September, 2001 - Part 1: Extreme Joy

September 3, 2001

I have what's called a microwave personality -- I want it, and I want it now. Needless to say, my whole pregnancy was a lesson in patience for me. Not only did I have to wait a long and agonizing three weeks to see if I was pregnant, but then I had to wait another 37 weeks (give or take) for my bundle of joy to arrive!

My pregnancy had been without issue - no morning sickness, no excessive weight gain, no gestational diabetes...no problems whatsoever! I arrived at the hospital at 2:30 in the afternoon experiencing nothing more than a "funny feeling" every 8 minutes, and delivered Cameron three hours later. All along I insisted he was due on Labor Day, even though the doctors predicted he would come one week later, on September 11. Sure enough, Cameron was born on September 3, 2001 -- Labor Day. He was 18 inches long and weighed a scant 5 pounds 10 ounces.

Ron was a fantastic birthing coach. I went into hard labor right after my water was broken, and Ron was attentive, loving and supportive through the whole process. Of course, at the first hint of what the term "hard labor" truly meant, I was breathlessly calling out for the anesthesiologist and an epidural.

"You're ok to have the epidural at this point," the nurse told me after she checked my progress and scanned the monitor printout. "But, the anesthesiologist is in surgery, so it will be about an hour."

Ok. At this point refer back to my opening paragraph: I have what's called a microwave personality. I can't even wait an hour for dinner to be ready! I thought I was going to die -- if the pain wasn't going to kill me, my impatience certainly was! As it turned out, I had no time for dropping dead. I didn't think so at the time, but I did progress quite quickly for a first-time mother. In no time at all, the hour passed, the anesthesiologist arrived, the epidural was placed, the doctor returned from his golf date, I pushed three times, and Cameron was in my arms!

He was so perfect. I know. I know! Every mother believes their child is perfect, and given what a mother goes through, she has every right to claim so. However, Cameron really was "Gerber Baby" perfect! His little face was smooth and pink. His head was nicely round with just the slightest whisp of blond hair. His fingers and toes were all there and just begged to be admired and counted. And last, but not least, his vibrant, violet-blue eyes were full of expression; the doctor said Cameron's eyes were so intriguing -- as if they were windows into an "old sole". I immediately thought back to my dream the morning I found out I was pregnant when a voice told me that my son was in me, and he was "anxious and excited for his life to begin". From that point forward, I fully believe that life does begin at conception. I don't care what anyone from any side of the political / religious aisle tells me; I know what I know.

No other experience in my whole life compares to the birth of Cameron. I couldn't believe that he was there - a part of Ron - a part of me. I treasured holding my newborn son, remembering everyone's statements that they grow up way to fast. Soon, he wouldn't want his mother holding him anymore; he'd be off to school, playing with friends, tagging along with his dad, playing in sports, and then - God forbid - dating a girl that would push me aside in his heart! Before any of that could happen, I was going to treasure each and every moment I could.

What a miracle birth and new life truly is! I felt so blessed, so honored, and so complete with my family. That whole first week of his life was such a blur. There were late night feedings and cuddlings, diapers and naps, and visitors with gift bags of treasures for our new addition. Family was all around us - my parents, Ron's parents, my step-son, Trevor, Tom and Yvonne, Bill and Carol - they were all there. Yet, on the following Monday, September 11, 2001, I was really looking forward to being alone with Cameron.