Dear Noah - 52 Weeks

Dear Noah,

Oh my sweet, sweet boy. Where have these last 365 days gone? Where did my newborn baby go?

I have mixed emotions about you finally turning the big ONE - it's truly bitter-sweet.

Because of my "baby blues" for a few months following your birth, I have regrets over missing the (hundreds) of moments I missed because I wasn't "present".

Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte makes me sad - silly I know - it reminds me of the handful of times your dad and I took you to sit on the patio with us when you were so tiny and I was so sad. That in turn reminds me of when GG came to take care of me, cook for us and coach me through the darkest days...despite the brilliance you brought to our lives, I couldn't see it...not then.

I don't think I can find the words to express how deeply sorry I am for not holding more - especially now, since you don't want to be held - for not loving you enough.

I'm hoping for the rest of my years I can make up for those months we lost...

The morning of your birthday I went into your room and sang 'Happy Birthday' - it was hard to sing, I was getting choked up...but you were so sunshiny happy it was hard to be wistful and sad.

For your birthday we had a big party - with 30 of our family and friends who came over to our house to celebrate the day you came into this world. You had so much fun, toddling around the living room or on the back deck while Daddy barbecued. You received TONS of presents - lots of trucks - and a few outfits (with overalls! Mommy loves little boys in overalls!)...what a spoiled little boy you are!

I made chocolate cupcakes with blue icing and you LOVED the icing - not surprised - but just picked at the cupcake.

We were all exhausted after the big bash - you napped for nearly 2 hours - and I went for a rest too!

These past 52 weeks have been riddled with ups and downs, but, obviously, mostly ups - the highest of highs, the best of the bestests is what you've brought to mine and daddy's life.

We can't get enough of your giggles, your kisses, your (mostly gummy) smile or your "Mum-Mums" and "Da-das"...you're like the most wonderful drug, the most wonderful high we've ever been on (SAY NO TO DRUGS!).

Your personality it bursting with an inquisitiveness that boggles my mind, with a yearning to touch, taste, drop, pinch, shake, push, and smell (like mommy) EVERYTHING...and when we say "no", you smile and do it anyway...you bugger. But I can't really blame you, this world and everything in it IS completely new to you.

We've spent a few adventurous days at the cottage and you've loved every moment, as I hoped you would. You love pushing an old train - that Uncle-Cousin Ray Ray got on his first birthday - around the cottage or on the grass. You love the water, waving your little hand or pulling me deeper and deeper...no fear...none.

You're eating everything now and loved your first taste of GG's homemade pesto - woah, you love that stuff! You also loved the spaghetti I made, so much so you wanted seconds!

Speaking of food, you were - thankfully - off the bottle weeks before your birthday...I was so proud of you, but sad at the same time. Check another milestone off the list, add another check to the Boy Category.

Every day I see a little less baby and a little more boy in your (still) grey-brown-blue eyes. The roundness of your face and the overall baldness of your head has been replaced with the Johnson pointy chin, a full head of dirty blonde hair, long eye lashes and two bottom teeth.

Happy first birthday, Noah. May you have many, many, many more celebrations and live a long, happy life full of big joys and little sorrow. May you continue to be inquisitive and yearn to know everything about this big, giant world.

Mommy loves you, now, always and forever.

"As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."

Love,

Mommy

xoxox

365 days ago...

On the eve of Noah's first birthday I can't help but reflect on where I was and what I was doing at this time, one year ago.

I was at the West Parry Sound Health Centre, it was a Friday and I was being induced.

Probably around now, Tony and I were walking the halls. From my labour room, past the permanent "residents", past the little coffee shop, to the front doors and back. I would stop every now and again - contractions - I'd rub my belly, lean on Tony and groan.

I sent my Mom home at around 12:30 a.m.

Tony and I settled into the tiny, single bed ready to "rest".

I remembered I hadn't taken out my contacts. I got out of bed, stood up and my water broke all over the floor.

"Call the nurse," I said and bolted to the toilet.

Tony called the nurse, then called my Mom.

That's when things got rocking and rolling.

All through the long (and lonely) night, I was in hard labour.

A wet face cloth on my forehead, in my mouth between my teeth, on my face, on my arms, was my friend. I remember gripping and pulling on the plastic handles of the bed, sure with the next one I'd rip the sucker right off.

I moaned and breathed - I remember the nurse coming in at one point saying: "I'm going to have to get to you slow your breathing down." Fuck you, I wanted to say.

It wasn't until about 3 a.m. that I asked for something. When they offered me an epidural or morphine, I was surprised.

I opted for morphine, something to take the "top" off the contractions. It seemed to take FOREVER for my doctor to get his ass into my room and okay the drugs and by the time they gave it to me, it took doubly forever for it to kick in.

I don't remember much else of that night or day, just sleeping - dozing actually - through each contraction, some that came back to back to back to back.

By 10 a.m. the next morning - Saturday, September 13 - my doctor checked me and said I was okay to start pushing.

And fucking...push...I...did...for FIVE hours.

That's right. Five. Hours.

I pushed on my back, on my hands and knees. I pushed squatting on the floor...with my feet nearly behind my ears...I was a pushing machine!

But alas, it was all in vain. Something was wrong. Noah was in the wrong placement at the right time.

Facing sideways, facing up - I don't remember - but whatever way he was facing, it was wrong for exiting my vagina.

And when the doctor could do no more - after trying to vacuum him out and accidentally breaking a blood vessel (that required a stitch and me screaming at him "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!) and giving me horrifyingly strong petocin - he told me I would have to have a c-section.

A. C-section.

And then I cried.

I cried and my Mom left the room.

I cried into to Tony's arms - sobbing, choking...wracking sobs of defeat, exhaustion and disappointment.

But by the time they wheeled me into the operating room - some 30 minutes to an hour later - my tears had dried and I was EXCITED...but scared.

There I lay on my back, being rolled into a cold, bright, white room with huge lights - I thought I was dying.

My doctor numbed me from the waist down and I was hooked up to a dozen machines.

I asked for good music, made jokes about the junky classical they had playing and told my doctor that I forgot I was getting a baby out of this...

And a baby I did.

As soon as I heard the wee boy's cry, I looked at Tony and we both began to cry.

Noah was taken to a table just beyond my view and I could barely choke out the words, telling Tony to leave me and go to him.

He cried and cried my little boy, but as soon as they brought him to me, and he heard my voice say, "you're so BIG!" he stopped.

Happy first birthday my special, wonderful, captivating one.

It's been one heck of a year.