Two weeks overdue, as uncomfortable as humanly possible, I felt like a walking time bomb. My son was due at the end of September and here it was the beginning of October with no baby and no end in sight. That summer was sweltering in Des Moines, Iowa, with record breaking temperatures that I had somehow managed to endure. My husband and I had a small daughter and were eagerly looking forward to adding a little boy to our growing family. The exhilaration we felt as we looked at the ultrasound and saw the physical proof of that baby boy lives with me still.
We had a name, we had the baby clothes washed and folded and put away in his chest of drawers, the crib was assembled, generously bathed in blue bedding, everything was there but our son. My poor husband had taken me to the hospital three times with hard contractions just minutes apart. I would labor throughout the night and then be sent home the next morning. Until I finally reached the two week overdue mark and the doctors felt that they had allowed me to suffer enough and broke my water, I was tortured with a barrage of contractions on a daily frequency.
When he was born the cord was wrapped tightly around his neck, his tiny face an unnatural purple. But then he cried and they laid him on my chest. He was so sturdy, with a cap of thick black hair, perfectly parted. I gazed at his soft round face and couldn't hold back the dreams of him playing ball with his father, going to college, meeting a girl and getting married, giving me grand babies, it was all there - the grand dreams a mother contemplates.
Indulge me for a moment while I brag just a little. He was the most beautiful baby. And I wasn't the only one who thought so. My nurse spread the word and all of the other nurses filed in to see the boy wonder. And what a good baby. He had an easy and quiet temprament, smiled readily, and was fond of cuddling. Yes, that was the birth of a dream.
We had a name, we had the baby clothes washed and folded and put away in his chest of drawers, the crib was assembled, generously bathed in blue bedding, everything was there but our son. My poor husband had taken me to the hospital three times with hard contractions just minutes apart. I would labor throughout the night and then be sent home the next morning. Until I finally reached the two week overdue mark and the doctors felt that they had allowed me to suffer enough and broke my water, I was tortured with a barrage of contractions on a daily frequency.
When he was born the cord was wrapped tightly around his neck, his tiny face an unnatural purple. But then he cried and they laid him on my chest. He was so sturdy, with a cap of thick black hair, perfectly parted. I gazed at his soft round face and couldn't hold back the dreams of him playing ball with his father, going to college, meeting a girl and getting married, giving me grand babies, it was all there - the grand dreams a mother contemplates.
Indulge me for a moment while I brag just a little. He was the most beautiful baby. And I wasn't the only one who thought so. My nurse spread the word and all of the other nurses filed in to see the boy wonder. And what a good baby. He had an easy and quiet temprament, smiled readily, and was fond of cuddling. Yes, that was the birth of a dream.
No comments:
Post a Comment