Happy Birthday

Twenty-eight years ago today at 12:18 p.m. I gave birth to my second son.

Labor pains began at 5 a.m., and I lay in bed timing them, remembering the last time I'd felt this way three years before. Fortunately, we were staying with my parents, so they were able to care for our older son, giving us ample time.

Operating on slow, I
brushed my teeth
washed my face
dressed
woke my husband and my mom
(surely called my doctor -- though I don't remember doing so)
finished packing my bag
got in the car
arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later . . .

There, the contractions stopped, and I walked the halls to encourage the baby to make his appearance. (Though I'd had no sonogram to know the baby was a he.)

Since it was a holiday weekend, the hospital operated with a skeleton staff, and the labor and delivery floor was eeriely quiet, quite different than the day I delivered my older son, and a team of student nurses observed my every move.

In the delivery room, Jim and I were alone for what seemed a long time. (Though I know it must have been only a few mintues.) To kill his monotony, Jim pretended to be a sports caster doing a live interview prior to a major sporting event.

"Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, here at Research Hospital, awaiting the birth of our child." Turning his imaginary microphone toward me, he asked, "Would you like to say a few words?"

I answered, through clenched teeth, "I don't feel like talking; I'm going to throw up!"

Fortunately, the microphone was imaginary. If it had been real, I would have hit him with it!

He replied, "Sorry, just trying to add a bit of excitement to the moment."
Trust me, there was plenty of excitement for me -- I needed no more!

A few minutes later, with no fan fare, the doctor arrived, and our second son made his appearance, looking just like his older brother.

Today I celebrate his life. He is a handsome young man whom I admire. Though I still try to find the balance between mothering and befriending, I enjoy his company more than he knows. His mere existence makes me smile!

Happy Birthday, son! I love you!

How'd I Get Here?

Lately, I've been in another writing slump -- dreading to draft -- dreading to revise, dreading to blog. Instead of dealing with it, I've, instead, let it sit on my shoulder like a ten-pound parrot, whispering discouraging lies in my ear.

A prompt about writing in my Advanced Parent-Lit class brought me back to my senses, and I realized this morning that I've come full circle -- back to the reason I started this blog -- just to write! Not to worry about how many read these posts, not to impress anyone with my abilities or startle anyone with my inabilities, not to claim notoriety, not to enter an elite club, not to judge my ideas as worthless.

Clink! Clink! Here's to just writing!

Whimsy in Kansas City

One of my favorite things in Kansas City, Missouri, are sculptures of two badminton shuttlecocks, which are part of the Sculpture Garden at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art.

Created by Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen, Americans who were born in Sweden and The Netherlands, respectively, these sculptures stand almost 18 feet high and measure 15 feet at the crown and 4 feet at the nose.

Sitting on a huge expanse of lawn, juxtaposed by the stately design of the museum, they always make me smile.