The Night We Met Small Boy

Now that we’ve started potty training and SB (small boy) is slowly becoming a Disney themed underwear kind of guy, I’ve been thinking about how it all began (well, we know how it all began, I mean the Big Delivery Day).

Maybe it was because I had a scheduled C-Section, but the logistics of his birth pretty much amounted to making sure someone could take care of the dog and wondering what a nursing gown was.  Of course we poured over the pregnancy books before he was born, “look, he’s the size of a bean, a raisin, a Volkswagen, etc”, but the coming out part?  Not so much.  Once again, denial ruled supreme.

The night my water broke (a week early), BB (my husband, or Big Boy) was sleeping in the other room – he claimed my snoring was so loud that it sounded like a freight train was barreling through our bedroom.  Hmmph.  That’s the thing about pregnancy – I really gave up any semblance of dignity early on (I wore silver Birkenstocks to work, for God’s sake), and by the time I was due I frankly didn’t care about anything except weighing less than BB when SB was born.  I also cared A LOT about chocolate covered raisins, but that’s a story for another day.

I was so clueless that when my water broke that I’d thought I’d wet the bed.  I sat there like an idiot, and then I realized what happened when the first contraction hit.  And here’s the crazy part – I got totally calm.  For the four of you who actually read my blog, you’ll note that calmness isn’t usually my strongest point.  I woke up BB (who, by the way, was doing some pretty impressive snoring too), we loaded up my overnight bag and away we went.

The rest of it was pretty standard stuff – the C-Section, the overwhelming awe and love and bunnies and sunshine and rainbows upon meeting SB, lots of crying and then we were in our room with a tiny baby and no Owners Manual.

The nurses at our hospital were angels – truly.  No one laughed that I actually packed a book in my overnight bag.  And no one said anything when I kept clicking the little painkiller thing to get more drugs – I felt like Keith Richards in a nursing gown.

And now we’ll fast-forward two and a half years later.  It’s Saturday night, and instead of going out and whooping the night away, we stayed in and whooped that SB pooped in the potty.  The times, they are a-changing…

How did your big D-Day go?  Were you prepared?  Did you bring any reading material?  And does anyone really know what a nursing gown is?


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