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GETTING TO THE BOTTOM OF THE SPANKING DEBATE…

I am just starting to read a book I bought years ago - Raising Self-Reliant Children in a Self-Indulgent World. Perhaps it is too late for me, but I found it as I was cleaning out my closet and decided to at least browse through it.
Upon flipping the pages, I found The Three R’s of Logical Consequences. These state that consequences should be:

1. Related to the behavior.
2. Respectful to both child and adult.
3. Reasonable to both child and adult.

This is the sentence that got me thinking: “And, although many adults think spanking is reasonable, you won’t find many children who agree.”

I can see that. But that is not saying much, seeing as how preschoolers (who, I think receive the majority of spankings) think MANY things are “unreasonable”.

For instance, I’ve seen little ones (mine included) have complete breakdowns over where the ketchup was placed on their plate. Or over the fact that you peeled their apple, when they asked for it to be peeled, but decided that they’d like the peel left intact after all when it was too late. Or over the fact that they simply cannot wear their batman pajamas to the mall AGAIN because they simply must be washed before they decide to wear them to McDonald’s. Or over the fact that Mommy insists that Barbie can be naked at home but she must wear clothes to church.

Whether or not you agree with spanking, I do not think we should use a child’s idea of “Reasonable” as our guide.

I confess. I spanked my children. Their I said it. We did not spank every time we needed to discipline, but we did swat our kids’ bottoms every now and then. We did, however, try to use Dr. Dobson’s criteria for spanking. I hope I remember these correctly, but I think he said spanking was appropriate:

1. In matters of safety, where you must get a point across quickly, such as a child running into the street or reaching for the burner on the stove.
2. In matters of blatant defiance; when you know the child understood your directions, but chose to disobey anyway.
3. When a child purposely hurts another child. This is when the child has reached the age to know better.
Dobson also says that spanking is unnecessary beyond the age of 8 and that then it only serves to embarrass, because most children that age are capable of understanding other forms of discipline.

I would never encourage somebody to spank their children if it is not what they believe. I would, however, encourage parents to discipline their children SOMEHOW. Somebody told me something about child rearing when I was expecting our first child. She said “We always tried to raise our children in such a way that other people would enjoy them as much as we do.”
It was good to keep that in mind - good to be reminded that these children have to go out into the world and interact with others.

Anyway, in the past couple of years, when I come across a spanking debate I will ask my children what they think of spanking. More importantly I will ask them “Do you feel betrayed, or abused, or humiliated, knowing that you were spanked? When you remember being spanked do you feel angry at us?”

And they both scowl at me, as though I’ve grown a second head, and say “Tuh, NOOOOOOO!”

And I breathe a sigh of relief.

EDWARD V

No, I’m not talking about royalty, here; unless, of course you ask this little guy’s parents, who I’m sure will tell you he’s a prince, and will wonder in their new-parent hearts why the whole world has not stopped to take notice of his arrival. Why are the church bells silent? Why are there no town criers on the street spreading the news? Why is there no mob rushing the hospital to get a first glimpse of this perfect boy?

Come on, parents. You know you felt that way too.

My nephew and his wife had a baby boy this morning. Landon Edward arrived at 6:58 a.m. and, with his eight-pound-14-ounce-self, made me a great aunt for the third time. I believe it was Melanie in Gone With the Wind who said “The happiest days are when babies are born.” Melanie was so wise.

So little Landon is the 5th generation of first born sons in my family (on my dad’s side) to receive the middle name Edward. There was William Edward - my grandpa; Ronnie Edward -my dad; Terry Edward - my big brother; Ryan Edward - my nephew; and now Landon Edward - my great nephew. Or is it grand nephew…? I was trying to explain this to my son (The Smart One) and he asked if he was going to have to use the name and I told him “No, because the tradition is on my side of the family and they are all Meadows Men (who will, any day now, be inheriting the Meadows Million, I’m sure.) My husband, The Don, also happens to have the middle name of Edward; though it came with no tradition. It’s just a plain old Edward. The Smart One seemed relieved to be free of the obligation to use the name Edward. It seems he has enough to worry about these days. Like dragging himself out of bed by 12:45 this afternoon so he could see the first showing of the new Die Hard Movie.

Anyway, regardless of how you feel about the name Edward; there is something about a tradition like this that is so life affirming, so comforting, so in tune with the whole circle of life.

