I’m sure it comes as no surprise to anyone who has ever met her that the daughter didn’t come into this world quietly.
She was a perfect baby in the making. I loved being pregnant. I didn’t gain a lot of weight. I never felt the least bit queasy. And I got an acceptable amount of attention. She was due at the end of February and being that it was Leap Year, I hoped for a Leap Day birth. But, alas, the child started clawing her way out a week early and I as I got out of bed on Saturday morning, my water broke.
I was admitted to the hospital that afternoon and nothing happened. I stayed overnight and still nothing happened. So, Sunday morning they induced labor with Pitocin. And then something happened.
I had joked my way through Lamaze class, certain that I would be tougher than any woman who had ever given birth in all of history. I already imagined saying to the nurse, “Oh, is this all there is to it?”
Instead I said, “Give me drugs. Now!”
To which she responded, “Oh, honey. You don’t know what pain is yet. It’s going to get a whole lot worse.”
Luckily, it didn’t.
Instead, the doctor called for a c-section.
In my post-birth euphoria, I made dozens of calls, retelling the of-no-interest-to-anyone-besides-my-spouse birth story over and over again. I laughed with my sister who had delivered my niece by c-section the year before.
“Why doesn’t everyone do it this way?” I asked, still completely numb, thanks to a stiff spinal injection.
“Oh, just wait till tomorrow,” she said. “Then get back to me on that.”
I guess there’s just no avoiding it. Giving birth is a painful experience.
I kept meticulous baby book records on that first child. I know where we were when her umbilical cord fell off, what day of the week it was when she got her first haircut and have a map of her mouth with each tooth marked as it emerged from the gum.
And being a writer, I knew jotting down some of the cute things she said as a child would make for interesting reading down the road.
April 12, 1999 (Age 7)
“I get this feeling that when I grow up, I’m going to be really, really rich, or famous. Or something.”
January 1998 (Age 6)
Daughter: What’s all this business with the president?
Mom: Well, some people are saying that the President has a girlfriend.
Daughter: So, what’s wrong with that?
Mom: He’s married and shouldn’t have a girlfriend.
Daughter: Well, why in the world did he tell anyone?
Mom: Actually, he didn’t. She did.
Daughter: Well then she’s dumber than he is!
July 24, 1997 (Age 5 1/2)
Today we were driving along and Leo kept squealing for more and more crackers.
“Leo!” I say. “You’ve GOT to be full by now!”
“Maybe he’s just doing it because he likes to see you doing things for him,” says the daughter.
“Do you ever do that?” I ask.
“Yes. Like today when Max had a hot dog and I said I wanted one so you had to make one for me. And you know I only took one bite.”
November 1996 (Age 4)
We were in the toy aisle at the store and Max was throwing a tantrum wanting every truck in sight. The daughter shrugged and said, “Well, Mommy. YOU made him.”
May 1995 (Age 3)
(The daughter has had an imaginary boyfriend named Jason for a long time.)
Daughter: Jason’s not my boyfriend anymore.
Mom: Oh that’s too bad, what happened?
Daughter: He left me for another girl.
Mom: Why did he do that?
Daughter: I don’t know. I guess he just realized he never really loved me.
And that was the end of Jason.
October 10, 1994 (Age 2 1/2)
Yesterday we went to Kids R Us. The daughter saw the little car outside that you put a quarter in and get a ride. I had told her we were going to McDonald’s afterwards for dinner.
Daughter: Mommy, can I have money for the ride.
Mom: No, Molly. I don’t have any money.
Daughter: I bet you’ll find some money when we go to McDonald’s.
Then after some reflection:
Mommy, if you don’t have money, do you have a credit card?
April 1997 (Age 5)
Daughter: Mommy, do you ever wish you had more time with Daddy?
Mom: Sometimes.
Daughter: Well, I know how you could have had more time with him. You could have stopped after me. Just had one child and then you’d have more time.
If I didn’t have it in writing, I wouldn’t believe it.
But then, again, maybe I would. She hasn’t changed a bit.
Lyn Familant
so adorable…love Molly's observations and love even more that you kept all her stuff!