Yesterday was the anniversary of the day I went under the knife. They called it "failure to progress". Which translated into something like "your kid has a big head, your epidural is wearing off, and I have been on call a long time . . . let's get him out." Enter anesthesia and the knife. Experienced docs can have a baby out of you in minutes, let me tell you.
I remember being really disappointed in being robbed of a "natural" delivery. Somehow, I thought it would be better to have brought my son into the world the way nature intended.
Yesterday, as this handsome, bright-eyed, floppy-haired kid stood there, surrounded by his friends, blowing out 11 candles and cracking jokes, I realized it didn't matter how he got into this world. Just that he was here. And mine.
Another year older. But still my first baby.
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
3 comments:
Happy birthday to your little man!
Will you be getting him into the latest fashion trend now?
You know! Hot fashion faux-pas for even hotter chicks!
Plaid n' Prints = The new Axe baby!
Happy birthday!
I remember our first son's heartbeat being distressed after inducing, and the doctor telling Honey and me that they had to do a C-section. I'm holding her hand and telling her everything will be OK, and suddenly I hear a baby boy crying. I look over the drape on her belly, and the first thing I saw was her abdomen open with a bright light shining into it from above us. The next thing I saw was my new son. Two more natural births later, and I don't even know if my wife remembers much about the three births. Each day is a great day with these people in our lives, don't you think?
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