Another Birthday

My youngest is eleven today. When I realized I was pregnant with him, I went through the usual steps of seeing my OB and establishing the due date. His was on his sister's birthday, January 17. When January 17, 1999 came and went, I cried. I really wanted the two to share a birthday. Little One, though, decided he needed twelve more days before entering the world.

The day he was born I had my weekly checkup with the OB. I had started dilating and I was feeling minor labor pains, nothing serious. My OB advised me to go ahead and check into the hospital since this baby was my third and the first two had come fairly quickly once the contractions had kicked in. I checked in around noon. Not long after, the contractions started, I dilated more, and the pain became excruciating. I was determined to do the birth naturally since I had with my second and survived just fine, but the longer the afternoon dragged on, the more I began thinking things weren't fine this time. My OB had assured me this baby wasn't going to go over nine pounds like my second child had, so I dug deep to find the will to stay with the natural birth. At 3:30 that afternoon, Little One entered the world at ten pounds nine ounces. If I had had the energy, I would have punched my OB right in the nose.

Now, eleven years later, the pain that wracked my body while giving birth to my third child is just a faded memory. When I look at him, I feel such joy and marvel at how this little human has some of me as a part of who he is. He still holds my hand. He still sits on my lap. He still gives me hugs and kisses when I drop him off at school. I know he's on the brink of not being a little boy any longer, so I'm soaking up all the affection he's willing to give. One day this affection will be just a memory, too.

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