Five Years Later
I'm here again, taking a break from licking the cupcake batter on the eve of Hosea's 5th birthday. I know I know, you shouldn't eat cake batter that has eggs in it. I take chances sometimes. Usually things work out.
It's common to feel nostalgic on birthdays isn't it? Some people, more than others, feel this way. I know today when Hosea was saying to me, "Mama, you 39, next you gonna be 40" and I was saying, "Yes, let's not speak of it" well, the whole birthday thing was getting to me. And I have many more months to go!
For a kid, though, having a birthday doesn't usually have that kind of baggage yet. Tomorrow Hosea can no longer tell people, "I'm 4 and a half, almost 5" when they ask him how old he is. He can simply say, "I'm 5"! (We'll see, he might have to start adding days to that, given his whole obsession with numbers happening right now!). Of course, a parent is gonna feel that nostalgia when their kid has a birthday, though. And 5 is a big one!
I remember 5 years ago, so clearly, being super pregnant with Hosea and sitting in a chair feeling my huge belly, thinking, "Well, any day now I'll get to meet you," and thinking how special it is, that waiting, even though I wanted so badly for the waiting to be over with...but, the wonder of it all, knowing soon enough he would come, but the mystery was still there on when, how, who this little person would be like. I'll never forget that moment. I know exactly where I was sitting, and I can remember the quiet of the room and the specialness of it all.
Hosea was kind of a "let's take a chance...let's take a risk" baby. Those of you who know me, and know some things, might be aware of why that was the case. We already had two healthy girls, and a marriage that was--for the most part--just hanging on by some last straws. Sometimes the straws got stronger, but sometimes they got thinner and thinner and would break more and give us splinters (can straws give splinters? I think so...). I wanted another child, though, and I wanted a boy. I was under no illusions that, "Oh, let's just have another kid, that'll fix things..."...no, no, no, no illusions of that. I just wanted another kid. I suppose it was selfish. I wanted that boy. I knew it was risky.
Granted, there was some tiny hope in the air, some strength to those straws sometimes--as I said--but it was weak and short lived, and as soon as I got pregnant things all started cracking again.
But I wanted that boy!
Matthew had joked, agreeing to another child, saying, "Give me an heir"...HA! An heir to this throne, the idea was too funny. I suppose he liked the idea of having a boy too, though.
Well, as I said, things started cracking again as soon as I got pregnant. Big things. And they kept cracking the whole pregnancy. And the whole first year of Hosea's life outside of me. And then they really broke, and the marriage ended.
But let's go back a bit...cause I want to...to when I first became pregnant with Hosea. Right there at the beginning I had two very vivid dreams that he was going to be a boy. The first one I remember the most clearly: I had given birth to him in our apartment, and whoever had helped deliver him was holding him up naked in the kitchen, all bloody still, and I could see clearly that he was a boy. The other dream was similar in its explicitness.
My cravings were all for meat and eggs...this me who had been a vegetarian for the last 10+ years at that point ate things like chicken patties, even hot dogs(!) and hard boiled eggs on a regular basis. The deep hunger was insatiable. And the only thing that came close to satiating it was protein. Non vegetarian.
I was tired too. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. More tired than I ever remember being. Feeling more out of control of my own body, my own life, than I ever remember being.
"I'm never doing this again," I said to myself, and others, throughout the pregnancy.
I knew I wouldn't. I wouldn't last. My marriage wasn't going to survive either.
But I was at least going to have that boy.
Halfway through the pregnancy my ultrasound confirmed what my dreams had already told me.
So, 5 years ago tonight I went into labour. I had been dreading it with all my might, knowing how it could be. But of course, wanting the waiting to be over. Wanting to meet this little boy.
I only waited a few hours before taking the epidural. I had tried a natural labour for close to 20 hours with Greta, before it ended in an emergency c-section, and I had been able to give birth to Therese naturally...so I'd already "been there, done that". "Give me that epidural!" I demanded, during a contraction, as I saw a picture advertising it in the birthing room (should they really put those advertisements there???).
The pregnancy had been so hard. So incredibly hard. But I had wanted this boy so badly.
When that epidural hit I remember laying on that hospital bed in complete serenity for the first time in a very long while. I was acutely aware of how at peace I felt, how comfortable I finally was, and I thought how very strange--to feel this way while giving birth. And I was so incredibly grateful for it. It's like I could finally breathe again, after 9 months of feeling suffocated by everything that was happening.
That 9lbs 8oz little boy, the one I wanted so badly, the one for which the pregnancy was so hard, continued to prove in his first 5 years to be my most difficult, and he has accompanied me through some of my most difficult times. He slept with me longer than my girls ever did--by far, he breastfed much longer than they did, he's the only one who bit me (multiple times) while breastfeeding, he made sure everyone else could feel his agony when he was teething, he has done more than his fair share of fit throwing, screaming, crying, testing boundaries, dangerous craziness, and impulsive actions. All of this, to accompany these 5+ years of change and pain and growth and adjustment.