Think about it. Some 80 years ago, a couple gave birth to a little boy and decided to name him William Edward. Could they have known how important that middle name would become to their family’s legacy? Could they have know that for at least 4 generations afterward, new parents would be saying “If it’s a boy, his middle name will be Edward”?

I love traditions. I love babies.

A good day indeed.

NEW NAMES….

So, my inheritance check didn’t come in today’s mail either, but I’m sure it will be here any day…..
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In many of the blogs I read, the authors use different names for their families. Some use nick-names and some use initials; both as a safety measure.

So, should I be using nicknames for my family to protect our identity from the 5 people who read this? I mean I think all of my readers know us on a personal level. I actually think my most faithful reader is our daughter (she is the only reason I keep this up) so should I really try to hide our identity from her? Might it confuse the poor girl? And if I do use nicknames, what should they be for each of my dear family members?

For our daughter, the obvious choice is The Princess, or Her Majesty. She is very sweet and thoughtful, but as a little tyke she was ALL ATTITUDE. So much so that we decided she must suffer from SPPS. Perhaps you have heard of SPPS - Self Proclaimed Princess Syndrome. I think the name of this disorder is pretty self explanatory. It is not life threatening; it just takes patience and a sense of humor to deal with the symptoms. She has completely outgrown this sydrome, and is still pretty darn sweet (and mighty cute too) plus she has a tiara or two lying around the house, so we will allow the label to stick. So from now on, our beautiful daughter will be known as The Princess, or Her Majesty. Unless I forget and accidentally type her name.

Our son is a little more tricky. Being a typical (nearly)16-year-old, he could be called “Silent One” or “Moody One” or “He Who Always Sleeps” or “Eater of Many Carbs.” He likes to refer to himself as “Regional Wrestling Champ - 130″ but that is a cumbersome label. As a newborn, he was called “Pumpkin Head” by the delivery nurses because his head was so round and he had red hair. Perhaps we can call him “Mr. President” in honor of his love for all things political and his unusual knowledge of history and politics. Or maybe “The Smart One” because sometimes when his father and I say something to him he looks at us as though we are STUPID. And I know if I could read his thought bubble, that is exactly what it would be saying. I think that’s what it will be - “Smart One.” But, remember, when you read that label to roll your eyes and say to yourself “yeah, right.”

As for my husband, there are also many options. We could call him “Marathon Man” in honor of his accomplishment of completing the Chicago Marathon a year and a half ago. We could call him “Bean Counter” because he is a CPA, or “Finance Man” in honor of his career. Or “Monk” because he is very organized and diligent. We could certainly call him “He Who Treats His Wife Like a Queen” because, well, he does, but that is also a very lengthy title.

My husband loves the Godfather Movies. All of them. Several years ago, he was reading the book and he suddenly closed it and looked at me and said “Honey, from now on I think you can call me ‘The Don.’” And so, for this purpose, I will.

Just wanted to give you all a heads up on these changes, so that you will know to whom I am referring when I mention Her Majesty, Smart One, and The Don.
I do not know what my family would call me if asked for suggestions…..

ANY DAY NOW, I AM GOING TO BECOME A MILLIONAIRE

No, really I am. Seriously. I am not kidding.

My trip to Sam’s today reminded me of this upcoming windfall.

But before I tell you the story, I’d like to make a few of things very clear.

First, when I become a millionaire, I will NOT change. Really, I won’t. I will stay in this house. I will still get my hair done at JC Penney. I will still get most of my clothes at Kohl’s or Target. I will still buy Sam’s Choice water. I will still decorate my house through Hobby Lobby and TJ Maxx. I will still be the same simple down home girl, who can’t keep her house clean and loves Hershey’s chocolate.

Second, I absolutely do NOT want a bunch of long lost relatives and sudden friends crawling out of the woodwork eager to get close to me so that I will buy you things. If you didn’t like me as a middle class housewife, I don’t want to see you kissing up to me when I am a millionaire.

Third, I will be honest. I intend to splurge on a couple of things. I will hire a personal trainer to come to my home to get me lean, because I hate the idea of working out in front of other people. But if any of you want to join me in those private workouts, it’s on me. And I will hire a gardener. I love a beautful yard, but I hate to sweat so a gardener is a luxury in which I plan to indulge.

