Two years ago...

Dear Elliot,

Saturday, October 13, 2007 was supposed to be your birthday. A pressure system went through and made everybody in St. Louis go into labor that day, and I was no exception. At about 10am, I was sitting in the basement spinning some kool-aid dyed wool when suddenly, undeniably, my water broke. Which is a nicer thing to say than my pants got soaked and I went scurrying to the bathroom with liquid gushing out of me.

I know - right? Eeew.

Your dad was about to sit down and grade papers. Seriously, I think that was a first - he actually had organized piles stacked on the dining room table, and he had a plan. He hated grading, so he was that much more excited when I announced that we had to go. Now.

We were both a little in shock, and a little panicky, but we made it to the car - me wrapped in towels and trying to find a comfortable way to sit without ruining the upholstery, your dad driving too fast and grinning ear to ear.

We checked in to the hospital around 10:30. When we'd pulled up, a man had been wheeling away an empty wheelchair - the only one in sight - and we flagged him down and convinced him we needed it more than he did. We'd taken a class about a month before you were born, and so we knew where to go, and off we went.

Your dad had already called half the people in the midwest between getting in the car and the time we got to our room, so we'd only been there a few minutes - just long enough for me to change into my hospital gown - when people started to arrive. Grandma and Grandpa, MawMaw and PawPaw, Uncle Brad, Auntie Beth, and Auntie Vanessa all hung out and watched Mommy labor.

I don't remember all of it, only bits and pieces. We were so excited, and everybody was impatient to meet you, but you weren't in any hurry, so the Doctors decided to help things along with a Petosin drip. Everything was easy till that kicked in, then I started to put Daddy to work massaging my back, neck, and hands as my body tried to shrink down to the size of a marble, thus evicting you from your cozy home.

What followed was a lot of joy. I can't imagine a room more full of love, hope, and expectation. We were getting so close! Contractions were only a few minutes apart. It was late in the afternoon, but we knew it wouldn't be much longer.

Then, a switch on the Petosin machine popped. We looked at it curiously, and soon the nure came in with some bad news. The staff, already overwhelmed with too many patients, had to deal with two emergency c-sections, and anybody who could wait would just have to wait. That meant no inducing drugs, so we hit a stand still. The contractions slowed, and we waited.

I don't know if it was an hour, or two, or more. It's hard to remember now. However long it was, it was exhausting and frustrating. When they came back to turn the drip on, and the pain started again, it was like starting all over from the beginning. I was tired, and afraid I wouldn't have the energy for delivery, so when they offered, I gladly took the epidural. We sent our family out in the waiting room, and the anesthesiologist came in.

For me, that was the scariest part of labor, and the most painful. I tried to relax, but couldn't, and I felt the needle go in. I thought maybe I had made a mistake, that this was worse than labor, but then, after two contractions that I was sure would make me pass out but for the adrenaline, it all went away. I could breathe and relax, and soon I fell asleep.

I remember people coming into the room quietly now and then to check on me, and I think I slept about 3 hours. It was almost midnight. The nurse came to check on us, and she said I was ready - we could transition to the delivery part of this adventure.

I psyched myself up for battle while your father rushed out to give a status update. The nurses had me do a little test push, and sure enough, there you were - ready for the world.

The doctor came in, along with about 600 other people. They encouraged me and gave me some last minute instructions, like "Push REALLY hard!" and we were off. The first contraction came, and the doctor said everything looked great, and she started setting up her baby-catching gear. One of the nurses grabbed my left knee and tried to put it behind my ear as she told me to bear down through a contraction. Everybody in the room cheered, and told me to push harder. The doctor joked with the nurses about not getting her dirty, they were all a little slap happy after what had been almost 24 hours straight of deliveries. We were the last, and the doctor was clearly relieved.

She was turned away when another contraction started. "Should I push?" I asked. I could tell you were ready to get out of there, so she said yes, and I pushed. Hard.

She turned just in time to see that you were on your way out. "Stop. Pushing. Right. Now." She barked. I did, and just tried to breathe, and out you came - tiny and perfect. She had me catch you myself - not something I'd planned, but I'm so glad she did. "Reach down," she said, "He's right there - reach down and get him."

12:46am, Sunday, October 14, 2007.

Not more than 5 pushes, and there you were, in my arms. That moment when you were born I reached down for you, and brought you up toward my face, and you looked right in my eyes, and you smiled. I may have been delirious, and may not, but I swear you did. And maybe it was because you'd left a trail of poop all across my thigh and probably on the doctor's shoes as well, but smile you did. Those 600 nurses made quick work of the cleanup, and soon you, your daddy, and I were alone in the room with each other - bewildered and amazed and overwhelmed and proud and so so happy.

We've been through a lot since then, but even at the worst moment - when we lost your dad - the happiness from that day has carried me. Your smile is the light of my life, and fills me with joy.

I love you so much, boo.


One day, I hope you'll show more enthusiasm about getting a cupcake for breakfast, and I hope you have fun today.

Happy Birthday.

Love always,
Mommy