My Greatest Christmas Gift

From the very moment I’d found out that I was pregnant with Henry, I knew this pregnancy would be 100% different from my first.   I was terrified, selfishly, and it impacted how I went about my days with Davey.   I was sick, tired, and moody.   For the longest time, I was convinced Henry would be a girl.

His actual birthday was to be December 20th, but thanks in part to my previous C-section and my desire to not have his birthday so close to Christmas, Henry Bruce Doser was born on Friday the 13th in 2013.

Yesterday, we celebrated the 2nd birthday of my second and final biological child.   And much like with his big brother, I put him to sleep last night with the story of his birth, which went a little something like this.

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Prince Henry’s first official picture.

Once upon a time, the king and queen decided to add another prince to their family.   Their oldest was just a little over two years in age, when the second prince made his entrance.   He was scheduled to arrive at 1:30 on Friday the 13th, but by 8 am that morning he started making his imminent arrival known.   The queen dealt with cramps and lower back pain, those that nearly mirrored her kidney stones from 14 years prior (at this Henry looked at me and laughed).   She gripped tightly to the king’s arms as he walked her into the hospital.

The queen was placed in a room with machines hooked up to her and wrapped around her belly.   The king sat alongside of her, occasionally stroking her arm, but mostly watching a Chuck Norris movie on television.  The incessant beeping of the machines, coupled with the contractions and the king’s inability to empathize, forced the queen to make a decision…The king was to be banished and the Queen Mother was to arrive.

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As the hours went by, the Queen and her mother discussed upcoming Christmas plans, what it was like for the Queen Mother to give birth so many years ago, and what sort of crazy family member was doing the unthinkable.   Finally the time arrived when the queen was to go into surgery and so the king joined her.

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A half hour later and Prince Doser II was born.   He wailed and he squirmed, making his entrance known.   He was just an ounce heavier than his older brother and the same height.   What a fine looking young prince he would be.   And in royal fashion it was decreed he would be named Prince Henry Bruce Doser.

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Prince Davey meeting Prince Henry.

 

A short time later, Prince Davey, the older prince, entered the glass tower (as he called it) to meet his younger brother.   Prince Davey held tightly to the newborn prince, cradling him lovingly in his arms, even leaning over to kiss him.   The queen sat in her bed, staring at her beautiful boys and thanked the Lord for the blessings He bestowed upon her.   And from that moment forward they lived happily ever after.

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Prince Davey giving Prince Henry his first brotherly kiss.

Every parent has a tradition, be it big or small when it comes to celebrating their children’s birthdays.   This is mine.

Henry laid in his bed, listening intently to my words, his thumb in his mouth.   Occasionally he smiled, but mostly he listened and stroked my hair.   At the end of my story, he kissed my cheek and said, “hap birthday me, mommy.”

My days become inundated with the grind of raising two boys, the stress, the guilt, and the pain, but I wouldn’t trade one second of any of it.   And people tell me I’ll miss these days.  I laugh in their faces, but I know the days are coming when hearing their birth stories will no longer be wanted, that the hugs will diminish, and the cuddles will become obsolete.   It saddens me and I realize these are some of the best days of my life and I WILL miss this.

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Eating his birthday cake. Happy 2nd birthday, Prince Henry.

As I kissed him goodnight, he whispered, “love you, mommy” and I melted.   He was, and still is, my greatest Christmas gift.

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Another First

I close my eyes and I can still see it all, vivid and clear. If I’m quiet, I can still feel the pain, the anxiety, and the sheer impatience.

I arose much like every morning, perhaps a bit earlier. My excitement was getting the better of me. I couldn’t wait to meet my new little baby. He’d been baking for what I felt to be much too long, plus I’d started experiencing something with him that I hadn’t felt with the first…CONTRACTIONS. It was something I could definitely go a lifetime without having to experience.

Nearly six hours later, and after much discomfort, Henry was finally here. My lucky little baby on what is normally considered an unlucky day…Friday the 13th. During the C-section, I had a localized pain in my right shoulder, that apparently was like an air bubble. I became nauseous, and found myself heaving, eager to expel any demons that were inside of me. I didn’t hold my baby for a long time, not because I didn’t want to but because I physically felt in capable. If I meditate for a moment, I can still experience all of this…a year later.

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What a year it’s been too! Henry came just in time for Christmas, but had no clue what was going on. He rang in the New Year with me and a bubbly bottle of grape juice while everyone else in the house slept. His older brother wanted to send him back because he lacked a personality for quite some time.