There have been many times, in the last 5 years, when I've said to myself, "Megan, what were you thinking? You should've never had a third child." For so many reasons! And also because this third child has been such a challenge to me, and his sisters, and his father, and others who are close to him.
It's only been these last few months that I've started noticing he's really changing, he's really getting easier...he's been telling people things like "I'm 4 and a half, almost 5", he's been telling me, "Mama, in the morning tell me you yove me, give me a kiss, turn on the yight...and emember (remember) it!", and saying things like, "I'll yove you forever, even I die I still yove you", and then last week announcing to me that he's ready to sleep in his own bed, "Every night! Not just movie night!" And today, telling me over and over again how much he loves me, "Come give me a hug, Mama," and "Mama, come hold my hand," and leaning over for kisses, and telling me he's missed me.
Every time I've thought to myself, Megan, maybe you shouldn't have...well I've known I should have. Of course I should have. He sure didn't save my marriage, but I never thought he would. I'm not that naive. In the deepness of myself I knew I wanted this boy, he has been worth all the risks.
And we all yove him with all our hearts, forever and ever, just like he always wants to make sure of. That sensitive little soul that he is. And yes, while I'm nostalgic and a bit sad that he's getting older, hitting this 5 year milestone, we are all grateful that as he is getting easier! (And yes, I know those girls are bound to get more difficult as teenagers. As my friend says, "It's always SOMETHING!")
As I sit here tonight, taking a break from licking cake batter, I'm thinking to myself a lot of stuff. If I'm ever in the position again to consider whether having a child is worth the risk, or to talk about it with someone else who's mulling the idea over, I will think of all this. This little "heir" to the "throne" that, in some ways doesn't exist anymore, and in all ways never really existed in the first place(!)...has challenged us, and made us all better people in the process. Totally worth the risk, the bites, the fits, the pain. Because remember, it's through that pain that we really can come out changed. I think that's what this little 5 years of Hosea has had to work through, and I think we've all been patient enough to support his sensitive soul--and each other--in the process.
And tomorrow we will celebrate!!!
Happy 5th Birthday my yittle son.
Words cannot even express how much I'll yove you forever and ever and ever.
Thank you for changing my life.
It's common to feel nostalgic on birthdays isn't it? Some people, more than others, feel this way. I know today when Hosea was saying to me, "Mama, you 39, next you gonna be 40" and I was saying, "Yes, let's not speak of it" well, the whole birthday thing was getting to me. And I have many more months to go!
For a kid, though, having a birthday doesn't usually have that kind of baggage yet. Tomorrow Hosea can no longer tell people, "I'm 4 and a half, almost 5" when they ask him how old he is. He can simply say, "I'm 5"! (We'll see, he might have to start adding days to that, given his whole obsession with numbers happening right now!). Of course, a parent is gonna feel that nostalgia when their kid has a birthday, though. And 5 is a big one!
I remember 5 years ago, so clearly, being super pregnant with Hosea and sitting in a chair feeling my huge belly, thinking, "Well, any day now I'll get to meet you," and thinking how special it is, that waiting, even though I wanted so badly for the waiting to be over with...but, the wonder of it all, knowing soon enough he would come, but the mystery was still there on when, how, who this little person would be like. I'll never forget that moment. I know exactly where I was sitting, and I can remember the quiet of the room and the specialness of it all.
Hosea was kind of a "let's take a chance...let's take a risk" baby. Those of you who know me, and know some things, might be aware of why that was the case. We already had two healthy girls, and a marriage that was--for the most part--just hanging on by some last straws. Sometimes the straws got stronger, but sometimes they got thinner and thinner and would break more and give us splinters (can straws give splinters? I think so...). I wanted another child, though, and I wanted a boy. I was under no illusions that, "Oh, let's just have another kid, that'll fix things..."...no, no, no, no illusions of that. I just wanted another kid. I suppose it was selfish. I wanted that boy. I knew it was risky.
Granted, there was some tiny hope in the air, some strength to those straws sometimes--as I said--but it was weak and short lived, and as soon as I got pregnant things all started cracking again.
But I wanted that boy!
Matthew had joked, agreeing to another child, saying, "Give me an heir"...HA! An heir to this throne, the idea was too funny. I suppose he liked the idea of having a boy too, though.
Well, as I said, things started cracking again as soon as I got pregnant. Big things. And they kept cracking the whole pregnancy. And the whole first year of Hosea's life outside of me. And then they really broke, and the marriage ended.
