from my armpit, because your shoulders were stuck. Krista asked for one last push and then you slid out into the world. The relief, the endorphins, were so powerful that I honestly believe I could have run a marathon in that moment. I was so high on hormones that Krista had to say, “Margaret, reach down and take your baby.”
And then there you were! I was expecting you to be purple and covered in goo, but you weren’t … you were tiny and pink and slippery and absolutely perfect. Tika and Dada held onto each other and cried, but I didn’t even have any tears. I just wanted to look at you and touch your tiny fingernails and admire your perfect little nose … because that was the first moment when I actually realized that you were a human being. And, at least for the moment, you were mine.
And now here we are, two years later.
I wanted all my life to be a mother, Darwin, because I knew it would be the best thing that I’d ever do. But baby boy, I had no idea. It’s been a struggle, don’t get me wrong. We’ve been working on figuring out this parent/child relationship together and that’s a seriously intense thing.
But oh, the joys of watching you interact with and discover the world! You cackle with glee when you learn new words or get to help with something. You want to get into everything and do it all your way. You have more energy than a herd of rhinos. And you are whip-smart. Boy are you ever. You have a wider knowledge base and more astounding sense of humor than any 2 year-old should rightly have. You’ve been putting together full sentences for over 6 months and have now moved your way on to entire paragraphs filled with possessives, conjunctions, emotions, multiple people, and even swear words. You correct your own grammar and read to yourself from your books. You run naked through the house screaming, “I’m going to pee in the potty!”
You are amazing.
Darwin, I never knew that being a mother was going to be like this. I never knew that I could possibly love anything as much as I love you. You are what I’ve spent my whole life preparing and waiting for.
Happy birthday, baby boy. May the last 2 years be merely a prelude to the amazing life that you have in front of you. I’ve loved you every single one of the last 731 days and I will love you every single one for the next billion.
