Sweet 16. Although I suppose that description is reserved for girls turning 16.
Sixteen. I remember telling My Man we were expecting #3, 5 years after #2. I headed out the door to get into the car. I was running over to have a pregnancy test since my home test was negative in the morning but when I walked by the trash can after work, it was flashing blue positive. So after a call to the doc, who said, “come on by now cuz your old” *not really, but I was 34, and 35 is “you are officially a high-risk mommy.”* I remember the man standing in the garden weeding with a spade. He asked me where I was going and I replied, “off to see Doc R for a pregnancy test.” It was the first he had heard of it. Not so surprisingly, he had no reply. When I returned from the doc, 40 minutes later, he was still weeding with the spade. In the same row. He looked up when I bounced toward the door, “well?” he said. “Positive!” said I. I should preface by saying we had discussed actually having a discussion about #3 and, in my mind, it was then a done deal.
And it was.
The Wild Boy was an easy pregnancy. I had little of the troubles I had with the first two. I don’t think we even made a single midnight pre-term labor hospital run with him, after about 12 with My Girl. He was born one day before my 35th birthday.
Brett’s birthday brings to mind tons of memories. BFF, Beth was working on the maternity ward back in those days. And she was sooooo excited about Wild Boy’s impending birth. She had the staff there on notice that we would be coming in at anytime and we were to get The Special Treatment. Did we ever. We had the corner labor and delivery room, aka The Bowling Alley. It was huge. It looked over the helipad. When I finally got to my room, I was the only one on the wing and they put me in the room farthest away from the nursery which was on the other wing. No sense opening up an entire nursery for my little 6 pounder. They could have placed me closer to the working nursery, but I was getting The Special Treatment. The nurses were told I was a third time mommy and if I needed anything… would ask. Otherwise…I was on vaca so leave me alone. It. Was. Heaven. I know that they regretted my room location right away as The Wild Boy arrived hollering and didn’t stop hollering the entire time he was in the hospital. He was never satisfied and they were dragging him back and forth to me every two hours to eat. They said they tried everything. Believe me, so did we when we got him home. He continued hollering non-stop for the next three years. The only time he wasn’t hollering was when he was eating.
Lots of memories of that day and those first days. But I’ll spare you the rest, today. My just shy of 7 pounds chunky baby has grown into a 6’3″ Wild Boy. He was definitely Momma’s Boy; the only one I was home full-time with. He denies it with the typical teenage boy flippancy, but he is still Momma’s Boy and I pray always will be.
All of our children are compassionate and sensitive, but he is much more so. And tries to hide it with his tough guy, smart-aleck exterior. But a Momma knows.
Thankful for you, Brett. Blessed beyond measure to be your Momma, and Sarah’s, and Shawn’s.