I said, "I just love you buddy."
Today is Hoover's 6th birthday. Last year, I wrote a brief synopsis of his brief life, mostly about screwdrivers and calls to poison control.
This year, I'm a little more introspective.
Sometimes I complain about my kids a little too much. Sure, I lace humor in it, and it's nothing most of you aren't saying (out loud or to yourselves) about your own kids. But in that, sometimes I forget what a truly awesome experience it is to be these kids' mom.
Hoover almost didn't happen. Disgruntled Husband and I decided in Summer 2004 that Larry Potter needed to be a big brother. And we got pregnant.
And then, like many pregnancies, we had a miscarriage. I was only a few weeks in my pregnancy...maybe six weeks along. I had told my mom I was pregnant, but not my dad. In fact, the first time many of the people on my dad's side of the family knew I had been pregnant was when I told them I had miscarried. There were some things going on at the time with that side of the family, and I'm not sure they believed me.
I was sad and went into my safe mode: research and development. I also threw myself into working out. When the doctors told me it was safe to try again, we did. I got pregnant again.
And had another miscarriage. The week of Thanksgiving. At my mother's house. I told no one. I had been to the doctor that Friday before, and had heard that what was, was not any longer, and to expect the pain and physical discomfort like I did back in July.
At this point, I was not only sad, but also raging mad. Why was this happening to me? Why was God doing this to me?
The thing about me is that I take comfort in research, like I mentioned above. Within minutes of the EPT showing two lines with LP, I was at Borders buying every book they had on pregnancy. I joined pregnancy boards on the internet, did a lot of fun research about my baby, and sadly, even paid some internet company $20 to "guess" my baby's gender before my ultrasound.
|Happy birthday, my little broccoli-loving boy.|
And when I got pregnant again in November, I calculated my due date to be July 27, 2005.
At the time, I hated that I did that.
My faith in science was a little shaken, so I decided not to follow doctor's advice that time. And December 23, 2004, I found out I was pregnant again.
All signs were pointing to this one not sticking either. The first ultrasound showed a baby due three weeks later than we had calculated. Not a good sign. Doctor's due date was August 29, 2005. The ultrasound showed September 11.
Shortly after this ultrasound, I experienced a great deal of work stress, resulting in me quitting my job. When I went in for my appointment that month, I had expected to not hear a heartbeat. I had prepared myself.
But there it was.
There things were. Everything seemed to fall into place...we bought a house, moved into it, and I got a part-time job at a department store.
July 26th, while at work, I started having what I thought was false labor. The next day, the doctor had me come in, and informed me I was now on modified bed-rest and given a prescription for medication to stop my, now determined to be real, contractions.
Hoover was born two weeks later, at 36 weeks, 5 days. At 7lbs., 4 oz. The doctor said if he had gone to full-term, I would be looking at an 11 pound baby.
And looking back, six years later, it all seems like yesterday and a million years ago, all at the same time. Those feelings of desperation and doubt, the sadness that followed each miscarriage.
I don't get into religion much on this blog, because I believe it is up to each of us to determine what is real and right, not someone else. But I can tell you that my little blond hurricane sitting on my porch swing last night is here for a reason. He is truly evidence to me that God is real.
Happy Birthday, Hoover.