On August 9, 2004, I went into the hospital to be induced at 39 weeks. My midwife was concerned that I was measuring too big, and even though I did not have gestational diabetes, she wanted to play it safe.
My water was broken, the pitocin was started, and I began my first labor and delivery without the help of medication.
After 8 hours of labor, 2 hours of pushing, incredible help from my mother and my husband, and the professionalism of my midwife (who, along with the respiratory specialist on call, saved my baby's life), my first son was born. And boy, was my midwife right! Even at 39 weeks (and they checked the gestation, and he was right at 39 weeks), he was a whopping 9 pounds and 11 ounces and 22 1/2 inches long. He was so beautiful! The experience was indescribable. But boy, oh, boy! I was glad when he finally arrived. And a tad scared.
I don't know why I was so scared to raise a boy --I guess I just assumed it would be different from girls (and I was used to girls!). It is a bit different --at least when it comes to the path of destruction that he has left in his wake. But his hugs and kisses are the best, and when I look into those big brown eyes? I can't help but let him have his way a little. The spoiled punk. Here are some pictures of him growing up over the last four years:
On Saturday, the little guy turned Four years old. FOUR! Can you believe that #3 is four? We had a birthday party for him on the 8th, and then the lucky guy got another little party at my parent's house on the 9th. He shares his birthday with cousin Courtney, so they got to share a cake. Fun stuff! Here are some pictures of it all:
What I love about #3:
He is so curious, especially about how things work, and this has only fueled his current obsession with batteries.
Every morning when he wakes up, he seeks me out for a big hug. And his first words are always, "I want breakfast."
He loves to laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.
Even though he can be rough at times, he loves his sisters and brother so darn much, and is sad when they are not around.
He honestly believes his dad can fix anything.
He's always surprising me. This morning, I thought it would be wise to finally teach him how to write his name (I know! Can you believe I haven't done it yet?!). I squealed with delight when he not only copied the letters of his name pretty well, but knew the names of most of the letters.
I love you, #3! Happy (late) Birthday!