Eight years ago today I was painting these Dancing Bears and Swirls on the walls in the nursery. Carefully easing my belly and swollen feet up the step ladder to stamp first blue swirls, then purple and green. This made even more difficult by not being able to actually see my feet or even possibly the ladder for the enormity of the belly between us.
Daddy-O was doing a complete landscape installation at Anne's house with two laborers and a driveway full with pallets of sod. There was two and a half weeks to go before the birth of our first child and we were busy tying up all the loose ends in preparation.
Patience has never been one of B's virtues and that day was no exception. He made his birth intentions known with a continuous trickle of wetness each time I lifted my arms to stamp the walls. I thought I'd lost complete control of my bodily functions (little did I know) until I noticed a bit of a pattern to the process. Lift arms. Wet pants. Lift. Wet. Liftwet. liftwetliftwetliftwet.
I placed the call to Daddy-O. "Honey. I think my water's broke. I'm going to the doctor's to check."
Daddy-O, who is up to his armpits in mud and sod says, "You're going to ruin my weekend, aren't you? I'll head home to shower."
Eight hours and a pitocin drip later, B pushed his purple cone-head into the world and made me a Mom. I never wanted anything more.
Today he is in Yellowstone National Park completing his Grand Tour of the Western U.S. with his Nana and his cousin.
And I'm missing his birthday.
That makes me sad for me. But what better way to spend your 8th birthday? I am sooooo jealous.
Happy Birthday, B! See you next week in Oregon!