Now on with the story.
As I was entering the store I saw a man who looked like my uncle Frankie. It wasn’t my uncle Frankie, but thinking of him made me think of the fortune that is sure to come my way any day now. We have chosen to call this fortune “The Meadows Million.” Meadows is my maiden name, and since this money is coming from my dad’s side of the family, we decided it is an appropriate title.

Several years ago, my grandma and grandpa started hearing from a “lawyer” in Texas about a Millionaire named Meadows who had died without heirs. This lawyer, out of the goodness of his heart, was tracking down the heirs and was doing everything he could to make sure they got what was rightfully theirs - evidently SEVERAL million dollars. So my grandparents responded to his request for money to help with the legal fees that he would incur while fighting for this money. I think they sent about $20 every couple of months. But so did many, many other family members.

Fast forward a few years to the day my grandpa died - about 7 years ago. Soon after the funeral, my grandpa’s brother, Uncle Frank called me at home. The conversation went something like this:

F: Hello, this is Uncle Frankie, your grandfather’s brother.
Me: Hi, Uncle Frankie.
Paul (whispering in the background with great gleee): IT’S ABOUT THE MEADOWS MILLION, ISN’T IT? I gave him a thumbs up.

F: I just wanted to fill you in on the status of the money that we, including your grandpa, have been working to free up. I wanted to let you know that since your grandpa has died, you are now a Third Tier heir, meaning you can now inherit DIRECTLY when the money is awarded to the family. While your grandpa was alive, you would have been a fourth tier heir and you would have had to take a portion of your dad’s inheritance, or waited until he died to inherit.

Me: Well, I appreciate your calling and I mean no disrespect, but I am just not sure the money is really there.

F: Oh, it’s there. It’s there. We’re getting closer every day to getting it released. It’s definitely there.

A couple of months later, there was a big meeting in our hometown to update the “heirs” on the progress of the legal battle. My sister and her husband went while we babysat their boys. They came home from the meeting and THAT conversation went something like this.

Me: So, what did you find out?

Sister: Well, we think the money is definitely there and will eventually be rewarded but we are not at all comfortable taking any because it sounds very much like it was all earned through mafia ties.

Me: Wait, what?

I do not remember the rest of the conversation because I could kind of feel my brain bend. Mafai ties? So Paul and I discussed the dilemma for awhile. You know, would we be comfortable accepting millions of dollars that was gained through all sorts of dubious methods connected to the mafia? And what mafia operates out of Texas anyway? Actually I think we discussed it for about 2 minutes before we basically said “Heck yeah, we’ll take that dirty money. We’ll find a way to baptize it right quick…”

THE ROTATION METHOD

My husband and I have stumbled upon a new parenting technique. I’ve chosen to call it the Rotation Method. Here’s how you do it. You have one child leave for an extended period of time, and then just as he/she is coming home, you send the other child off for an extended period of time; thus rotating the children in and out at various intervals so that you are essentially raising one child at a time rather than the two you gave birth to.
Here’s the thing. I don’t like it.

Ten days after school was out, Kayla left for Washington D.C. with a school group. She was gone for 4 days. She came home for 2 days and then spent a full week away at church camp. On the morning we were to pick her up from camp, Blake left bright and early for wrestling camp with his team at the University of Wisconsin. He will be gone 4 days.
I have felt nervous and jittery all weekend. I am ready for both of my children to be home and for our family to return to some state of normalcy.

Also, when people ask us about our vacation plans for the summer we get to say “Our kids both got to take wonderful trips.”

There’s something wrong with this picture.

SHHHH…..

Don’t tell my husband, but I went shoe shopping today. Don’t tell him that I bought two pairs of sandals - both on sale.

Anyway. While I was trying on these sandals, a young sales clerk came up to me and said “Hello, Ma’am, may I interest you in a sample of this Donna Karan body lotion?” “Uh, sure,” I said and held out my arm. And she said “I’ll just give you a hand massage while you try on your shoes.” No kidding, while I was trying on sandals that were on sale, I was also getting a hand massage. Could my day have been any better? And it’s not even my birthday.

*****************

 I had not really been out of the house in about 10 days because I have been in a fog of pain with a pulled muslce. Actually a GROUP of pulled muscles. I think everything from my “trap” to my tricep, if I remember correctly what my doctor was saying. Everything going up the left side of my back and down to my left elbow, with extra pain in my left should blade (no chest pain, no dizziness, no shortness of breath,no numbness or tingling in my left arm) So basically, I had somehow pulled the entire left side of my body.

