At eight AM I told the Mister it was time. The pain was unbearable, the cat refused to come near me, and I felt like someone was kicking me in my lower back.
The Mister replied by telling me to follow the doctor’s advice and take a warm shower.
It didn’t help.
Around nine thirty, during an episode of Northern Exposure, I couldn’t take it anymore and demanded that I be taken to the hospital immediately.
Queenie started the car and I remember groaning down Chestnut Street. I felt some of the pressure release, and looking down, seeing a curly head.
Still not ready to meet the world, the Teen waited until we got to the parking lot of Jefferson Hospital to make her entrance.
A nurse smoking a cigarette took a hard drag, flicked the butt, then delivered my baby right there on the front seat.
Sixteen years ago today, my first love entered my life.
After she was cleaned and I had the Lion King soundtrack playing softly in the background, I realized that I was introduced to one of the most perfect examples of love that there was.
I did all of the cliche things: counted toes and fingers, traced her mommy mark (a blue mark on her shoulder that sometimes is mistaken for a bruise) watched her sleep and kissed her lips until we were both chapped.
Watching the teen grow and mature, I can’t help but feel the tug in my heart for my first born. Under the scowl and that funky teen attitude, I see me baby. She’s taller than I am, towering an extra six inches, and way more mouthy than I would ever dared to be, but she made it to sixteen. But she’s still my baby.
I remember her first day of daycare when she waved me on only to for me to return at the end of the day to see her howling her head off. I recall the day I decided not to raise my hand in anger because I wanted my hands to show only love to her, not hurt.* I remember her clutching my hand afraid of the first day of real school, only to run off screaming when she found a friend. When I returned that day there were no tears, only non stop chatter about her classroom and teacher.
Our next hurdles are boys and driving. Having already taken one driving lesson, I welcome giving some dude the stink eye over her operating my car.
Today, I probably won’t cry.** Those tears are being saved for her Hollywood trip in July. But I’ll sneak a hug, and tell her happy birthday.
To my darling daughter, part of my summer bookend baby (the Boy is Labor Day) I love you so much!
Have an awesome day.
*the idea of jacking her up crosses my mind every so often.
**who am I kidding? I’ll boohoo like someone stole my iPhone.
~ Posted on the fly by Mrsrkfj