I woke up that morning already tired. More than pregnancy tired. Too tired to take Izzy to the park that morning. I asked if she minded taking an early nap that day. She was surprisingly accommodating for a not yet 3 year old and so we dove under the covers in my bed at 10:30 and conked out. An hour later I woke up feeling something. Something I'd never felt before. Rushing to the bathroom I hit the toilet just as my water broke. Broke isn't even close to the right word. Gushed like a bursting pipe is more like it. And it's not just a one shot thing. I gushed. And gushed. And gushed. In between gushes I managed to get to a phone and let Jon know what was happening. Promising he'd be home soon, I called my brother as he was my babysitting back up plan until the babysitter showed. Iz woke up, Dave showed up, I made peanut butter sandwiches for everyone as contractions showed up every once in awhile. But, no Jon. He called to suggest I meet him at the hospital but I quickly shot down that option. Turns out he wasn't at his office as I'd been led to believe. He was at a deposition in Harlem and it was a long assed trip to get down to the west village.
He finally showed up and we hit the streets. Picked up flowers on the way, to give to Iz after the baby was born, and then couldn't get a cab. It almost felt like one of those anxiety scenes from a movie. I wondered if a police car would pick us up but we finally flagged down a reluctant taxi who zipped us up to NYU. I deep breathed really well, handled labor far better than I expected, remained drug free and except for the last half hour that sucked beyond anything I could have possibly imagined, in which I screamed for drugs, had a total panic attack, and changed my mind about having a baby. But, 2 pushes later which caused the nurse to scream in shock, Jack was out in the world.
What an amazing moment to see the person who's been living inside you for the first time, face to face. He was perfect. He was Izzy with lighter hair. That was my first thought. My second was that I'd never go through childbirth again. Needless to say, I didn't.
I had wondered how I could possibly love another kid when I already loved Iz so much. There wasn't any space left to love someone else. Or so I thought. My heart was full and I was afraid there'd be nothing left for this little one. But Jack opened this new room I didn't know was there that was only his. It was waiting for him. I love him with everything I have and in no way did it take away from anyone else.
He is stunning, beautiful, smart, snarky, sensitive, deep (in certain circles he's known as Mr. Zen), witty, laugh out loud funny. He can also be annoying and a terrible listener. He loves to read to me before he goes to bed at night. He's a full-fledged Glee fanatic and can vogue at moments. His movement is astounding—he's lithe, lean, graceful. Watching him on a ripstick is water flowing. All the more remarkable as he had sensory issues when he was little and couldn't balance. Couldn't catch a ball. Now he's loving little league. And he can sew better than most kids far older. He has a designer's eye, focus that far outweighs his years and a visual sense that never ceases to surprise me.
He's battled much in his little life and has had a list of doctors and therapists that rival most people in their later years. What that does to a person is something we're all still working through.
Then again, who isn't working through life? It's finding joy and acceptance in quiet moments that is what I'm hoping beyond hope Jack discovers this year.
Hey, I wish that for all of us.