I have had a pulled muscle before, but I have NEVER had this kind of pain before, not even after my two c-sections. This pain was CONSTANT and EXCRUCIATING. I am not kidding. Oddly enough, it felt better if I was standing and moving my arm. I will let you use your imaginations on how that looked as I tried to stay comfortable in the waiting room of the doctor’s office and then in line at the pharmacy. I think I slept about 3 hours a night for a week, because I would wake up and pace the floor swinging my left arm.

Here’s the thing. For 3 of those days, Paul was on a business trip. I knew I needed a doctor, but I was in so much pain I did not think I could even drive to my doctor’s office and I would not call anybody to ask for help. Why am I like that? I thought of several people I could ask, but I came up with excuses for them without even asking….”She’s has little ones and won’t want to get them out and wait in a doctor’s office.” “She has to be at work by 3 and I can’t ask her to be late.” And on it went. So I went to a nearby walk-in clinic and got something that didn’t help a bit.

By the time Paul got home, I was unable to get an appointment with our doctor until Monday, so he took me to the emergency room where I got a couple of drugs that made me loopy enough to at least get through the weekend. When I finally got to see our family doctor, he told me to stop the happy pills and instead gave me a steroid pak to reduce the inflamation. I was feeling some relief by the next day, and feel even better now, although my arm is still really weak and tires easily. I have no idea how I injured myself so severely. I mean, seriously, I NEVER do anything strenuous enough to warrant such an injury. I HAVE been working on cleaning out our closet, which goes to show you that projects like that could be dangerous. Could it be that I have recently turned 4o and, as comfortable as I am with this age, my body is just going to start falling apart without cause?

Anyway, to repeat my question from earlier, why do I refuse to ask for help? I was really needing help and I know there are people who would have really been glad to help, yet I wouldn’t ask. All this has made me wonder if I have made myself seem unapproachable. Have I let my light shine in such a way that somebody in trouble could say to themselves “I know she won’t mind helping…” or will they think of me and say “I can’t ask her because…”

So, for the record, I am always willing to lend a helping hand. But it will probably have to be my right one because I have to keep my left one swinging.

I’M CRYING ON THE INSIDE…

Has any of you seen “Something’s Gotta Give?” with Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson? There’s a scene where Jack’s character has broken up with Diane’s character and they show her in numerous situations afterward bursting into loud “ugly face”tears, wailing at the pain of the breakup. It is pathetically funny.

For the last couple months, I have pictured myself bursting into loud ugly face tears over the phase of life we are in.
As of April 18th, we are raising two teenagers. TWO TEENAGERS.

This morning, I did the mental wailing as I watched my son (with Dad in the car) drive off to school. He has his learner’s permit and in about 2 months will have his license.
Last week, we bought him a car. Well, let me rephrase that. Last week, we bought a “third vehicle that is Mom’s and Dad’s but will be availabe for Blake to drive.” It is very important to my husband that we do not call it “Blake’s Car.”

Here’s the crazy part. We bought a red mustang. It’s a 97 and has 130,000 miles on it. But after spending a day with our mechanic, it was given a clean bill of health. It was our neighbor’s and it was their first baby before little Logan came on the scene 4 weeks ago.
When he first mentioned it to us we were both very clear with our “No Way!!” Then a few days later Paul said “You know, it would be SO convenient to just walk across the street and hand them a check and not have the nightmare ahead of us to go car shopping.” We hate car shopping. We are not car people. And we are so not cool enough to be driving a red mustang.

Just like we are not cool enough for our Jeep liberty with the sun roof. We are the couple who took the Jeep out one spring evening with the sun roof open and the radio blaring. After half a block, I was reaching for the radio dial saying “That is just too loud,” while Paul was closing the sun roof saying “well, that’s just too much wind.” And I repeated with mock sadness “we are SOOO not cool enough for this vehicle. So we bought a red mustang, which I have started affecionately calling “Blake’s little red pony” because we are not allowed to call it Blake’s car. And the clincher on the whole deal was being able to walk across the street and avoid the pain of car shopping. So now it is done, the “third vehicle that will be available for Blake to drive” has been purchased.

I must say I feel a little indulgent. It is not at all what we had in mind for our 16-year-old. But the price was absolutely great, we trust the previous owners, it checked out well with our mechanic, and we get to avoid car shopping. And I am wailing on the inside as we approach this milestone. Because I know the next milestone is college. Oh my stars, what will I be like then?

