No pressure, or anything, right?
Things seemed a little 'off' that morning- enough that I was concerned for my baby. Normally, if the baby wasn't moving much, all I had to do was poke my belly, and the baby would wake up and 'poke back' (usually a kick). This morning, however, there no response to my pokes and prods.
I've always been a bit of a birth nerd, and so had read enough books and textbooks to know that this wasn't a good sign. That, coupled with a few other things (namely, heightened paranoia due to grieving), was cause enough for me to call my Doctor and ask Himself to take us to the hospital, pronto.
Baby started kicking a little en route, but the kicks seemed feeble, so even though I was relieved to know that my baby was definitely alive, I was still concerned that things were not great.
Before too long, we were in a room on the "high risk" ward, and while by then my baby was moving and squirming consistently, there was still some concern about the amount of bleeding I was having, which was certainly heavier than I'd had with any of my other babies. Eventually, my doctor decided the bleeding really wasn't anything alarming, I definitely wasn't in labour, and after having an ultrasound (my first ever, in fact), we were all assured that everything was just fine, and baby had just been sleepy (or, more accurately, stubborn- but I digress).
I wasn't in labour, but I was 3-4 cm dilated, so my doctor offered me a choice; I could go home, and would probably have the baby in the next few days, or she could break my water, and we'd "see what happens" (I'm not even kidding, those were her words!).
Now, if you read the opening paragraph, you might be able to see what influenced my decision in that moment:
It was my due date. It was my Mum's birthday. Mum was not looking forward to her birthday, because my Dad had just passed away ...
A grandchild born on her birthday might brighten things for her.
It's also worth noting that my cousin's firstborn child was born on our grandmother's birthday, the year that my grandfather had passed away; and my father always thought it was the greatest thing, the best gift his Mum could have received that year.
And hey, there was the added incentive of not being 40 weeks pregnant anymore ...
So I opted for option "B". The doctor ruptured the membranes, and 75 minutes later, at 2:57PM CDT, our biggest baby was born.
A boy. BIG boy. He was 4.77 kilos (10 lbs 8.1 oz) and 60 cms (23.5") long.
He very quickly earned the name of Sir Squeaks-A-Lot, because he would make the cutest little squeaking sounds while he nursed. This often got shortened to "Sir Squeaks", and as he got older, to "Squeaky boy", and eventually it was further shortened to just "Squeaker", or "Squeak" (which we still call him today, but not in front of his friends!).
I am biased, of course, but he was a beautiful baby. He still is beautiful. I am often surprised by how much he reminds me of my Dad, only with blue eyes and fairer hair.
He was born under the sign of the bull, and is a true Taurus, through and through. You cannot make this boy (pardon me, Young Man!) do anything he does not wish to do. He won't fuss or whine. that's not his style. Nope, not a complaint from him about it. He just won't *do* it.He's also very laid back, and funny. He loves to make statements that begin "Hmm ... I wonder what would happen if you were to ...??" (Insert any unusual idea you can think of here).
And this? This is what he does when you remind him that school portraits cost money, so "Please smile nicely this year" ...
That's right, you get his "Stephen King" impersonation. He is his mother's child, after all, warped sense of humour and all.
He's quiet. (You have to watch the quiet ones).He can be very persuasive, too- there are tales of hijinks with friends who afterwards, couldn't rightly recall whose idea it was to tie a rope to the bedpost and repel down the side of the house ... (It must have been their own idea, surely?)
He's already spoken for, too. You see, my friend Phoebe's elder daughter, affectionately known as "Miss Mim", put her mark on him back when they were wee toddlers ...
But above all else, he is my Squeak; my sweet, funny boy, who is not just cool; he's Steve Buscemi Cool.
Happy Birthday, Squeaker.
This photo was taken last summer- he claimed he was playing "Peek-a-Boo!", but really, he was just hiding from the camera in such a way that it was hard to be annoyed with him ...