At this time three years ago, I was jacked up on Pitocin, waiting for our baby to be born. We didn’t know if our first child would be a boy or a girl, and we were excited to find out. I was 37 weeks pregnant, being induced for low fluid levels. I had been on bedrest for three long weeks. Thank god the Olympics were on — I watched every event of those summer Olympics.
It was Labor Day, a Monday, when I was induced.
Philip was pretty much the best labor partner ever. He kept untangling me from my IV, and hauled it around as we walked and walked and walked the halls, determined to get and keep labor going.
All in all, labor was pretty fabulous. I didn’t get an epidural, but I did get some trippy Stadol toward the end. For a first baby, and an induction, things moved very, very quickly. I checked into the hospital at 9 a.m., and Jack Henry was born at 7:44 p.m., after only 20 minutes of pushing.
Look at this guy:
He was so cute. And so little. And he still scrunches his face up to cry like that. We were absolutely in love from the moment we held him.
I love this photo. Look how happy we all are. I had no idea how much I would love being a mom, having a family. Everything about it is great — OK, except the sleep deprivation, never having any money, and did I mention the sleep deprivation?
But for the past three years, I have been lucky enough to be part of this guy’s life:
Jack, you are a sweet, sweet boy. You come running, laughing the entire time, and throw yourself at us to greet us every day. You almost always wake up cheerful, laughing and talking from the minute your eyes open to the minute they close at night. You always want to go to the grocery store or Target. I think you just like to ride in the cart.
You want oatmeal with raisins for breakfast every single day. With a side of raisins. And also raisins for dinner. Or a banana. You love to sit on the kitchen counter while I make a smoothie — and then we share one.
You are getting better about listening, and lately you even bring your baby sister a toy when I ask you to. You still push her away from your toys, or steal hers, but it’s getting better. You haven’t thrown anything at her in a few days, so I’ll count my blessings.
You have the smelliest toddler feet known to man. They are toxic.
You make up crazy things and then laugh maniacally about them. Absurd things, like you are going to eat the buttons off my coat. Or that you really love “nasty cake,” wherever you got that from.
You refuse to poop in the potty. For the love of god, toddler, just do it! It’s killing me.
You hate the slide, love the swings and wish you were barefoot most of the time. You make us listen to “The Wheels on the Bus” about 200 times a day, and I am not even kidding. And it’s this godawful toddler version, which is even more maddening. You beg for it from the minute you wake up until the minute you go to sleep. I found myself singing “Where is Thumbkin” to myself the other day. Thanks for that, turkey. I’ll show you Tall Girl.
You know your colors, shapes, letters and their sounds and numbers. You speak in pretty clear full sentences. You ask silly questions.You kiss with your mouth wide open.
You laugh and laugh and laugh. And sing. All the time.
You play in your toy kitchen nonstop.
You make every single day better. I love your fat feet. I love your naked tushy when you dance after bathtime. I love how you laugh to yourself. I love that you are obsessed with construction trucks. And raisins. And books.
You’re a good boy, Jack.