He is almost 5'8" tall, with blonds curls. He is intelligent, and has a great sense of humor. He has common sense--and uses it. He is athletic, and a natural leader. He knows right from wrong, and when faced with touchy decisions, chooses right more than wrong. He is not a morning person. He is not patient. He is protective of those he loves. And loves fiercely.
He will be fourteen in December.
As any mother, I remember that uber-cold day. I was scheduled to be induced due to pre-eclampsia, and the drip started at 8am. Boredom set in for his Dad and me within an hour. It was gonna be a long day! I don't remember what I did to pass the time. I know his Dad wandered in and out, and pitched cell phones to the nurses. He was a born salesman....
At some point I began to feel something. Uncomfortable, but manageable. The two of us walked up and down the halls, as was suggested during our classes. I must've been quite a sight, waddling with my drip rolling along. Getting back onto the table, once back in the birthing room, was like an episode of "I Love Lucy", with the comic error of it. By now it was about 11am, and I was really hurting. I told the nurse, who checked the monitor and told me to relax, as the tape showed very little in the area of contractions. Boy, I wondered, what do they consider a contraction cause I'm h u r t i n g!! After reporting, again, to the nurse, and her checking the tape--again--I was told that if I didn't show some "real" contractions by noon, I'd be sent home. Panic. I begged her to believe me...these were contractions. I'm not a doctor, but I think the medical term for what I was feeling was "holy crap that hurts!" The Dr. was called in to check me and I hadn't dialated. Yep, it was gonna be home for me.
At what point it was noticed that the labor belt had slipped, I don't know. Now keep in mind that all this time, the amount of pitocin was being increased to bring on the contractions because the machine didn't show jack. The inducer was working...the look of alarm on the nurse's face when the labor belt was adjusted was memorable. I remember wanting to mock "told ya, told ya", but I was in too much pain. According to the tape, my contractions were close to going off the tape. Call in the Doc.
When she came in I had high hopes, but I was going nowhere in terms of being baby friendly. I think I cried. Birth became imminent around 3 or maybe 5pm. Doc? Still not ready. Where was my focus point? I couldn't remember. Breathe. Can't, it makes me nauseous and faint. I think I snapped at the nurse on that point. So THIS is what all the fuss is about! Damn!
The steady increase of pitocin had caused violent contractions by that time. My blood pressure, which had been dangerously high in the first place, now registered on the the machine as "please fix me". Seriously! I don't remember much...the panicked look on his Dad's face, the nurses hustling, the frustration of two failed epidurals...and the Dr. checking and finding that I'd become baby ready in an hour! The relief of that alone must've brought my blood pressure down a little, but the machine still demanded attention.
At 7:01pm my best guy litterally flew into the doctor's hands. I was kind of fuzzy, but I swear she had a catcher's mitt on. His Dad snipped the cord, and our lives were changed forever. His cries were not howling, but cute...at least at first. I remember repeating my delight at his "cute" cries. After his sister came in and declared he was purple, and I'd received congrats from the in-laws, I relaxed. I felt elation. When the nurse put him with me to feed, I felt calm, warm.
As he grew, we became best buds. It was obvious to everyone how close we were. Too close? Maybe. But, I don't think so. Perhaps our relationship was in preparation for what we face now. It's just us. And it has it's bumps. He is almost 14. He has attitude, as all kids his age do. He knows it all, as all kids his age do. We are both stubborn. There has been door slamming and yelling and silences. But given time, these iron out, and we talk once again about hunting coyote, the war, and how he wishes I wouldn't talk to his Facebook friends. Apparently, it's embarrassing to have someone come up to him and mention something I said. Go figure...
Because I am in pain most of the time, I hope he doesn't see women as weak. I hope he sees my passions and sees women as strong and committed. I hope when he sees me cry, he knows it's okay to do it. I hope he continues to see himself as "a beast." I hope I will see him graduate. I hope I will seem him succeed. I hope the world for him.
For every moment of childbirth pain, there is a moment that he has captured my heart. The endless hugs when he was younger. The surprise of receiving a Mother's Day card when I thought he was too old to go for that stuff. His declaration of "you're a great Mom!", when discussing a less than stellar parent. And, the last minute "Happy Birthday, Mom. I Love You." as he exited the truck to go to school. I know he'd been holding onto that for effect. It worked. I cried for an hour.
He was, is, and always will be my Best Guy.
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