First of all, let me say HAPPY FATHER’S DAY to all the dads out there. From a child’s standpoint, I feel very conflicted about the role of the father. My biological father is an interesting specimen – he’s a total deadbeat. I’m glad to have a “fill-in” in the form of my step-dad. If it weren’t for him, well, let’s just say it was good to have him around. From a mother’s standpoint, I’m amazed by my husband’s love for his children. He is a great father. Dads, I hope you understand how important you are to your kiddos. If you can’t be there with them all the time, just make sure you’re “there” for them 100%. Your kids need you.
Now. An apology. I missed posting yesterday because I took a day trip up to Summit County with my dear friend, Hillary. She’s moving back to Ohio shortly and we just had too much fun. See the photos on Facebook. So I missed Ice Cream Soda Day. Bummer. Having worked at the Kirk Kone, I know I have some good stories. However, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, so you’ll have to wait until next year.
OK. National Skate Day. Man, I loved that roller rink in Reynoldsburg, Ohio. My Elementary school experience wouldn’t have been the same without it. Lacing up those skates, loving the pulsating music, waiting anxiously for the hokey pokey and backwards skate. I ROCK at skating backwards. And I had “the comb”. You know, the big-toothed comb with the oversized handle designed to fit in your back pocket. Completely necessary for perfecting feathered hair. These combs usually declared a statement of some sort on the handle. Mine said “If you can read this, you’re skating too close”. I loved that thing. It was a necessary skating accessory.
Ben’s school has a skating party once in a blue moon. We’ve been once. Madeline was too young to skate on her own so I couldn’t really get my groove on. But the next time we get the opportunity I’m so there. I’m going on eBay to find an oversized comb and while I don’t have feathered hair anymore, I’m so going to request “Renegade” by Styx and rock out the rink.
I hope I don’t fall and break my hip.
So. Finally Summer Day. I love this day. Not because I love summer. I have red hair and very fair skin. Our species are more akin to wearing long pants, parkas and, well, covering every inch of skin we have. I love this day because I like to tease my son. See, I went into labor with my fine young son on June 21, 2001. June 21st is the summer solstice. It’s the longest day of the year. I realize that the longest day of the year is technically all about the amount of sunlight we receive, but I tease my son that since he took forever to arrive – over 25 hours of labor – that it was, indeed, the longest day of the year.
June 19 was my “false labor” where I did the “walk of shame” (see post from June 19). So, I went in to my OB/GYN for a follow up on June 21. Matt was with me, as was every other pregnant woman in the Central Ohio area. The waiting room was PACKED. I was miserable. My feet looked like overfilled water balloons by this point. These feet could have starred in their own horror film.
After realizing that my wait to see the doctor would be extensive, I knew I would have to go potty before my actual appointment. I went up to the nurses station and requested a little cup to leave my specimen in and headed back to the bathroom. Just as I was starting to sit down on the toilet and position my cup, a big splash occurred. I mean BIG. Being a normal person, I should have just assumed that this was, indeed, my water breaking. However, since I had just done the “walk of shame” on the 19th, there was no way I was going to embarrass myself again. So, I left my “specimen” and said nothing. I went back out into the waiting room and whispered to Matt that I thought my water had just broke. He urged me to go say something to the nurse but I declined. No way. I’m not embarrassing myself again. Forget it. I’ll just wait.
A few moments later a nurse came out into the waiting room. She was holding my sample. Glancing around the packed waiting room with a look of “duh” on her face, she said, “Uh, Sarah Brewer?” Feeling like a child get a scolding, I lowered my head a bit, lifted my eyes to her and even raised my hand a little bit. “Yes, ma’am. That’s mine.” I stammered. Every woman in the waiting room glued their eyes on me. They KNEW what was in that cup. I wasn’t so sure. The nurse said “What is this you’ve left me?” All the women were anxiously awaiting my response but I was horrified to answer. So, since it wasn’t multiple choice, and no one was willing to help me cheat, I gave my standard response: “I don’t know”. She looked at me, pointed at the door and said “Go to the hospital. Your water just broke.”
I was hoping that the waiting room would erupt in a cheer but that didn’t happen. The air was thick with envy. So, we collected our stuff and I commanded my grotesquely overblown feet to get me out of that waiting room.
Labor was grueling. Exhausting. Never ending. Two epidurals worth. My little Ben had no desire to come out. I was threatened with emergency C-section at one point during the night. I was fine with that. I was completely over being in labor. Enough already! Plus, I really wanted to know if it was a boy or a girl. C’mon, kid. Don’t make me wait any longer.
Finally, at 11:48 AM on June 22, 2001, he arrived. Benjamin Harrison Brewer. 7 pounds, 2 0z. 19 inches long. Red hair. They gave me a chance to rub his little toes before they whisked him away. He was in distress. Cord issues… not passing APGAR initially. He was tired. Me, too. But it was worth it. It still is. It always will be.
Love you, kiddo. Thanks for making that longest day of the year one with such an incredible ending.