A Timely Birth

Today is my son's birthday and although I could spent hours gushing about what a great son he is, I know he would not appreciate that, as he is a rather private person. So in his honor, I decided to write the story of his birth, which occurred 28 years ago. It was a cold and bitter January 7, 1981 and the weather report was calling for a major snowstorm late that night. I was as big as a house, and my due date had just passed.  I felt very anxious about the weather, and the mild contractions, but strong baby kicks I was having that afternoon just added to my uneasiness. Throughout the day I had a burst of energy and was hopeful that my intense cleaning would throw me into full blown labor. As the night wore on, I kept timing the contractions, but they were not coming as regularly as I would have liked (they were only 5-8 minutes apart) and I knew my doctor would not tell me to come to the hospital until they were 3 minutes apart. As the night wore on and the flakes started to fall, I felt I needed to get to the hospital before the roads got bad, and so at around 11 PM, I called my doctor to say my contractions were 2 minutes apart and I was heading to the hospital. Since I was only in labor for 4 hours with my daughter, I knew she would get there rather quickly. However, when I finally reached the labor room, the nurse confirmed my "error." "You have plenty of time, she quipped, your contractions are only 5 minutes apart." "Please don't send me home", I pleaded,  " I need to have this baby tonight... they are calling for a big snowstorm and I don't want to get stuck at home!" She gave me a wary look, and snorted, "well that will be up to the doctor, not me... but I don't blame you for trying." Sure enough when my doctor arrived at midnight and was told about my inaccurate timing, she was not happy. Being a nurse, I appealed to her as best I could. "Please just break my water and I guarantee I will have this whole thing over in an hour." Otherwise, you'll just have to come back in the snowstorm." She reluctantly relented, and within the hour I was wheeled into the delivery room. When the nurses tried to strap me down on the delivery table, I loudly protested. "OH NO, I am not going to push against gravity like I had to do with my daughter. I am having this baby MY WAY... and that means I am sitting up to push!" So a nurse and my husband held me up as I sat on the edge of the table and I pushed my baby boy out with a lot less difficulty than my previous birth. Of course, I was horrified to see that my son was blue and the cord was tightly wrapped around his neck. Within seconds, my doctor was manipulating that cord around his head, as the color slowly came to his little body. I was panicky, but just as she managed to free him, I saw his eyes open, then his little hand came up to a half salute, half wave at me, and he took his first breath. No crying, just that wonderful wave as he turned from blue to pink. It was if he was saying, "I'm alright mom." And you know, as I think of it, he has been doing that little wave-salute as his way of saying goodbye, (everything is alright), for as long as I can remember. And if he ever reads this, it should be clear where he gets his stubborn streak from. Happy Birthday to the best son in the world!