I actually re-read the blog posts around Theo's birth from time to time because I do look back fondly on it - how everything fell into place so nicely and how magical it was having a new baby in the house. But now I'm going to try to just remember the highlights without crib notes.
I remember how those contractions felt as my sister and I sat here in my living room watching TV as Bobby slept, how I kept watching the clock and wondering if I should call one of the friends that offered to drive me to the hospital. How, even though I was on my actual due date as determined by Kaiser, I still couldn't really believe it was actually happening. How heavy and uncomfortable and exhausted I felt being that pregnant. How worried I was about Bobby. How worried I was about giving birth again.
What a night that was! The other-worldly feeling of arriving at the hospital late at night with everything dark and abandoned. The horrible cervix checks. The frustration of being told I was not in labor even though I was in so much pain. Oh, the pain. That's what I remember most about labor. How much it fucking hurt. How it felt like someone was trying to snap my pelvis like a wishbone at Thanksgiving. Am I happy I'll never have to experience that again, that my boys will never have to experience that? Every day. Every flippin' day.
And then there was little Theo. I had had my eyes shut tight for most of the labor, until my doula said, "Hilary, look! Your baby is being born!" And I'm so glad I did. Theo, with his dark hair and dark eyes and Elvis-like mouth, screaming and indignant and so different from his brother. And the rush of relief that it was over. Over over over.
And it was all just ok. I was ok and he was ok and Bobby was safe at home with my sister and everything was cool. How could I have done this? Defied my fate and age and the odds and had two healthy, awesome kids, after years of terror that I would never get that chance, that I had missed my window, that it "just wasn't in the cards" for me? And yet I did.
Theo is one and Bobby will be three. I have been a parent for three years. It has included some of the best and some of the worst experiences of my life already, and yet I am still a total novice, and probably will always be, since every day of Bobby's life will be unchartered territory for me.
Speaking of which, I am going to try nothing but underpants for Bobby tomorrow. He was inspired by a little friend today and wanted to try, and I feel like his language is good enough to ask to go. It may be a total disaster but I feel like with his third birthday looming we need to at least try.
You need to try things in life...right?