HAPPY BIRTHDAY, H-MAN!

Well, today my oldest turns 8. EIGHT!!! I can't believe it. In every birthday post, I've asked "where has the time gone?" Well...I ask you...."WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?"

My oldest had to be one of the most anticipated of children. We waited a long time for him. I was to the point that I thought we would just realize one day that we had "forgotten" to have kids. My uterus was jumpy from about the age 22. (I had already been married for 2 years, so it was expected by friends and family for us to start our family a lot sooner than we did.)

Nope...it was a LONG time...well, long for the female in the relationship, anyway. I was 5 months shy of turning 28 before H-man was conceived. We were very nervous...being so grown-up and all...about the responsibilities of starting a family. We understood the seriousness of having children. And though we always wanted kids and loved children, we had NO CLUE how much our lives would change and how we could fall so completely and hopelessly in love with a person...a person who could bring tears of joy, tears of anger and tears of sadness in one fell swoop.

Being educated and of some questionable intelligence we knew what we had to do to prepare. I went to the doctor to make sure that everything was percolating as it should and to find out if there were any tips on making it happen really fast. (I think I was afraid my hubby would change his mind on the timing, LOL)

I went in for an exam and when asked, I explained to the nurse the plan for making babies. She asked my age and my past preventive measures. I answered everything. As I waited in the examining room, in my little (and I mean LITTLE) shirt with the strings that tie in the front and the breeze cooling the nether regions...I mean really...opening up the front? I would MUCH rather be there naked....but I digress.

As I sat shivering on the table, trying to cover my legs with the paper tablecloth I heard the doctor ask about his next patient. He was from Spain, so I couldn't understand him very well. (You would think that all my time in west Texas around all the Mexicans would help...it didn't.) Anyway, I heard a heavily accented "mumble mumble mumble." Then the nurse said, "She is ready to get pregnant."

"Mumble mumble mumble."

"NO! She is married...has been for 8 years!"

The doctor and the nurse came in with huge smiles. After the exam, as I left the office, the entire staff wished me luck and "quick conception." I guess it's pretty unusual for a near 28 year old, who has been married for 7 years to actually PLAN and go about baby-making in a seriously mature and responsible fashion. (LOL...they don't know us very well.)

I had been told that since I had been on the pill for so long (since the beginning of marriage) that I would take 6-12 months to end up preggers. Time ticked very loudly in my ears, but at least I was OFF the pill. That was Labor Day weekend in 1998. I confirmed pregnancy on October 10th. YEA ME!

I called my folks...the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm an only child. My parents had been subtly asking about grandkids for years...and had finally stopped. When I called, I about died of embarrassment. (For the record, I felt color shade my face EVERY time I told my father I was pregnant. I mean, you don't have to be a genius to know HOW one gets pregnant do you? Well, I guess in this day and age you can question, but still.)

I called and said, "Daddy, it looks like your little girl is going to have a baby in June." There was nothing but silence for a VERY LONG 5 seconds. Then he said, "Here's your mom." He wanted to see her face when I told her. I asked her if my dad was OK. She said that he was, but he was looking at her funny. I said, "Well, it's probably because he just found out I'm pregnant." She screamed then I heard Daddy say, "I'm going to the other phone!" Such excitement.

Everything went well...no sickness, no high blood pressure, no serious issues, AND I only gained 22 pounds. Not too bad, huh? DH's best friend says I looked like I was smuggling basketballs. You couldn't tell by seeing me from the back that I was "in a family way." I loved EVERY BIT of my pregnancy....then came my due date.

Came and went!

My doctor examined me and said I was a whopping 1 cm dilated (this was a Tuesday) and he said that he would induce on Sunday if I hadn't popped. Well, some advice from family told me that I could jump start things. I was in summer school. I had to talk to my instructor about missing the last week of summer session (quite a lot to miss in summer) but we got it worked out. So, on the 24th, we decided that I would follow the advice.

So (and I have a rigor just retelling this) I mixed about 4 tablespoons of castor oil with a small jug of OJ. Let's just say it was a very "pulpy" juice as the globules of oil slid down my throat. PRETTY NASTY! Not only that, but it left an oily residue on my lips that I tasted for a bit. I know, I know.....but you know what? I was THE MOST cleaned out person in NM! (very important for someone who fears pooping on the table)

This was at about 4:15 p.m. By 11:15 that night, I had to run to the little girls room. I didn't wake my hubby or my mother. I just got off the floor. (HA! I should go on about how my hubby was mean and made me sleep on the floor, but that would be mean. Actually, we DID sleep on the floor for the last 6 weeks because I was TOO HOT anywhere else. We slept right in front of the window unit, on high, with a ceiling fan. DH slept in long jammies and had a sleeping bag and extra blanket. I slept in any t-shirt big enough to cover my belly and that was it. You could hang meat in my house.) SO, I got off the floor and did my business at 11:15, then 12:30 a.m., then 1:00 a.m. By 2:30, I finally considered the possibility of my being in labor.

Now pooping on the table was not my only fear. No...bigger than poop was false labor. I DID NOT want to be sent home. I got out my "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book and read on labor signs. It said to walk the floor. Well, after 30 minutes of walking the floor and stopping, stooping over and breathing through a cramp did I decide that perhaps I should go to the hospital. SO, we woke my mother, grabbed my bag, and all went to the hospital.

Where I had my little guy was in NM...the sticks. They are pretty backwards. Not nearly so much as the deep south, but still pretty jacked. They had no drugs...NO DRUGS!!! I did know this beforehand and I had a wonderful attitude about it. I knew it would hurt, but I am woman, I am tough, I could do it. I did....ONLY because I had to. It hurt. It hurt bad. And that's all I have to say about that.

My beautiful son was born at 11:31 a.m. on June 25. He was 6 pounds 10 ounces...and absolutely perfect. Today he is a blond-haired, blue-eyed hunk of 8 year old. I'm so proud of him. He is in Royal Rangers and Junior Bible Quiz. He plays the piano. He is super smart...I brag, but I am not making this up. He taught himself to read at 4. He spelled his name at 2. (And his name is quite long.) He is always surprising us with his realizations and rationalizations. He is awesome!

Happy birthday, H-man!

Today you are at church camp with your father. I know that you will be touched by God. You will hear Him just like you have been wanting to. I pray that God uses you for His purpose. I pray that I don't screw that up. I want so much for you, but above all, I want you to be a vessel. I want you to shine with the love that Jesus has for you and for everyone you come into contact with. I pray that you realize how much I love you. I pray that the growing pains we both feel are as labor pains....hard to understand and hard to bear, but the end is the most beautiful and fulfilling thing we can imagine.

I am very proud of you! I love you!