But let's go back a bit...cause I want to...to when I first became pregnant with Hosea. Right there at the beginning I had two very vivid dreams that he was going to be a boy. The first one I remember the most clearly: I had given birth to him in our apartment, and whoever had helped deliver him was holding him up naked in the kitchen, all bloody still, and I could see clearly that he was a boy. The other dream was similar in its explicitness.
My cravings were all for meat and eggs...this me who had been a vegetarian for the last 10+ years at that point ate things like chicken patties, even hot dogs(!) and hard boiled eggs on a regular basis. The deep hunger was insatiable. And the only thing that came close to satiating it was protein. Non vegetarian.
I was tired too. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. More tired than I ever remember being. Feeling more out of control of my own body, my own life, than I ever remember being.
"I'm never doing this again," I said to myself, and others, throughout the pregnancy.
I knew I wouldn't. I wouldn't last. My marriage wasn't going to survive either.
But I was at least going to have that boy.
Halfway through the pregnancy my ultrasound confirmed what my dreams had already told me.
So, 5 years ago tonight I went into labour. I had been dreading it with all my might, knowing how it could be. But of course, wanting the waiting to be over. Wanting to meet this little boy.
I only waited a few hours before taking the epidural. I had tried a natural labour for close to 20 hours with Greta, before it ended in an emergency c-section, and I had been able to give birth to Therese naturally...so I'd already "been there, done that". "Give me that epidural!" I demanded, during a contraction, as I saw a picture advertising it in the birthing room (should they really put those advertisements there???).
The pregnancy had been so hard. So incredibly hard. But I had wanted this boy so badly.
When that epidural hit I remember laying on that hospital bed in complete serenity for the first time in a very long while. I was acutely aware of how at peace I felt, how comfortable I finally was, and I thought how very strange--to feel this way while giving birth. And I was so incredibly grateful for it. It's like I could finally breathe again, after 9 months of feeling suffocated by everything that was happening.
That 9lbs 8oz little boy, the one I wanted so badly, the one for which the pregnancy was so hard, continued to prove in his first 5 years to be my most difficult, and he has accompanied me through some of my most difficult times. He slept with me longer than my girls ever did--by far, he breastfed much longer than they did, he's the only one who bit me (multiple times) while breastfeeding, he made sure everyone else could feel his agony when he was teething, he has done more than his fair share of fit throwing, screaming, crying, testing boundaries, dangerous craziness, and impulsive actions. All of this, to accompany these 5+ years of change and pain and growth and adjustment.
There have been many times, in the last 5 years, when I've said to myself, "Megan, what were you thinking? You should've never had a third child." For so many reasons! And also because this third child has been such a challenge to me, and his sisters, and his father, and others who are close to him.
It's only been these last few months that I've started noticing he's really changing, he's really getting easier...he's been telling people things like "I'm 4 and a half, almost 5", he's been telling me, "Mama, in the morning tell me you yove me, give me a kiss, turn on the yight...and emember (remember) it!", and saying things like, "I'll yove you forever, even I die I still yove you", and then last week announcing to me that he's ready to sleep in his own bed, "Every night! Not just movie night!" And today, telling me over and over again how much he loves me, "Come give me a hug, Mama," and "Mama, come hold my hand," and leaning over for kisses, and telling me he's missed me.
Every time I've thought to myself, Megan, maybe you shouldn't have...well I've known I should have. Of course I should have. He sure didn't save my marriage, but I never thought he would. I'm not that naive. In the deepness of myself I knew I wanted this boy, he has been worth all the risks.
And we all yove him with all our hearts, forever and ever, just like he always wants to make sure of. That sensitive little soul that he is. And yes, while I'm nostalgic and a bit sad that he's getting older, hitting this 5 year milestone, we are all grateful that as he is getting easier! (And yes, I know those girls are bound to get more difficult as teenagers. As my friend says, "It's always SOMETHING!")
As I sit here tonight, taking a break from licking cake batter, I'm thinking to myself a lot of stuff. If I'm ever in the position again to consider whether having a child is worth the risk, or to talk about it with someone else who's mulling the idea over, I will think of all this. This little "heir" to the "throne" that, in some ways doesn't exist anymore, and in all ways never really existed in the first place(!)...has challenged us, and made us all better people in the process. Totally worth the risk, the bites, the fits, the pain. Because remember, it's through that pain that we really can come out changed. I think that's what this little 5 years of Hosea has had to work through, and I think we've all been patient enough to support his sensitive soul--and each other--in the process.
And tomorrow we will celebrate!!!
Happy 5th Birthday my yittle son.
Words cannot even express how much I'll yove you forever and ever and ever.
Thank you for changing my life.
Oh, this made me cry. ♥️
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