He rolled over, he crawled, and he walked all ahead of schedule, but perfectly in line with his older brother. He developed a love of cars and his thumb, began sleeping in his crib much earlier than his brother, and even had the bed lowered sooner! He learned to climb steps, baby gates, chairs, beds, and even his pack and play. He found out just how ticklish doggy kisses can be from our dog, Dixie.

He’s brought a smile to everyone’s world, a laughter that you only find deep within the depths of your soul. He’s infectious with his laugh, and you find yourself giggling just as hard. He makes friends everywhere, hugs everyone, blows kisses, and eats chili cheeseburgers!

He hates car seats and strollers, loves to run as fast as possible. When he cries, which is rare, his brother sings “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” to him, eliciting a calmness. He’s cuddly, loveable, and has developed a personality unlike anything. He loves to perform, to be the center of attention, and unlike his brother, he’s all my side of the family…a Bruce through and through.

This weekend commenced a fun-filled three days of celebration from my second born on his first birthday. He had multiple cakes, numerous presents, and created a new set of memories we’ll all treasure for a lifetime.

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Happy Birthday, Henry! You are my second gift from God, a precious little angel I never thought I would be capable of loving this much. You make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me cry, and you may think. You encourage me to take my parenting to a whole new level. I am the most blessed mother in the world to have not only you, but also your brother. I love you, my sweet, sweet little baby. Here’s to a lifetime of love, happiness, heart ache, and memories.

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First Week is in the Books!

I often spent many a night before Henry was born wondering how we were going to handle two children in the house. I pondered how difficult it would be with a newborn and even worried about my two year old becoming more rebellious than normal. I imagined everything I possibly could, most of which was bad, before we were discharged from the hospital. As the nurse was transporting me down to the car, my newborn son cradled into my arms, an immense fear seemed to take hold of me and I felt as if a heavy boulder was pushing down on my chest. Where was all of my excitement and bliss about my sweet little baby? Where were all the daydreams about a happy, romantic family ala the days of Norman Rockefeller or the Waltons? All feelings I’d had when my son was first born and placed into my arms quickly dissipated and reality set in. Could I do this? Well, let’s just fill you in on week one…

My husband had to work all week. There wasn’t a grace period of sorts like there was with Davey. He’s been promoted since the days when Davey was born and with that promotion comes much larger responsibilities. If he were in his old job, he would have been home, but if he were in his old job, I wouldn’t be a stay-at-home mom, either. So, Tuesday started out the first official day of being home with Henry and with Davey and it was a piece of cake. Davey had school, so my husband went into work late to take him. My mom and dad came to stay with me and help out with Henry. Piece of cake. Flash forward to that evening when my husband came home from work and informed me that he had to be in Pinehurst, NC for a job all day on Wednesday (a 5 hour drive from our house). As a side note, I hope the project manager for this job gets a bag of poop from Santa. Because of this job, the rest of the week became a catastrophe.

Wednesday morning, my husband took me and Henry to Henry’s first doctor’s appointment and my dad stayed with Davey. Thanks to the C-section and the pain medication, I was unable to drive us. At least the one side perk to this day was that Henry had gained 4 ounces in 2 days! He IS my little porker. After depositing us back at home with my dad, my husband drove back to work, got his rental car and took off east bound and down for NC. He was not to return until 8 o’clock that evening. Thankfully, my mother had arrived in the afternoon and we had a wonderful dinner. Now here’s where the week gets better (insert sarcasm) and once again I blame it on the Pinehurst trip. Did I say that I wanted Santa to leave the project manager a bag of poop? I did? Well, let’s make that a BIG bag of poop.

Thursday morning, my husband walked out the door for work only to find that the rental car he was driving had been broken into. Sigh. So, between entertaining my 2 year old and nursing my 6 day old, I had to call the police, file a report, get my husband back here, have forensics go over the car, contact the rest of the board on our HOA (I’m one of the V.P.’s), get a post on our neighborhood Facebook page, and call a locksmith. I hope this thief gets just as big a bag of poop as the project manager in Pinehurst. And oh, by the way, my parents informed me they could not come over first thing on Friday morning to help because their freezer had gone out and they needed to find a way to salvage a few thousand dollars worth of food. Again…sigh. Surely, Friday would be better!

