Happy birthday, Doe

(I realize this is long. I'm not sure if I'm normal, but I love to hear other woman's labor and delivery stories. Maybe just hearing a story of how a child was brought into this life brings me a little closer to my own sweet memories of having my children.)

Eight years ago tonight I was the most uncomfortable and miserable I ever was as a pregnant woman.

Eight years and 8 weeks ago I was put on bed rest after going into labor early. And after some further tests, I was in labor.

And so I waited and laid down for weeks. Only getting up to go to the bathroom (and to stay sane, but don't tell the doctor:)

And at 36 weeks along, I had done every ounce of scrapbooking I could possibly do, being restrained to my bed, and I had read every book I could focus on, and I was done with bed rest.

And so within a day or so of getting up and around, I was in the hospital. I was checked in. My wrist band was on. No one was telling me to go home. I signed all the papers. This baby was coming.

But not really.

After getting my wrist band on (which was the ultimate symbol that I was indeed going to have my baby in the next 24 hours at least), we waited. And I fell asleep. And my contractions stopped. They didn't start back up. And so the next morning the nurses asked if I just wanted them to get some pitocin going and they could start me back up.

Are you crazy?!!

I just spent a horrible night in the hospital getting checked on every 1/2 hour. I was sleep deprived. One thing you don't want me to be, is sleep deprived. So I opted to go home and sleep. I was pretty sure I'd be back by the next afternoon.

Two weeks later I was starting to rethink the decision I had made. I went through all stages of false labor on a daily basis. So when I woke up with contractions on that beautiful Tuesday morning, I got up and watched TV. My OB appointment was at 8:30 am and I was determined to make it until then. BA Baracas asked if I wanted him to stay home from work and take me. No way. I was good.

And after stronger and stronger contractions, I decided to go to my appointment early. I got there at 8:00. When the doctor checked me, he said, "Well, we'd better get you down to the labor department. You probably ought to hurry. You are at a 7."

And when I called BA Baracas from the office phone, I lost it. I blubbered something about him coming quickly.

Life got really good after I got an epidural. I love epidurals. But not for the reasons one might think. I've had children all 3 ways. Yes, there are 3 ways: 1- natural 2- get an epidural 3- get an epidural and feel all the pain anyway.

The reason I like epidurals is because I wasn't in pain and because I was able to enjoy the process so much more.

With my epidural, I was ready to deliver but they asked me to wait for an hour or so for the doctor to be on lunch break. I didn't care, so I agreed. This gave BA Baracas and I an opportunity to bask in this great outpouring, where the veil was so thin. And I knew this child was a special child. Not special like everyone's child is special. OK, special like that, only more special because he was coming to me.

When the doctor came in, three things happened pretty much at the same time: I threw up, my water broke, and a baby started coming out. Doe Doe was born at 12:07 and was 8 pounds 2 ounces.

I love Doe. He is a special kid. He is our peacemaker, although I try not to say that because then the others think they can be the warmongers.


One time when Doe was 2 or 3, I lost him in Walmart. And the first thing I thought was, "How can I go back to Heavenly Father and tell Him I lost one of his most precious spirit sons?"

When we lived in Kansas, Doe was 18 months. Our neighbors had a 4 year old. They couldn't have more children. They would look at Doe longingly and say, if only we could have another little boy like him, our family would be complete.

Doe doesn't look at people and judge them according to what they have, or how they look. He has the most kind heart of anyone I know. He can't handle people to be mad at him. He never cries. So on those rare times that he does cry, it takes all the restraint in me to not decapitate whomever it was that made him cry.


He loves Pokemon. I hate Pokemon. He hates sweater vests. I think he looks good in them. We have to frisk him every Sunday before going to church. Sometimes we forget.

He is very smart. On his report card last week, he got lots of "E"'s (E=exceeds). His teacher wrote a note that he got 100% on his quarterly math test. He got a "2" on "Uses common sense"(The citizenship grades go from a 1-3). When he gets with other kids- boys especially, I'm not sure where his brain goes. I guess it's true: One boy, whole boy. Two boys, half boy. Three boys, no boy at all.

I am so thankful for Doe. He is a special gift in my life.