My oldest son is 12. Over a decade upon this planet. I have tried very hard to guide him, to teach him, to carry him when he cannot walk on his own... because I am his mother, and this is what mother's do. The memories of his birth are jumbled and sometimes I feel like they get lost in translation.
On a cold morning in May I kissed my daughter, Victoria, on her forehead. I made sure she was settled with our friends.
I felt sick to my stomach.
Joe and I checked in at Bayshore Hospital in Pasadena, TX at 5 am. I ticked all the little boxes. I cried a few times. I argued with a nurse or three. We went to our assigned room.
I still wanted to follow my birth plan. I wanted to move around. I was induced. The pain was like fire n my veins. The contractions just kept coming; no relief. I would scream and get told to hush. The details get fuzzy and then clear, and are almost all painful. I was uncomfortable. I was irritated. There were moments that I thought I might die, and truthfully, who doesn't feel that way when bringing forth life?!
However, in the end, my son was born.
My Son was born at 12:44pm. He was red, and beautiful. His lungs were strong. He had fight. He kicked. He was life itself. Bright and shinny.
I demanded he be handed to me. I had to repeat myself several times. They finally gave him to me. I unwrapped him, placing his skin next to mine. He nursed like a champ.
For a whole year, I swear he smelled just like Parmesan cheese, no matter how many times I bathed him!
My son is 12 years old.
He has bright eyes.
He has beautiful long lashes, that are going to make many many people fall.
He looks over his glasses.
He has a dimple in his chin.
He asks questions that are sometimes hard to answer.
He established his own relationships.
He cares for his family.
He likes playing Magic.
He reads, everything.
He has trouble controlling his temper. (We are all working on that one.)
Today is his birthday. Today, he is wearing a button down shirt. Today his hair is wild. Today he is 12.
No comments:
Post a Comment