He came amidst one of the biggest blizzards and ice storms of the year. He came amidst some of the worst labor pains I can still remember—don’t listen to women who say they don’t remember the pain! From 2 to 4am, my husband slept soundly while I writhed and tried not to freak out completely while I watched the movie, Akeelah and the Bee.
I swear, till this day just seeing the title makes me cringe.
I yelled at the nurses to give me DRUGS NOW DAMMIT just like in the movies. My husband could not believe I turned into a raging bitch maniac, but then again, he’d had a great night’s sleep with no agony.
My son was born in hushed silence instead of the noisy crowd of nurses there when my first son was born.
I cried and got to hold him briefly before they brought him away. After that, I didn’t see him again for a while. His jaundice levels went off the charts, and he was brought to the NIC unit. The next day, the levels kept increasing and he had to undergo a complete blood transfusion.
There was no one around except for my mother, because the entire city was shut down due to the weather. It struck me again that there are no guarantees in life, and it was a lesson I’ve never forgotten. I was lucky. My son was okay, and came back to me after a full week at the hospital.
I noticed certain things that were different with my youngest. Besides being completely co-dependent on each other, he had this habit of getting frustrated and butting his head against my stomach. As if he was trying to get back inside me. As if the time he spent away from me during that first bonding week had formed a constant need for security.
His blonde hair and blue eyes were completely different from my first son. My husband raised his brow when he was born, and gave me the look. I told him I was too exhausted to have an affair and confirmed the baby was his.
My youngest is brilliant. He is shy. He is sensitive, and when he cries, you feel like your heart has just cracked open in your chest. He is so well-behaved in public I receive consistent compliments on my skills of being a mother (and then I go home where he is bratty and laugh my ass off). His heart and soul is so kind and good, I don’t think he knows how to be mean to anyone, including his big brother.
Watching my boys is like a mini miracle – their differences and uniqueness. Their birth stories are proof of this, and on each of their birthdays, I tell them about the day they were born and how they have changed the world, one person at a time.
Starting with me.
Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet boy.