A love story

It's been a week since the marathon. The recovery has gone well -- two days of wicked soreness followed by gentle fatigue. My post-race run six days later was kind of clunky and low-energy, with my niggly hamstring getting niggly again, but otherwise OK. I did the post-marathon massage yesterday and now feel sore but better. And somewhere during the week I relocated my sense of humor, yay!

The October calendar, what with the race, working, my bouncy little kids, crept along to today, October 15. And that's what I want to talk about tonight. Indulge me.

Twenty years ago tonight, I was in HORRID labor with my eldest son. It was my due date, and after a bout of preeclampsia and a hospital stay, it was my night to... be induced. The pitocin was started, and I figured, OK, I'm going to have a baby. I'm sure I peed myself out of sheer terror. OK, I know I peed myself but who knows why now. That was Thursday afternoon.

The afternoon bled into the evening, and my contractions strengthened. But little else was going on. I asked about an epidural, but my fuzzy memory recollects the hospital didn't want me to have it too soon.

By the time the Clinton-Perot-Bush presidential debate was on, the hospital had given me a little something that barely barely barely took the edge off. The contractions were brutal. I tried like hell to focus on the debate -- I always and still watch debates -- but every contraction was horrific. I thought my hips were going to shatter with every one...

I could go on and on, but you get the picture. A pretty freaked-out 24-year-old woman begging for an epidural, asking when the baby would come, and I wouldn't be surprised if I asked even crazier questions.

The night passed, and morning came, and more of the same. I had a mean nurse at some point during the night, and passed the time in part waiting for her shift to end toward dawn. She had no patience for me. She sucked. The other nurses were really nice. One nurse, I think she was a nurse, went to high school with my son's father -- they reunited as I labored on. I was incredibly annoyed, watching them chat and catch up.

Finally, after the hospital agreed that OK, I could have an epidural, they realized that now it was too late -- it was time to push. I pushed for two hours. I have never, ever, ever to this day worked so hard in my life as I did those few hours, I'm convinced.

And then, he came, all 6 pounds and 13 1/2 ounces of him. I didn't know for sure I was having a boy -- we wanted to find out, but at the 20-week ultrasound, he was modest in his poses and we couldn't tell the gender.

I remember his cry and I remember someone handing me this slimy crying little baby. And I remember that exact moment like people remember where they were on September 11... I held this slippery little alien-looking baby and thought, oh, I don't know this person at all! And then thought, but wow, I'm going to get to know him. And I thought, whoever said a mom knows her baby's cry right away was right. His cry was just right to me.

Nothing prepared me for that moment -- no book, no baby class, not even people who are parents -- I fell so hard, so fast, so deeply in love. I knew my life had just changed forever. I couldn't have told you how exactly. I just knew something deeply life-altering had just happened. I loved this boy immediately.

And so he was on my mind today. I called him. I think I woke him up, hee hee. We chit-chatted. After working more than 50 hours last week at his job, he was looking forward to a few days off, including today. Tomorrow he may go out with a girl friend that may be more than just  a friend. I had to ask if she was 18 or jailbait (geez, I worry! I can't help it!) and he was like, oh mom, she's not, I'm not cradle-robbing! I just want him to find a nice girl, so sue me.

A little more chit-chat and we said our good-byes. And I was thinking, huh, wow, 20. What was I doing at 20? And then it dawned on me -- I started dating his dad within weeks of my 20th birthday! It kind of blew my mind that minute -- really, I was THAT young? Anyway, I texted his dad and we exchanged some pleasantries and LOLs about that realization. It's nice that after years of being divorced, we can get along OK and even share a laugh.

A drawback to getting all nostalgic is that I start wishing oh, I wish I had done this differently, or oh, I wish I hadn't done that. Last week a guy I know mentioned missing his toddler's birthday party for some work thing. I thought it was sad -- you're not going to look back in 20 years and think, gee, I'm really glad I took care of that work thing no one will now remember. My memories are littered with regrets, sure, but there are lots of good, happy moments, too. I loved watching him grow up at many points. It's part of what drove me to want to have his little sister and brother when he was 18 and 16 years old. I just wasn't ready to be done.

When I run on the lakefront, which is often, and I see cross-country meets setting up, I always smile and think of him, running cross country throughout high school, watching him get faster and faster. He almost, almost, almost broke a 5-minute mile. He ran these amazing 5K times. And of course he's done a million other awesome non-running things.

Happy Birthday, my sweet baby boy. I love you.