I am also wailing on the inside most weekends as Kayla announces her plans. Her weekend usually goes something like this:

Friday evening: hang out at the park “Can we give (fill in the blank) a ride?” to watch a ball game…or just to hang out.

Saturday afternoon: The Mall. Although I have just been told that she and Becky have challenged themselves not to enter our mall for 10 days. TEN DAYS. They are courageous young women.
Saturday afternoon/ post mall: a movie. Or another ballgame at the park.
*note: Kayla is usually not allowed to be at the mall or the movie in the evenings without a parent so things must be scheduled carefully around her over-protective parents’ hang-ups.

Saturday night: the weekly game of ditch at Becky’s house or Kayla’s house. This is what we used to call hide-n-seek only they play in teams. Last week we saw an impressive girl victory when the boys failed to get their whole team to the base. My husband stood in the yard and said “Boys, this is just painful.” I didn’t think it would be kind to point out to one boy that not only had he just been tagged by a girl, but an ASTHMATIC girl.
When I said to Kayla one evening “I thought ditch was where you rang a doorbell and ran off the porch. I don’t want you doing that,” Blake piped up and said “Uh, mom that’s DING-DONG DITCH.” Well of course, I felt so dumb.

Also, it is considered questionable to allow one of your team members in ditch to “puppy dog” the base. That means have somebody hide right by the base so that when the runners think they are home free, the “puppy dog” can run out and tag them at the last minute. The girls employed this tactic. The girls also discussed having Kayla fake an asthma attack so when the boys ran to her to see if she was ok, they could tag them all. This lead our neighbor to say to his 5-year-old son who was watching with fascination “see, Son, girls are tricky. Remember that.”
It was fun watching the “ditch” game. And it was fun that Kayla didn’t mind us being around. Of course she knew that, since boys are involved in this weekly game, we would be making our presence known - FREQUENTLY.

My point is, our kids are busy. ALL THE TIME. This is why I insisted that they both get cell phones a couple years ago, because I wanted to be able to have frequent check-ins from both. And I must say, they are both really good about checking in.

There was a time when Blake was at a friend’s house much of the time but we still had Kayla around. Now they both have such incredibly busy social lives and so many friends, that we rarely see them on the weekends. I miss them, but I think this is how it should be. I think God gives us this time to prepare us for the empty nest.
Paul and I have decided that through the summer, on Sunday evenings we would take a family trip to Dairy Queen or Shaved Ice just to have a little time with our kids. So as I was eating my chocolate cone the other night I was able to justify it by saying “it’s for the children. I will do anything for our family…”

But there are still those moments that make me want to melt into a heap of tears because the time is going so fast:
Kayla’s 13th birthday party.
Purchasing a third car so our son can drive himself to wrestling and school (and drive his sister around.)
Paul making a special trip to the home of Kayla’s boyfriend so she can give him a birthday present.
Shopping with Kayla where we no longer spend time in the toy aisle but the makeup aisle and the purse department instead.
Hearing Blake’s voice on the phone asking if his girlfriend can drop by.
Hearing some of the questions that our son has asked his dad, which I cannot share because that would break a confidence. But they are questions that has given us a glimpse into his character and made me weepy and say “maybe we’re doing an ok job after all.”
Hearing my daughter’s alarm go off BEFORE OURS so she can get herself up each morning and start flat-ironing her hair. These children that NEVER slept as babies are now getting themselves up and around without us entering their rooms.
Blake coming in to my room at night when Paul is traveling to say “Mom, I’ve locked up so you don’t need to go back down. Is there anything else I can do?”
And the list goes on.

And so does life. Life goes quickly. And that is a good thing, I guess.
It means I don’t have time to melt into a puddle of tears several times a day.
And that is a good thing too. Can you imagine the looks my children would give me?

TAKING A BREAK FROM THE SERIES….

I cannot seem to catch my breath. It has nothing to do with the bronchitis I have suffered this past week.

Kayla has just heard that a classmate has a brain tumor. He is in St. Louis where he is most likely having surgery tomorrow. He will be in the hospital 2 to 4 weeks and Kayla wants to go see him so we are trying to work that out.

Please pray for this boy. I will not give his name but you don’t need it. God knows who he is.

