Today is my sweetheart's 11th birthday. My baby boy, with the mischievous grin is growing up - in body and in attitude as well. I will never forget the day he was born, he was due on the 26th of August and I was getting pretty impatient. Finally the doctor booked an induction for the 3rd of September, September?????? He was to be a summer baby, what was this September thing??
Well we arrived, bags in hand at the hospital fairly early that morning. By nine the doctor had done his thing and we were walking the hall of the induction ward. A few hours later the doctors thought I wasn't getting anywhere fast enough and they gave me another dose of the prostaglandin gel.
We passed the time walking (waddling) the halls, pausing for brutal contractions and playing uno (the early hours). Some time after 4 the doctor came in to check on me, I was not all that responsive to him and he thought I wasn't coping with the pain that well. He was on his way up to do a cesarean and said he would send in the anesthesiologist to drug me up. Well, that not coping thing is me in transition. I go from like 5 or 6 cm to 10 cm in minutes and then I am good to go.
With the first, I had to push for 2.5 hours, so I am sure the doctor did not think there was any hurry, even if I was in transition. This time however, my body was practiced up.
Almost as soon as the doctor left, I was really feeling stuff happening. The nurses were doing something to me and I told them my water broke. "Oh, no dear, you are just sweaty." um, yeah, okay. They soon realized that they had better move me upstairs to delivery and they stood around arguing about whether to get a gurney or just take me up in the wheelchair.
This is where the urge to push came on really strong and I started moaning. That and my getting impatient husband decided for them. Onto the gurney I went. As they lifted me, my waters gushed and the patronizing nurse said, "That, dear, was your water breaking." Okay then.
Now they are telling me to hold this baby in until we get upstairs, I am screaming in between panting to keep him inside. In their rush, no one thought to grab my IV pole, so I grabbed it and pulled it along while screaming and watching my hubby dragging my bag, the diaper bag and the video camera bag along. He looked pretty funny, even at that moment. (my husband later thought that I would want to know that he overheard the staff talking about me later, dubbing me 'the screamer'. )
As the elevator doors opened upstairs, the doctor heard me and rushed over from where he was scrubbing up for his cesarean. They rolled me into the room and moved me to the bed while I shrieked blue murder. Have you ever tried to hold in a baby who wants to come out? not pleasant. As soon as I rolled over, Superboy came shooting out. He came so fast he had a scrape on his head from the table, the doctor barely caught him.
We were all in shock at that moment, compounded when someone thought to tell us he was a boy. Boy?? My OB had been teasing me about having a girl for months. Boy! We just held him and stared into his bright blue eyes, mesmerized. We totally forgot about taking photos or video or anything. Finally the nurse asked if we wanted her to take a photo. Oh! the camera!
He was the most beautiful, roly poly boy, with just a white sheen of blond hair on his head. Our golden child, our baby for years to come. Smiling, friendly, full of humour, energy and mischief. Since Superboy has come into our lives, we have rarely had a boring moment. Before he could walk, he could climb anything. He would pull the dining room chairs to the table and then climb them to get on the table where he would stand with his arms reaching for the sky.
Until his early years I had never called poison control or taken and injured child to the emergency, he indoctrinated us in many new parenting experiences.
Even as a toddler he did things his own way. He never ate baby food, he would only eat what his big brother was eating. I even had to premasticate meat for him. Icky. He didn't use his toys in the way they were intended, he would make up his own games. At the playground, he would climb on the outside of the equipment, never what the other kids were doing.
As a preschooler, he decided that he wouldn't cheer for the same teams as Daddy and big brother, nope, Superboy cheered for the teams most hated by the rest of the family. He has always been his own man and a very deep thinker. Every night at bedtime, he would ask me the deep questions. Why are we here? Is God real? Why do people die? We had amazing discussions while we cuddled quietly. One night, he was telling me that he didn't want to go to bed because he had been having nightmares. I told him that I would pray with him and that God would take away his bad dreams. He told me that he didn't think that God could do that. If there even was God. He was 3.
I asked him to pray with me and we would see what God could do. So he did. Then I prayed really hard that God would show himself to my boy.
When Superboy awoke, he ran to me, telling me that God was real and really could take away bad dreams. I was so thankful, for both a thinking, questioning child and a God who loved my child enough to prove himself in that way.
He was a bit shy as a toddler, but soon outgrew that to be a very friendly guy. As I have said, he makes a new best friend everywhere we go. His friend are so very important to him and he needs to hang out with them often or he gets withdrawn. He gets a bit anxious before entering new social situations, but he never lets that sideline him. He gets right in there and introduces himself and tries new things. I love that!
As he is getting older, he is becoming a very compassionate and giving young man. He has grown into a wonderful big brother, even though he was a bit reluctant to take on that role.
I am so thankful that God has allowed me to be Superboy's mom, he brings such richness to our lives. Joy and laughter, energy and more cuddles than you could imagine.
Happy Birthday Superboy, I love you more than a million sockeye.
ps. I posted the cover for his card at Immortality Art