Where has the time gone? It seems like I just blinked and ten years zoomed by. Or is it just that I want to make time stand still.

It seems like just yesterday…

I was packing my bag, preparing for my scheduled cesarean. It had been a hard pregnancy. I was placed on bedrest for most of the pregnancy. I didn’t mind. I knew it had to be done. I had miscarried three times over the past 7 years. I didn’t want to take another chance.

That night my ex-husband and I cuddled, talking into the night. We knew it was a boy, the sonograms told us so. Would he look like him or me? Or a combination of us both?  We debated, laughing, as we discussed our different body parts. I can’t recall which we claimed. But I do remember we both agreed he shouldn’t dance like me.

The next day we dropped Karl, my oldest, off at school before heading to the hospital. He wanted to come but I was too afraid. In the back of my mind, I worried. What if I lost this one too? I couldn’t let him go through it again. I wanted to shield Karl, as much as I could.  The pain of the last miscarriage had hit him hardest of all.

As they prepped me, my ex-husband held my hand and tried to ease my fears. My mother, who had come along for moral support, sat quietly in a corner chair. Praying, I’m sure. At that moment, I wished I had her faith. I wasn’t a Believer back then.

The nurses left the room. I looked at the clock. It was 9am. My son, our son, would be here soon. 

At about 9:30am, I was wheeled into the operating room. My ex-husband followed. I was given anesthesia. Too much, I might add. I couldn’t even move my head. I asked my ex-husband to turn my face.  I wanted to see.

I couldn’t.

A curtain obstructed my view. But I could feel. Not the pain of the incision, but the tugging on my skin. I knew they were cutting into me.

I felt it. The pulling and tugging as they moved inside of me.

I held my breath. So did he. We looked at one another. It seemed like an eternity had passed.

Would this time be different?

Would we hear the cries?

He had fear in his eyes.

I saw it.

I felt it.

Then suddenly we heard it … a cry!

The baby was alive!

The Doctor lifted it up so we could see. It was a crying, wailing, bloodied, baby boy, with ten fingers and ten toes, and he was ours!

Our family was complete.

Fast forward ten years.

We’re together again, celebrating another year. It’s our son’s 10th BIRTH day.

He’s no longer a baby. He’s finally hit double digits. An age when he’s stuck between two stages, where he wants to crawl into Mommy’s arms,  yet is craving independence to show that he is no longer a child.

This birthday had to be BIG and it was, thanks to McDonald.

(Continued tomorrow)

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