I truly don’t know him very well. I know that he is “part of the group” that Kayla hangs out with. I know that he is a lively, funny young man who makes Kayla laugh.

I know that he is somebody’s child.

And that is why I can’t breathe. Each of you who is a parent knows why. I keep thinking of the fear and the exhaustion his parents are dealing with. I keep thinking of how they probably felt as though the wind was knocked out of them when they got the news. I keep thinking of them holding their little boy while he got the news. I keep thinking of how the seconds, minutes, hours, will slowly tick away tomorrow while they wait for his surgery to be complete. And I keep wondering. Are they thinking what I’d be thinking: “why couldn’t it be me instead of my child?”

I have reminded Kayla that a year and a half ago, we saw a little boy recover from brain surgery amazingly well. I have reminded myself that prayer works. I know it does.

Please. However you pray. Whether you kneel, bow, fall prostrate, lie on your bed before sleeping…pray for this family. Pray for this boy to regain his health and to be free of fear. Pray for his parents to have some sense of peace. Pray for the doctors. Pray for the friends of this boy - some have already been down to visit him - that they can minister to him and keep his spirits up.

Please pray. I know it will work.

AND THEN THERE WAS YOU - PART III

I was so lucky with each of my pregnancies to never have bad morning sickness. As long as I kept food in my stomach, I felt pretty good. I did have heartburn pretty bad with you, Kayla, but according to the old wives’ tales that just meant you were going to have lots of hair…
Emotionally, I was on a roller coaster the nine months I carried you. I was thrilled at being pregnant again, yet frightened that I would lose this baby also. I don’t think I ever relaxed. I think I sort of made an agreement with myself that if I carried this baby full term, I would not try again. And if I lost this baby, I would not try again.

Even though I didn’t have any pregnancy-related sickness during those months, I was ill much of the time. I had a severe sinus infection for about 6 weeks. My OB doctor would not prescribe anything and kept telling me to take over- the- counter medicines “for as long as necessary.” I felt terrible. Poor little Blake went to a sitter nearly full time, because I couldn’t get out of bed for very long. Finally, I decided that 6 weeks worth of over- the- counter medicines couldn’t be good for me or the baby, so I went to our family doctor. After telling me I was huge (He was the only man who could get away with that) he prescribed a mild antibiotic that was “perfectly safe for the baby; otherwise I wouldn’t be giving it to you.” I started feeling better in 36 hours. One more reason I was not thrilled with my OB doctor, and I totally missed my first doctor. See, with Blake I had gone to our family doctor; a rare thing now to opt for a family doctor over an obstetrician, but it is what I wanted. After being assured that I was very low risk, this brand new family doctor took me on as a patient; because he was one of just a few in the area that delivered babies. Let me tell you, I was treated like a queen in that office. When you are one of maybe 12 pregnant patients, they practically roll out the red carpet when you walk in the door. I got very spoiled with the extra attention, the phone calls where I actually spoke to the doctor himself, and the friendliness of the whole staff. By the time I had you, Kayla, our doctor had stopped delivering babies and so I had to become one of the thousands of women seen by one of the few OB doctors in our town. But I was very fortunate to have gone through my first pregnancy with the doctor I had chosen first, and I tried to focus on that.

I was now with a practice of 3 doctors and they alternated each visit; but mostly I saw just the nurse. They never really learned my name. When I signed in at each visit, I had to sign in with a number. I used to tell Daddy that I was uterus number 4178. When I asked a question, I got the same answer “It’s part of being pregnant.” Luckily, when I asked a question of our family doctor when I was pregnant with Blake, he would roll his stool over to me, look me in the eye and EXPLAIN why things were happening the way they were. So I didn’t have many questions this time around, thanks to my first doctor who kept me very informed.

After I got over the sinus infection, I felt pretty good for awhile, until you decided to pitch a tent on my bladder. I swear you lived RIGHT ON TOP of my bladder for 3 months. I could not walk the lenght of the mall without having to find a bathroom RIGHT NOW!!!!