Friday rolls around and to start the day off on the right note, Henry had started sleeping 4 hour increments at night! Woo hoo! Unfortunately, my husband didn’t get to really enjoy the extra sleep seeing as how he had to be on the road at 4:30 for another day of travel that probably would not end until after 8 o’clock again. It was ok, because I was hitting my stride with a toddler and a newborn. So, just when I thought everything was under control, we lost power. I called the power company while dealing with an antsy toddler and a screaming newborn only to have the lady tell me there was no power outage. I’m sorry!?!? Did we forget to pay our powerbill? Come to find out there was a fire at a local substation. We were without power for 3 hours. And while at first I became frantic, I quickly slid into play mode with my 2 year old while my one week old slept. The other plus side to the day was that at least my husband was able to come home early and we could go to a family Christmas party where I was informed that I didn’t look like I’d just had a baby a week before. SCORE! Insert a HUGE happy smile and even a happy dance.

So, long story short, I survived the first week. Davey is adapting very well to having a little brother. When Henry cries, he says, “Don’t cry, Henry, it be ok.” Every morning he greets Henry with a handshake and a “nice to see you, Henry.” Henry seems to enjoy the Mamaroo which means my hands are free to do a lot more. It may not be as glamorous or romantic as what’s portrayed in Hollywood, but it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever had. Here’s looking forward to the rest of our lives.

Welcome, Henry

I should have known Friday the 13th wasn’t just any typical day.  At least it definitely wasn’t a typical day for me.   This past Friday the 13th was to see the birth of my second son, Henry.   And although the day to be special, I still started out the day with it being typical.   Henry was to be born via a scheduled c-section, one I’d had before.   I’dchosen the c-section because it was not unchartered territory.  I knew what to expect and for me the unexpected is not something I want.   

You see, I’d heard stories about women in labor for hours and I really didn’t want any part of that.  Yeah, there’s a recovery time to the c-section, but with my last one it was minimal and very much bearable.  Again, I knew what I was getting myself into or so I thought.   you’d think I would learn to calculate in the unexpected, but I didn’t.  

My husband and I woke, showered, and started the process of getting the car loaded, Davey dressed, and the dog to the vet.   What we didn’t expect was for me to start contracting at 8 am.   Henry knew it was to be his birthday and was getting tired of waiting.   So, after dropping Davey off with my aunt, we went to the hospital an hour earlier than was to be expected, all the while I was trying to breath and calm myself.   Darn it for not attending any Lamaze classes.  My breathing techniququa was eased upon old episodes of “ER”.  Yes, please laugh and tell me I desethey the pain.   

Immediately, I was given a room in OB Triage where I was hooked up to a fetal monitor.   It was determined that I was contracting every 2 minutes.  Wonderful!   And to make things even better, my cervix was closed tight (much like it was with Davey)!   Fabulous!  And to add even more to that, I wasn’t going to receive any pain medication!   I was to endure this?   Obviously, the doctors and nurses were unaware to my low tolerance for pain.   

After 2 hours of contracions (not including those that had started while still at home), I take into the OR where I was given the greatest relief of the day…a spinal agent that numbed me from just below my breasts to the tips of my toes.  I felt like I was in heaven.   The surgery began.   I felt the same tugging and pulling as before.   Again nothing unusual.  And within a few minutes, Henry was born.  

It’s amazing some of the things that a mind forgets about in 2 years.  I remember the birth of my first son.   I remember it was quick and he didn’t scream or cry a lot.  I remember being able to see him and immediately kiss him although I wasn’t able to hold him.   What I don’t remember is really anything else like the OR, the nurses, the procedure.   This time I was a lot more alert.   Everything from the blue and white round lights that were stationed above my abdomen that allowed for a form of a mirror for me to see what was happening, to the smell of something burning and the intense feeling of nausea that was rolling over my body.   

When Henry was born, he was covered in pee and poop as he seemed to lose control of his bodily functions when he was expelled from the womb.   Within seconds of his birth, I became tired and started dry heaving.  My body wanted to vomit, but I couldn’t feel anything except for the need to vomit.  Tears rolled down my eyes and I prayed for God to just let me pas out.  I’m a wimp, I know.  I was administered an anti-nausea medication through my IV (it took the nurses 4 times to get an IV in me pre-surgery without my veins popping.  My arms and hands are still showing those bruised affects).  My husband took Henry and left the room while the doctor and nurses continued to work on stitching me up and at some point I fell asleep or passed out.  I did awake before being wheeled into the recovery room where my mom, dad, and husband sat with Henry.

