A Birth Story

Three years ago, C was born.

I went into labor early Saturday morning, the day before Mother's Day.

We called our parents to let them know, but told them not to hurry. E took over 24 hours, so we assumed C would, too.

We had a lazy Saturday. I showered, dressed, and we went out to lunch. I waited in the cafe, laboring, for our sandwiches, then we went home.

Some Jehovah's Witnesses stopped by, and Mr. Einstein let them in. (I know! What was he thinking?!?) They chatted for about an hour, while I labored in the nursery, putting some freshly washed baby clothes away and entertaining E.

(It's funny now, but at the time, I was not pleased. At all.)

E went down for her nap, and I lay down on the bed to rest; but, instead, I decided to time my contractions.

It was time.

We called our parents to see where they were, and dropped E off at the sitters until one set or the other of grandparents got to town.

Mr. Einstein and I headed to the hospital.

After we arrived, we discovered I was further along than I had thought, and, consequently, C would be here sooner than we thought. That night, in fact, and not the next morning, like her sister.

I labored some more and got an epidural. My doctor came in eating popcorn, and I really wanted some. He wouldn't give me any.

All the grandparents finally made it into town. My parents and sister decided to go out to dinner. They had just finished up when Mr. Einstein called them and told them it was time.

They almost missed everything, it was so fast.

I pushed a few times, and within fifteen minutes, there was C, all 8+ pounds of her.

She was beautiful, of course. She took to nursing with such ease.

She was slightly jaundiced, but she never needed to go under the lights. I just stripped her down to her diaper and nursed her in the sunny windows of our house.

Today, C is three.

She's my big girl, my middle child. She is both a younger sister and an older sister.

She is funny, and sweet, and kind. She loves to share and play and cuddle. She refuses to potty train (sigh), but she'll get there.

She loves sausage, and baked beans, and watermelon. She loves to dress up, and watch movies, and color. She loves pigs.

She is my joy.

Happy Birthday, darling C!

I love you very, very much.