Happy birthday to my sweet six-year-old!

I never wanted to be a mother. Never did.  Somehow thought it seemed degrading.  I always thought pregnant women looked extraordinarily vulnerable and weak.  Never wanted to be THAT.  I was always angry that men got off ridiculously easy. Their bodies never had to be stretched and enlarged and eventually displayed for all (well at least doctors and nurses) to see. (I always pictured a county hospital scene with me lined up next to twenty other women, all lying exposed on gurneys, screaming with our legs up in stirrups, while male doctors wandered around barking out orders...) Never wanted to be tied down by the responsibilities of taking care of children.  I was disgusted at the idea of nursing.  "What am I, a cow?" I used to think. 

But eventually, after 9 years of marriage, I realized that if I didn't have children, I might really regret it.  So we went for it.  Closed my eyes (literally) and went for it.  And I got pregnant.  And I was terrified and unsettled....  And then at 18 weeks, things went terribly wrong.  The pregnancy that terrified me was no more.  I sobbed. Frequently.  I wandered around the house in my husband's XXL T-shirt and sweatpants for four months.

And my perspective changed.  I couldn't wait to get pregnant again.  I couldn't wait to be a mother.

Lucky for me, it did not take long.  Four months later, it happened.  The word ECSTATIC would best describe my mood.  I reveled in every second of it (well except for the gigantaur boobs).   I loved it.  It was amazing.  I loved the check-ups; I loved the ultra-sounds; I loved the pregnancy clothes (well, at least at first).  I loved the little kicks from inside my belly.  For the first time in my life, I loved the idea of being a mom. 

And then came the delivery.  John and I were out eating pizza for what would be our last night together without kids.  I had just spent the day putting together Aaron's nursery furniture (which included heavy lifting...)  The contractions came slowly at first; I paused between bites of pizza to catch my breath and grab onto the table.  I was up all night timing each contraction.  In the morning, we went to the hospital.  (I was relieved to see my private room with hotel-style artwork and an entertainment center.  No gurneys.  No stirrups. No screaming.  And only one or two (or three?) people saw me naked. :))  And BTW, epidurals ARE wonderful.

On February 21, 2004, at 6:30 p.m. I had the most beautiful baby boy in my arms. He amazed me then, and he amazes me now.  Kind hearted, sweet, compassionate, thoughtful, sensitive, intense, competitive, good-humored, friendly, wise, curious...I could go on and on.  I immediately took to mothering and loved it (never really loved nursing, but I coped).  I am so happy that I, as a woman, was blessed to be the one to carry him in my body and nurture him.  I am so blessed and privileged to be able to stay home with him and watch him grow.  I am a better person because of him.  I am so thankful that I am a mother.  I am so thankful I am HIS mother.