Did I want to hold him?   No!   I felt like I couldn’t even raise my hand and that at any given point I was going to vomit.   A half an hour rolled by and I was finally able to hold my beautiful baby boy.   Beautiful is an understatement.   

Henry is the spitting image of his big brother.   His eyes are blue/grey.  His hair is brown.  He has his father’s chin, and the most wonderful capability to look at me and make me feel that my world is at peace.   Friday the 13th is a superstitious day, but for me it has become the most memorable one I’ve ever encountered.   

It was more of a painful road than I had anticipated, but totally and completely worth it.   Take a look for yourself.   I am one blessed woman!

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Justifiable Self Pity or Pregnancy Hormones? You Decide.

My oh my! I just looked at the date of my last post and it’s been over a month! What was I thinking letting this blog go for so long without an update or post about the waning few weeks of pregnancy? Well, what I was thinking was absolutely nothing! I honestly think I’ve started spending the latter few weeks of my pregnancy spinning into a downward spiral of negative emotions.

From the start, this pregnancy has been the complete opposite of my first. That’s nothing unusual. No two things in life are the same. I’ve experienced morning sickness that seemed to completely steer clear of me while pregnant with Davey. I didn’t have the emotional breakdowns I’ve experienced while carrying Henry (speaking of, what if there was a mistake and Henry isn’t a Henry???). On the plus side, I haven’t gained as much weight as I did with Davey. Of course, I’m attributing that to the fact that I’ve been a lot more health conscious this time around. As a matter fact, when I took my glucose test with Henry, I had 25 points to play around with, while I almost failed with Davey!

But one thing I’ve dealt with that was completely obsolete to me with Davey is contractions. Two weeks ago, I drove myself to the doctor with lower abdominal cramps and lower back pain. I had just dropped Davey off at school and had errands to run. I couldn’t exactly stand straight, but I told myself to power through! This was the only time I could run errands…when Davey was in school. After running my errands, I called the doctor and while I was on hold (don’t worry I have blue tooth in my car) I began driving in the direction of my doctor’s office.

My first thought was that I had kidney stones! I’ve had these before, albeit 12 years ago, but the feeling is something you don’t really forget. I had a few tears trickle down my cheek as I prayed to God to not let me have kidney stones on top of this pregnancy. Surely He wouldn’t do that to me, right? Fortunately, it wasn’t kidney stones, but instead contractions! What was that? Contractions? Surely you gest, I told the doctor. No, she informed me, she was not joking. Huh! So that’s what a contraction feels like? Yeah, I’m pretty certain I don’t like them.

I was informed that I needed to be off my feet. So, what does that mean to my 2 year old? That the poor child is now forced to succumb to the same level of cabin fever that I was soon to develop. Off of my feet? I’m not an “off my feet” type of person. There’s too much to do around the house and outside of the house. This was not and is not boding well for my sanity.

I’ve cried about missing my beloved Clemson Tigers play on a Thursday night, when my husband and I were to have an adult night and Davey was to stay with my parents. I’ve cried about the fact that I’m now forced to rely on my husband to pick up the slack around the house (not that he’s not capable, but it’s really not fair). I can’t even go to the gym anymore and get on the bike. Technically, I could have used all of this spare time to write my blog, but I’ve felt indifferent to the whole thing.

I’ve managed to allow myself to slip into an emotional state that almost feels like depression, but it’s more like self pity. So, what’s happened today you ask? What’s happened to encourage me to write a blog now? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because Thanksgiving is just around the corner and in spite of my self pity, I do have a lot to be thankful for. Maybe it’s because my husband decided to go into work late today so that he could take Davey to school and I could just stay home. Maybe it’s because I got a good night’s sleep. Maybe it’s because I feel like I can breathe again (since my husband spent the weekend cleaning our house). Whatever the reason, I feel like I’m back. I have two and a half weeks (maybe less) until my scheduled C-section. I can see that light at the end of the tunnel.

I worry that I may suffer from post partum depression after Henry arrives. I worry about this just because of my recent emotional state. I’ve felt like I’ve been suffering out of body experiences, but for the first time in months, today I feel like I can have it under control. Today it feels like a good day!

Have a Little Faith

Such a simple, simple phrase. How many of us hear this every day? How many of us repeat this to ourselves every day? Our personal mantra. Well, for the next eight weeks, I’ll be saying this to myself over and over.

