This week is kind of a weird week. Yesterday was my eighth anniversary with my company, and tomorrow is B's first birthday. It's the kind of week that kind of makes you take stock and look back.
2000 was kind of a rough year. I moved back from Atlanta to Boston by way of New York. I was kind of a transient for a while, working temporary gigs in New York and living with my brother and his then wife, and staying with my parents while interviewing in Boston. I wanted so badly to live in New York permanently. But it wasn't in the cards. I went on so many interviews in New York that I'm sure there are some I don't even remember. But the hiring processes at those companies were painfully slow, and as the economy started to slow down in 2000, some of the positions were yanked just as they were about to make me offers.
Then, I came back to Boston and went on a few interviews. The job I ended up taking was not a dream come true, but it was offered quickly and decisively, and at a salary that seemed like so much money then (it wasn't). So, I took it, and moved in with my parents. The remainder of that year, before I moved into Boston, was a little dreary, I'll admit. But it helped me get back on my feet financially (college and my extremely low paying first job had put me in a bit of a hole). And that year set me up for the next several, when I lived in Boston with my friends and had the time of my life.
Fast forward seven years to October of 2007. I was nine months pregnant. I remember the 24th of October last year so vividly. I wasn't due for another two weeks, but GOD was I ready to have the baby. First, as anyone who's ever been 38 weeks pregnant knows, it's...uncomfortable. Plus, I wanted to meet my baby so desperately. I didn't even know whether it was a boy or a girl...although my intuition knew all along.
On the 24th, I was hanging at my sister's house, praying for labor to come. I firmly believe that praying for labor to come is something you do out of sheer desperation. Becuase labor? Is really not something you should ever wish on yourself. Although, admittedly, the end result is SO well worth it. And after a while, the memory of how bad it really was fades a little. Of course it does. If it didn't, we'd all be only children.
At 5:45 that afternoon, as E was on his way to Game 1 of the Red Sox/Rockies World Series, my water broke. I remember being excited and terrified. I remember my niece mirroring those emotions. I think she was afraid I was going to have the baby right in their downstairs bathroom, which is where I was when my water broke. I remember my sister calling poor E, and his frantically making his way to her house while my brother gave away his precious Game 1 ticket. Someday, I'll find a way to make it up to him (although, I do think the iPhone and the HD TV were a solid start).
I remember going to the hospital with steadily intenisfying pain and wet pants (sorry, but it's true). I remember watching the beginning of Game 1 from the antenatal room, then being brought to L&D as the pain got worse. The rest of the game is a bit hazy. I remember E telling me at some point that the Sox had scored 11 runs, but that was during the time that I was waiting for my doctor to approve the epidural so I wasn't quite as enthused as I'd normally be. Apparently, my labor progressed a bit more quickly than first labors normally do, and even though I'd warned my doctor that this would be the case (my mother and sister were both also blessed with quick active labors), he wasn't entirely prepared for HOW quickly. But he finally showed up and approved the epidural order and in went the needle. Best. Needle. Ever. Do I sound like a junkie, saying that? I'm okay with it.
Then came the waiting, as Roly Poly (as we called B before he was born) got into position. This all went quickly, too, and I'll spare you the gory details, but at 3:58 a.m. on October 25th, B was born. He came out angry and cold, all curled up, and I had to lift a leg to see whether he was B or A(the first initial for our girl's name). He was beautiful. Right from the get go, he was gorgeous. I'll post a picture as proof.
The nurses had all heard the story of E's dashed Game 1, and E was still wearing his Sox jersey and hat, and my sister was wearing her Sox sweat shirt, so we'd been dubbed the Red Sox family. They made B a little "B" hat and onesie. So, right from the start, he was a Sox fan. All in all, that was quite a night.
October has always been my magic month. So many of the most wonderful of my days have been in October, so it makes perfect sense to me that B would've chosen to come a couple weeks early, just to be born in October. And tomorow, he'll be a year old. Wow.
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