In honor of my son’s birthday today, I’m posting a re-run. I used to tell him this story, or parts of it, every year on his birthday. Now that he’s a daddy, maybe he’ll carry on the tradition when his little boy turns three next month…
|Halloween, 1980. Not too much longer…|
My second child was due on November 25th, right before Thanksgiving. We were all looking forward to the new baby. Halloween meant we were in the home stretch. Or so I thought.
The almost-three-year-old strawberry (and soon-to-be big sister) and I went to a Halloween parade in San Francisco. Just a few more weeks to go! Our spirits were high, the crib and changing table were set up. Just waiting….
But, alas, those weeks dragged on and my due date came and went. Sure, I’d heard the part about a two-week plus-or-minus, but I didn’t really want to believe it. A due date is all I heard. And it slipped by with no baby on the scene.
Thanksgiving came on November 27th in 1980. Instead of squeezing my nine-months-and-two- days pregnant body into the car and going to a relative’s house to sit around a table and answer a lot of baby-related questions that could all be answered with “Obviously, not yet,” we decided to stay home and have a quiet dinner instead.
It was a lovely day, actually. Warm and sunny, late November in California. A perfect day for a ready-to-pop pregnant woman to wield an electric hedge clipper so she could take out her impatience on something other than her family. Those hedges got the trimming of their lives, trust me.
We had a turkey dinner for two without a lot of fanfare. Put the kid to bed early and kicked back. Despite being overdue and restless, I think of that peaceful scaled-down Thanksgiving fondly. I do now, anyway.
November ended, with no baby.
Tick, tick tick. . .
Finally, finally, the next member of the family decided the time was right to make an entrance.
We alerted the neighbors who promised to keep our daughter overnight. We packed her off, and my husband drove over every speed bump on the way to the hospital.
We’d asked a friend to take pictures of the birth, but she arrived moments too late. It’s just as well, probably. Instead, we have pictures of us cradling a small bundle of baby, who was born in the early hours of December 5th, and pronounced “Perfect” by the pediatrician.
And I finally got to see who loved to dance all night. Welcome, Myles! And Happy Birthday!!
|Ten days old, at his big sister’s third birthday party.|