Last night I did something that in theory seemed like a good idea. At the point I conceived the idea (nearly three weeks ago), it seemed like a good idea. I had grand visions in my head, selfless AND selfish acts. I was (and still am) going to do what is best, or what I feel is best for everyone except me, so I booked a flight for my husband and two year old son to fly to Rochester, NY WITHOUT me.

Henry’s actual due date is December 20th, but since I am having a scheduled C-section, the actual date of birth will be Friday, December 13th (dun, dun, dun). That being said, it almost seemed like Davey’s grandparents and aunt would not be able to see him this year for Christmas. Normally, we fly up the first week of December since my husband is a shareholder with his company, which is headquartered out of Rochester.

The first Friday of December is his annual shareholder’s meeting and company Christmas party, so we try to make a week of it in Rochester since Davey was born so that my husband’s side of the family will get some time during the holidays with Davey. This year, thanks to Henry’s impending birth, we didn’t think that was possible. However, I thought long and hard about it and felt that my husband and son should still try to fly up at least for a few days. That means I will have four days all to myself.

It started out as a selfless act, but then evolved into something more. What a break! Four days! How sweet, wonderful, and enticing. Immediately, I decided I would coerce my husband into doing this. It was all such a fabulous plan until I booked their tickets last night.

What was I thinking? Four days ALONE???? I haven’t had even ONE day alone in over two years. My body and mind has adjusted to this. How will I survive? My sister-in-law tells me to schedule a day at the spa. Great idea, the only problem is that requires money and since I’m a stay at home mom, we’re not exactly rolling in any sort of extra cash.

I could read some books! That would be awesome, considering the only books I get to read these days are “Three Billy Goats Gruff” and “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day”. I could get caught up on some of my writing! That sounds great as well especially since I don’t seem to have time for too much of that anymore between potty training, the croup, and my other “volunteer” activities I do to keep my resume still active for the day I decide to go back to work.

Hey, I could sleep in! Might as well try to bank some hours seeing as how a week later we’ll be adding a newborn into the fold. Too bad you can’t really bank sleep hours.

I could watch old movies or adult television, anything other than Disney movies. There’s so much I could really do with my four days of being baby and husband free. No cooking dinners, no laundry to do, nothing! It’s all great, but it’s still not easing my mind or my incessant need to worry. So, what’s eclipsing all of these fabulous opportunities I’ll have at my disposable? My narcissitic personality and need to be in control.

I awoke this morning and told my husband I could never forgive him if he lost our son at the airport while they were sitting through a lay over! Can you believe I said that? The only thoughts swirling through my head are the two days of travel for my boys. How will my husband handle flying solo with Davey? He’s NEVER done it. Heck, I’ve never done it either, but for some reason I have a lot of faith that I can handle it. I’ll say out loud that I have the faith in my husband. He would NEVER let something happen to Davey. He would sacrifice himself before he let something happen, but what if the unthinkable still happens.

Davey’s fast, insanely fast! What if he breaks free of my husband’s grasp and my husband chases him only to catch him and then tweak his lower back when trying to pick Davey up? What then? How will he survive? What if Davey walks into one of the many shops and starts pulling items off the shelves and onto the floor when my husband isn’t watching? What if he tries to grab something in one of the shops and runs without paying? Will security and police be called? Will my child play the game of “this isn’t my daddy?” with the police? What if he won’t sleep on the plane and starts kicking the seat in front of him and the person becomes angry, which then angers my husband and they get into a shouting match and Davey and my husband are forced to leave the plane? All of these “what if” scenarios are killing me and I’m still eight weeks away from the actual travel. Can you imagine how I’ll be when I drop them off at the airport?

It’s not that I’m a super mom, but I just know it’s easier to have the “tag team” effect when travelling with a toddler. It’s not that I don’t have faith in my husband. It’s not that I could necessarily PREVENT any of these things from happening should I be travelling with them. It’s just that with me the whole out of sight, out of mind phrase doesn’t work. I’ll be a nervous wreck. I’m already a nervous wreck. Geez!

My husband says to me this morning, “I’m insulted and I’m hurt that you think I would let something happen to our son.” I don’t think he would LET it happen, but sometimes it’s really hard with Davey. Until then and even on those days, I’ll just start working on faith, having a little more of it, and saying my prayers for all of us.

