On August 8th, 1990, I went into labor with my second child. I swore this kid was going to be a boy- I carried totally different than with Beena and I didn’t have the same pregnancy symptoms I had the first time around (morning sickness, spitting, heartburn).
I had a new obstetrician who didn’t like to cut (Yay! No episiotomies!) and the birthing center in the hospital was brand new. Everything about this pregnancy was different and the delivery looked to be different as well.
We got to the hospital and got about as comfortable as one could get in hard labor, and it wasn’t long until the contractions were coming fast and fierce. The nice thing about the new birthing center was that I didn’t have to leave the labor room to go into the delivery room- the bed converted into the delivery table. The bad thing was the nurses had no experience converting the bed into the delivery table. Supports were pushed into the wrong holes and railings were falling on the floor. At one point during an especially hard contraction, one of the nurses handed me a side rail and asked me to hold it for a minute.
Are you kidding me?
Of course, my ex-asshole was little help. I think he held a few parts too until they figured out how to work the bed. If I wasn’t already wracked with pain, I would have taken the instructions myself and figured it out for them. I’m good with instructions.
Out of all three of my labors, this one hurt the most. Like I mentioned, my obstetrician didn’t believe in cutting so he was constantly stretching, stretching, stretching until the baby’s head crowned. I kept from strangling him because I was mesmerized by his beautiful blue eyes. I’d heard a lot of his patients fell in love with him during labor because of his eyes…
The first struggle of many between this child and this mommy occurred at this point. Despite the constant stretching, baby didn’t want to come out no matter how hard I pushed. After fifteen minutes of constant pushing, I was just about at exhaustion level and ready to give up. The delivery nurse looked at me (she had nice eyes too) and said if I could give her one more push, it would all be over. I gritted my teeth and went for it at the same time she threw herself across my stomach and helped with the last push.
My baby girl was born.While they were cleaning her up, I heard one of the nurses say “Oh, my God.” It was one of the more terrifying moments of my life, hearing those words. My heart stopped until I heard her ask what today’s date was. Then she started to laugh.
Robyn Nicole was 8 pounds, 8 ounces, born on 8/8. The doctor asked them to weigh her three times to be sure. While we were marveling at the coincidence, the ex chimed in that it was our anniversary as well.
He asked me out at at party on August 8th, ten years prior. I had forgotten that.
So Kansas, you’re 21 today and as part of your birthday present, I’m changing your blog name. You’re no longer blowing in the wind so “Kansas” doesn’t work. I am dubbing you “Cheesestick”. Crunchy on the outside but gooey and soft and delicious on the inside. Plus, everytime I read your blog, I think “Holy Cheesestick!” and laugh.
Laughing is something that I’ve always done with you. I love your sense of humor. Even though you get aggravated (work) and annoyed about a lot of things (customers), you always manage to convey it with humor. Some of the times I’ve laughed the hardest were with you. We find the same things hilarious. Some of the funniest lines to ever come outt of your mouth are still repeated in the family today. “Do puppies have pockets?” and “Boop-wiggedy-wiggedy” crack us up every time.
You always marched to your own drummer. No, you probably don’t have a drummer- you probably have a big brass band in your head telling you what direction to take you in. You never followed your big sister around- most of the time you were the leader and she followed, probably to see where you were going to go next. It was always YOUR way of doing things, and as much as I admire that trait, it lead to some exasperating times.Like the time we took you to Disney World and you went on all the rides with your hands over your eyes, crying.
Like the time we drove to Hilton Head and you realized that you left your luggage home. Thankfully we were only on the Belt Parkway.
Like the time you begged us to let you climb the rock wall at a fair only to get halfway up and cry because you were scared to go up and scared to go down.
You are the most like me. People say we resemble each other the most and I’m flattered because you’re so beautiful. I see other things of me in you besides my eyes. Some good things, some bad things and some things that just causes us to bang our heads against our respective walls.
But…I love how you’re a romantic. You want the happy ending (you wouldn’t get so upset with the stupidity in the world if you didn’t) and you love the cute and cuddly. Stuffed animals, Wade figures and rubber duckies are all your friends as well as Harry Potter and Angry Birds. Yet you can manage a restaurant by yourself and pull straight A’ s in school. You’re a softy, but really, really smart.
You’ve given me some of the proudest moments in my life, like when you were awarded that bond at your 8th grade graduation for donating your hair to Locks for Love (you’re a trendsetter…now all the kids do it). Seeing you dance on pointe for the first time in dance class. When your picture appeared in the paper for the Battle of the Bands. And when you walked across the stage at High School graduation and received your awards. I know you’ll do well and go far in life because you’re that smart. Figure out what you want to do and go for it!