Well, the cupcakes are cooling and my soon to be 12 year old is fast asleep. I have such mixed emotions knowing that this is his “last official year of childhood.” Hard to believe that I brought him into the world twelve years ago, and as I marvel over the sweet young man he’s becoming, I think to myself HE’S the life giver, not me. I remember my entire pregnancy and delivery as if it were yesterday. Because of complications from an earlier surgery, I was scheduled for a C-section on April 1st. All of my friends tried to talk me out of the date. “How can you do that to your child?” Everyone will tease him.” “He’ll just have to develop a sense of humor,” was my reply. I mean it wasn’t as if I were delivering him on Halloween and planning to name him Beelzebub for Pete sake! As fate would have it, my water broke on that date anyway. It was about 5:00 a.m. and I had gone to the bathroom, and just my luck, I had already pulled up my underpants. I have to laugh. Do you remember that episode of Friends where Rachels water broke? She was wearing a skirt, her water broke, and she and Ross just headed for the door, no fuss, no muss. Now how is that possible unless she were wearing those astronaut Depends? By the time we got to the hospital, Casey was a nervous wreck; while I was -what he referred to me later as - this calm earth mother. I couldn’t wait to finally meet my little pal who had been keeping me company over the last nine months. I talked to him all the time and even discussed my meal choices with him. “What do you think of a bologna sandwich today, huh?” I often sat in the rocker in his nursery and sang Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “Dreamland” to him. And yes, I knew I was having a boy. I wanted to know. After all, the surprise factor for me was that I was able to get pregnant. I found myself noticing baby boys more often, and I cried whenever that peanut butter commercial came on TV -- the one with the little boy who makes his busy mother a sandwich. “Here Mom. I made dis for you in case you need a bweak or somethin’,” he says in this sweet high voice. Oh! That killed me every time! Because of my “advanced age” of 42, it was strongly recommended that I have amniocentesis and do genetic testing. Around this time, coincidentally I saw Down’s Syndrome children seemingly wherever I went. I found myself sneaking a peek, from a respectful distance at the family dynamics. Were the parents as affectionate with their mentally challenged child as their other children? Were the children accepting of their sibling with Down’s Syndrome? How would I be as a parent in such a situation? While I had determined that I would embrace our baby no matter what, my husband seemed to feel differently which certainly was a great concern. Even after I got the call that the baby was genetically healthy, I could never completely relax. For one thing, I didn’t feel the baby move for many months. Friends of mine who were pregnant at the same time as I kept saying, “Doesn’t it feel so funny when the baby kicks?” I just feigned agreement while inwardly I was terrified that something was wrong. But then in my seventh month it happened. While watching the skating program of the Winter Olympics, I felt the baby move. I shouted jubilantly, “A triple lutz!” From that point on, he was virtually break-dancing in my belly. It’s funny how for the majority of your pregnancy all you wish for is a healthy baby; however, as you near delivery time, you start hoping that he’ll be cute. You’re hoping that he won’t have your father-in-law’s schnoz or look like one of the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. My husband had a large head and so do I, and while I was grateful to be having a C-section, I was a tad worried that the baby ‘s head might resemble a Macys balloon! When Casey came into the delivery room, dressed in his white paper surgical jumpsuit, he looked like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man with a shower cap on. “Honey, I dropped the camera! All the batteries fell out. What should I do? he asked in a state of panic. “Pick them up, I replied, as one would talk to a certified idiot. A horrified expression came over his face as he felt the table shaking and caught a glimpse of the doctors yanking hard on the other side of the screen: “Can you feel that?” “I can’t feel a thing,” the earth mother responded happily. The next thing I knew they were washing off the baby at the sink behind me. I kept craning my neck, trying to catch a peek, asking repeatedly, “Does he have a huge head?” “Does he have a huge head?” Casey glanced over and said, “Nope - normal size.” “Do his ears stick out like yours used to?” “Nope,” he beamed. I think that may be the first time Casey ever beamed in his life. “Welcome to the world, little one!” I whispered as the nurse placed Michael Martin Bank into my arms. Within the hour, I was singing “Dreamland” to him, and he slept so peacefully. Earlier tonight, Michael indulged his sentimental Mom and allowed me to sing it to him at bed time. Just like 12 years ago, he went right to sleep. Happy 12th Birthday, Michael!
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 03:07:57 +0000
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