As a side note, my husband is thinking of getting a leash for Davey just for those days of travel. I’m totally against this, but if it will help him keep track of Davey, then I’ll concede. As long as my husband never puts the leash on Davey while around me.

The Story of Birth

This year, much like last year, when Davey awoke on his birthday, my husband and I put him into our bed. This year his 2nd birthday fell on Saturday, so we cuddled up in bed and relaxed. We asked him questions like, “Who has a birthday today?” and “How old are you?” He answered both with excitement and energy, although I’m really not sure if he understood what the day was.

And this year, much like last year, I started with a tradition I hope to keep, one that Davey seems to enjoy hearing (at least he sat quietly, listened, and even threw in his own two cents) and that is the story of his birth. I’d like to share that with all of you.

Davey’s scheduled due date was September 25th, a Sunday. I’d been written out of work on the previous Thursday due to discomfort, so at that point it was just a waiting game. Sunday rolled around, and no Davey. Monday rolled around, and no Davey. Same story with Tuesday. Davey was pretty adamant about keeping put. I wasn’t dilated, my cervix was closed tight, and this kid was just eager to keep me uncomfortable.

Wednesday morning rolled around and I had a scheduled 8:30 doctor’s appointment. We were going to find out what we needed to do in regards to inducing labor, basically how long past my due date the doctor was going to let me go and what we needed to do to be prepared for said induction. I was pretty bummed that morning because I wasn’t dilated and I thought I was going to get the same old bad news of “you’re not there yet.” Regardless, I told my husband to bring the luggage I’d packed. It didn’t hurt to be prepared.

We followed our normal doctor’s schedule of an early morning appointment, followed by coffee and bagels at Starbucks. At least that was to be our normal routine. When I arrived at the doctor, I was told that my cervix was still closed and that I wasn’t dilated. He did; however, want to get an ultrasound to see how big Davey was. My ultrasound showed Davey was breached and that I had very little amniotic fluid left so they did not want me to have a vaginal birth. It was determined that I would need an emergency C-section, so Davey was to be born that day.

Of course, I couldn’t eat anything since I was to have major surgery, which didn’t go over too well for me. So, we called our parents, stopped by my husband’s office so that he could reschedule a last minute meeting, and headed to the hospital.

I wasn’t nervous, nor was I anxious. I think I was elated. I couldn’t believe the day had finally arrived. I wasn’t scared, but I was excited, although I didn’t have the typical excitement butterflies. I was hooked up to a fetal monitor for a couple of hours in a room that would not be my permanent location. Had my husband and I known this, then perhaps we wouldn’t have brought EVERYTHING into the hospital with us at that time. It was quite entertaining to see him and my dad (my mother was away on business and couldn’t make it back) lug around all the bags and pillows and other “necessities” we’d brought.

The next room prepped me before surgery. My husband was given blue scrubs (exciting for him) and I went through a prepping process for surgery that made me feel like I was to become the female version of Captain America. After a few minutes, and completely giving up my overwhelming sense to have some level of modesty, the doctor began performing the surgery.

I didn’t feel anything, of course, except for the occasional tug and pull. At one point, I asked the nurse when exactly the doctor was going to cut into me and at that point I heard this ear piercing wail. Davey had made his appearance into the world at 4:06 pm.

Words cannot begin to describe the feelings I had. It was almost surreal seeing my baby, MY baby! I couldn’t believe I’d done this. Not only had I conquered my fears of being pregnant, but I’d managed to carry a baby to full term, and deliver one as well and right in front of me was this screaming mass that I thought was the greatest thing in this world. At that moment, nothing else existed in the world. At that moment, my world was complete. At that moment, I cried more tears of happiness than I ever thought possible.

He wasn’t immediately placed into my arms since the doctor had to close me back up again. My husband was able to bring Davey to me and I cradled his head with one hand and kissed my baby. What a wonderful gift I’d been given. A few minutes later, I was back to the small “staging” room. I looked at my dad who was holding his grandson, his first grandchild and a lump formed in my throat. Within a few minutes, Davey was in my arms and I was being wheeled into what would be my home away from home for the next three days.

I was a mother! I couldn’t believe it! Some mornings, I awake and still can’t believe I’m a mother, especially on the days of Davey’s birthday. What a wonderful birth it was, what a wonderful day and every day since.

Kissing my baby for the first time.
Kissing my baby for the first time.
Our new family.
Our new family.
me and my dad.
me and my dad.
David Brian Doser
David Brian Doser