Then when I was two weeks from my due date, I had a severe hemipalegic migraine. At least we assume that’s what it was. I had symptoms of a stroke. I lost vision in my left eye. The left side of my face went numb, my left arm and leg began tingling and going numb off and on. My speech became slurred, and my thoughts became muddled. I did not remember my son’s name. I kept saying Daddy had been at church, not work. When Daddy came home to take me to the doctor, I signed in and misspelled my name, wrote my address and phone number wrong, and of course could not remember my uterus number at all. Looking back, these doctors should have instantly called in a neurologist, but they didn’t. They simply admitted me to the hospital and under diagnosis wrote “tingling in hands.” All these symptoms lasted a few hours and, surprisingly there was very little pain in my head. A nurse tried to make me take 2 tylenol with codeine and I begged and pleaded “no, the pain’s not that bad; it’s not good for the baby.” I remember a lengthy discussion with this nurse. We finally compromised and I took one. For the record, when you were a few months old, I had another severe migraine like that. I called our wonderful family doctor and he got me into a neurologist THE NEXT DAY. I see that doctor 1 or 2 times a year and that’s where the medication comes from that I keep in my purse to prevent/stop one of those headaches.

That whole experience left me physically drained and emotionally wrung out. At the doctor’s office, two days later, one of the OB’s said “I think for some reason your body has just had it. We need to plan a c-section for Monday” This was Wednesday. I was disappointed to be having another c-section, but was ready to have this baby. Before we left the office, the doctor told Daddy that since I was slightly anemic, she wanted me to eat as much iron as possible for the next several days. Then she said “Sunday for lunch, I want her to eat a big plate of shrimp.” Aha! I had a medical order to eat at Red Lobster before my c-section. Then she asked what questions or concerns I had and I asked one thing of her, “With my first c-section, they kept the drape up and I didn’t like that. I want to be more connected with the delivery. Can you lower the drape before you deliver the baby?” And she said “I always do.”

As an aside, we had decided not to find out if you were a boy or a girl. But after the first ultra-sound, I really kept thinking I wanted to know; even though I was certain you would be a boy and we would name you Nathan James. But when I requested the second utrasound I was told that was only done if there was a problem. Luckily that wasn’t the case, but I was suddenly very serious about knowing the sex of this baby. I really thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t know. Remember this when I get to the moment you were born…..

The night before my c-secion I prayed for peace so that I could sleep well. And low and behold I slept…well…like a baby. Interestingly our family doctor was at the hospital making rounds when we got there; so he sat and visited with us for a while before I went into the operating room. I was also thrilled to see that I had the same anesthesiologist that I’d had with Blake. I am not ashamed to say I fell in love with him when Blake was born. It’s ok. Daddy knows. Not only did Dr. Wonderful make the contractions stop when he administered my spinal block before my unexpected c-section, but he had the sweetest, gentlest voice in the world. He kept his face right by my ear and talked to me like a golf announcer - real low and calm. I would not know that man if I saw him on the street because of his surgical garb, but I love him. I really do.

Anyway, after what seemed like forever with all the hubub of the operating room, they let Daddy come in. That’s when I knew it was almost time. Almost time for my baby. And then I heard the words I’ll never forget. I heard the doctor say “Lower the drape.” I started shaking. I was trembling with excitement. These weren’t the baby shakes I got AFTER Blake was born, or the ones I’d get after this baby. These were tremors of joy. I was so excited to meet you, I was shivering as though I was freezing.

AND THEN THERE WAS YOU. The doctor brought you out of me and straight up to my face and I thought I could tell it was a girl, but I wasn’t positive because of the way she was holding you. Then she kind of turned you a little and said “It’s a girl.”

And I became a blubbering idiot. I said four words…over and over again “Oh, it’s a girl….Oh, it’s a girl…oh, it’s a girl…” Dr. Wonderful said “Do you happen to have a boy at home…?”
And Daddy wiped the tears from my cheek and said “You have your daughter, Honey. You have your Kayla Beth.” And then he said “She really looks like you.” I was so glad at that moment that I had not had the 2nd ultrasound. The joy and excitement of finding out right then that I had a daughter was well worth the wait.

Of course our family doctor had been informed that he’d be getting a new patient that day. I’ve heard that a pediatrician has 24 hours to see a newborn in the hospital after he/she is born. Well, our doctor called the hospital on his own and asked if I had delivered yet and when he was told yes he said “Tell Heidi I’m on my way.” He arrived FIFTEEN MINUTES after you were born. I do not know what that did to his schedule that day, but it was just one more thing that made me thrilled to have him caring for our family, which was now four instead of three.

On the day you were born, I had a list of things I’d be teaching you. I had no idea the things you would teach me along the way…..

More Later….