(via ffffound)
G’s birthday is Sunday. He’s turning 11. 11 years ago today, I was sitting in a hospital room waiting to be induced. By noon, I had the pitocin drip in, and I was sitting cross-legged on my hospital bed playing cards with my in-laws. The contractions were super manageable, and there were constant threats of maybe sending me home to labor there for a little while. Things get fuzzy around the edges of these memories. I was pumped with a lot of fluids during G’s delivery. Antibiotics for Group B Strep, drugs to induce labor, later an epidural. His delivery wasn’t smooth, there were complications afterward, more drugs were pumped and I will always have positive associations linked to Demerol.
But, he was a beautiful, beautiful baby. He was (still is), the most compassionate child. Empathy didn’t need to be taught to G, it was inherent in his DNA. After a particularly trying night when he was a couple of weeks old, I remember looking down at him and thinking,
You will never be this small again. In ten years, you will be a boy and I will be older, and wiser. You will sleep, and you will not need me as much, and I wonder who you will be then. What will you be?
He’s funny. He sleeps like a log. He’s helpful. He’s smart. He’s absolutely wonderful.
I don’t know where I thought we’d really be at this juncture. It’s definitely not what I pictured the future to be like 11 years ago. At times I’d like to think that he’s happy, really happy. That he’ll look back on his childhood and remember it fondly. My wish for him for this 11th birthday is for it to be a great one. And, if I could add one more wish: to grow well. Well, in the sense of becoming the person I know he will be. Honest, compassionate, caring. Those attributes are what makes G, well… G.
