Tomorrow Theo is eight. Last night I had him do his first load of laundry, which he attacked with his usual good will and enthusiasm. Eight years ago I was starting to suffer with early contractions; I *think* Theo was born just about spot on his due date…? It’s funny how you forget these things. But I do remember sitting on the couch with my sister in my favorite green dress (I wonder what happened to that…?) and writhing in discomfort, finally deciding I should just head to the hospital to get checked out and make sure I wasn’t in labor. I remember the painful cervical check, and being told I wasn’t in labor, but a kind nurse telling me I can hang out for a couple of hours to see if anything develops. And then suddenly I was in real labor, and I remember clinging to the nurse in agony, and calling the midwife. And then oh, the suffering, the suffering. And why didn’t he just fly out of my body with a couple of pushes like Bobby did, why is it so hard? And then the midwife saying, “Hilary, open your eyes, your baby is being born!” and then there this strange little dark haired child was, nothing like his brother, and I held him and told him he was going to do his own thing in his own way. And the relief that labor was over and I would never have to do it again. Never ever.
I’m glad I have a complete record of all these things on this blog, because you really do forget. And I don’t know why we remember certain things and forget others. I remember how the house buzzed with magic when the new baby finally came home a few days later; I remember waking up to the horror of the announcement of my friend who had her baby that day losing her to cardiac arrest.
But here we are on the eve of Theo’s eighth birthday. He’s a smart, friendly, extroverted child that I don’t feel like I’ll ever have to worry about. So unlike his brother while he simultaneously worships him. We are solidly in school-aged kid time, and these are good times for us. I worry what the tween and teenaged years will bring us; but I can’t think about that now.
Last week I got that much closer to things being wrapped up - I did a lengthy zoom call with the main rental place for the wedding to figure out the lighting and other logistics; Tuesday after next we meet out there to walk the space. I paid for the cake order, and met with my friend to go over flowers. My dress is now trapped forever in Russia and they can’t refund me, either, because of banks being shut off, so after wasting weeks of time on them, we’re back to my sister making it and me shopping for fabric on Monday. The F finally got me addresses to invite his friends after I threatened to not remind him again, so we are officially out of invite mode. It’s coming together.
My employees have still not answered my emails from now almost two weeks ago, so I decided to write one last time and then replace them all. I have a back up plan, so I feel confident going forward. I spent all week stressing out and working on it.
Our shipping container was not delivered because of a screw up on their part, so we now will probably have to wait weeks or even months for another one. No word from any contractors. Good times.
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