I thought that I would sit down and write this letter to you on your one-month birthday. I thought that four weeks would give me time to gather my thoughts and articulate my feelings. You, however, had other plans...as you have had since you decided to make your grand entrance into this world. So, here you are now exactly twelve weeks, old and I can't remember what life was like without you. This is your birth story, sweet boy. I love you forever.
Your Dad and I were newlyweds on Father's Day, June 20th, 2011 when I broke the news to him that you had taken up residence in my belly. I told him that we needed to have a "family meeting", and with crossed arms and a blank stare he absorbed the news like any first time expectant father would...like a sack of bricks to the gut. We sat, shocked and in awe that we were starting our family. We cried. We laughed. I told him "Happy Father's Day", and then we watched the movie, Juno. For some reason, it felt appropriate.
At the beginning, you were our little secret. We wanted to make sure you were real, so I made a doctor's appointment. At seven weeks and one day, with your Dad holding my hand, we saw you for the first time. With one glimpse of your tiny beating heart, you had stolen ours. There was no looking back.
The next sixth months craaaawled by; as my belly grew bigger, our patience got smaller. Every week, we kept track of your progress by tearing off a link from a paper chain that we made with construction paper. And even though your Daddy (appropriately) nicknamed me 'Preggasaur', he did everything in his power to keep me happy...whether it was driving to Whole Foods for potato salad to satisfy a late night craving or purchasing every pillow, belly band, and nursing bra in the Motherhood Maternity store to make me comfortable. But most of all, he listened. He let me cry, he let me act like a crazy person, and he made me laugh every time he told me that I wasn't fat...I was pregnant. Well played, Edberg, well played.
By the time Christmas rolled around, I was practically doing the same. We visited your doctor and she decided that it would be best for me (and you) to take it easy for the next couple of months. I started my leave from work early and shortly after, turned my attention toward our house. After an unusual cleaning streak left the bathroom tub gleaming and the couch cushions crumb-less, your Dad said, "This kid is coming this week!". This will be the only written proof that your Dad ever has, but he was right.
The next night, I made lasagna for dinner. We sat down to watch the evening news, ate dinner, and proceeded to argue about something ridiculous. Hormone induced, I'm sure of it. Whatever it was, we decided to not to speak to one another and act like we were mad...I retired to our bedroom to read a book and your Dad stayed in the living room to play his "bang 'em up, shoot 'em up" video game. I wasn't in bed for five minutes when I had to get up and use the bathroom, for what must have been the 30th time that hour. When I sat down to relieve myself, I peed like I hadn't peed in months!! Man, it felt great! What a relief, I thought! And then it hit me. I bet that's what it feels like when your water breaks. (earmuffs) Oh, shit. I think my water just broke. No. Impossible. You weren't due for another month. (earmuffs) Shit. Now, I have to talk to your Dad.
Me: Babe!
Dad: What!? (I could hear his eyes rolling as if to say, "What could you possibly want now?)
Me: I think something's wrong.
Dad: What?
Me: I think my water just broke.
Dad: uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
We jumped in the car and made the necessary phone calls on the way to the hospital. Our friend and neighbor, Annaliese, told us months before you were born that she would love to help us get through your labor. My best friend, and your 'Aunt' Tyler had the hospital's address programmed into her GPS long before your due date, and your Grandma Jeanne and Aunt Sarah were on the next flight from Tennessee. The calvary was coming.
After we were admitted, I changed into a comfy nightgown and socks to get settled in for the long haul. Since we lived so close, your Dad ran back to the house to grab some necessities. You weren't due for another month, so we hadn't exactly finished packing "the bag". And when I say, "we", I mean, "I". Your Dad frantically wrote down about 20 items as I rattled them off. Your Aunt Tyler met him at our house to help gather everything to bring back to the hospital. Good thing, too, 'cause your Dad lost the list.
For a few moments, I was alone. I felt awkward in my hospital bed all by myself, almost self conscious. I hadn't shaved my legs or washed my hair in days. I was hot...a hot mess. Then, in a moment of clarity, my vanity dissipated and I started to focus on the task at hand. It was the last time that it was just me with you still growing in my belly. I rubbed you and told you that I loved you. If you were ready to meet us, I trusted you and I was at peace.
The next 15 hours were, literally, a blur. I was dead-set against having an epidural...until I wasn't dead-set against it. Annaliese held my hand and I could feel the power of another woman, another mother, coursing its way from her body to mine. She was my strength for hours on end and the only reason that I labored for so long without any medicine. Your Dad and I were so grateful for her.
After 15 hours, I couldn't handle it anymore. Maybe I should say, I didn't want to handle it anymore. I wasn't prepared, and I was anxious to meet you. I caved. I had the epidural and four hours later, you were ready to meet us, too.
Your Grandma Jeanne and Aunt Sarah had arrived just in time for your arrival. Annaliese and your Aunt Tyler were with us to greet you as well. With your Dad by my side and after twenty minutes of pushing, you were here. You were perfect and you were here. Finally. They placed you on my chest and I fell in love. I fell in love with you, and I fell in love with your Dad all over again. We looked at each other and knew that you were the best thing that had ever happened to us and that our beautiful journey was only just beginning.
We love you so much, Henry Nathan Edberg. Happy (belated) Birthday, my boy.
All my love forever,
Mom
