Try not to hurt yourself.

On this day, 7 years ago, I was at a pool party, celebrating my brother-in-law’s graduation from high school. It was a pool party, but I wasn’t going in the pool because I was pregnant and didn’t see a need to spring for one of those maternity bathing suits. I was due July 12, but was confident that I’d go a month early like I had the first time.

I spent the entire day walking– sitting– standing– leaning– sitting– walking. Couldn’t get comfortable to save my life. But no contractions, so it couldn’t possible have been labor.

My 2-year-old made the hubs stay in the pool the whole day, and when it was time to go home, he volunteered to give the little regulator a bath. I thought I would lie down for a little bit. That’s when the uncomfortable feeling became a crampy feeling… and moved around to the front.

Ever heard of ‘back labor’? ‘Cause I hadn’t.

So we called my mother-in-law, with whom we had made a deal to call when we knew it was time to go to the hospital…. only to find out that she had gone to the movies. The hubs called her cell, hoping she hadn’t turned it off like they tell you to when you go to the movies.

Thank goodness the movie they wanted to see had sold out, so they were on line looking for another movie. Thank goodness again that the movie theater they went to was right next to our house. Lil’ Regulator was in bed when MIL got there and we headed off to the hospital.

We get there, and the contractions were pretty rough. Turns out a ton of babies were born that day and because they were coming up on a holiday the staff was a little slow on the cleanup. I was sent to a Recovery room, usually for moms who had just undergone C-sections. I was not having fun at all. They cleaned up a nice big room, which didn’t matter to me because the hubs and the medical staff were the only folks I wanted in the room.

It was the room with special lighting and plenty of extra space; it was, clearly, the room that would be used if TLC was taping an episode of “A Baby Story.”

The doctor came in, I asked for the epidural, and the doctor looked “under the hood” and said, “Too late– start pushing.” Six pushes later…

My little Toughie was born at 9:59 pm, all 7lbs., 14 oz. of him.

(I later learned that an associate of my father-in-law’s has a granddaughter with the same birthday…. except she didn’t wait until Mom got to the hospital: she was born in the front seat of the car on the side of the highway.)

He is my little sweetheart, who always thinks of others and gives and shares. He has the Irish twinkle in his eye, so sometimes he gets up to no good, but never with malice aforethought. He’s very physical, and sometimes that results in cuts and bruises that never slow him down. He loves to play with friends and cousins alike. He doesn’t follow his older brother, but they get along quite well. And I love him to bits. He is my heart, now and always. So happy birthday, Toughie.578_1337442730-297x300

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