Time to party!

Seventeen years ago today I was sitting on a surgical glove filled with crushed ice.  It's really the best way to celebrate giving birth, the ice-glove.  Probably TMI, but keep it in mind next time you're faced with discomfort in the girl zone due to, uh, complications of childbirth.  Ice gloves are serious business in that situation.

The ice glove is great when needed, yes, but the best thing was the arrival of Thing 1, a 7 pound 8 ounce 22-inch-long leggy squal of a boy, my heart in someone's tiny body, my love grown ten-fold.  NEVER in my life had I felt so very connected with another human being, never has another human being changed me so utterly.  Complete adoration for that small bundle of human was instant and magnificent. 

The worst thing was maybe the reason for the ice glove, or maybe the upper respiratory infection I got while IN the hospital after his arrival, but I digress (even though I can still recall CLEARLY how amazingly terrible I felt, physically.   Everything hurt, everywhere, and that's even before we launch in to a discussion about trying to nurse.  I've tried to block those memories from surfacing ever again).

So yes, 17 years ago my eldest arrived, 5 days late after nearly a week of labor.  I was ready to have him, but sad to not be pregnant anymore.  While I'd perfected the waddle, I loved the reason for it and the notion of 'baby.'  He is my first, and was an amazement to me, even while still snugly housed in me.  Also, an expert in utero gymnast.  Holy heck did that kid MOVE.  It's nice to think back on.

As a number goes 17 is not a lot, but as time goes it's rather a long stretch when you see how far a person can come in 17 years.  He's nearly a man now, but he will always, always, always be my baby.  My 6-foot, 4-inch, deep voiced, whiskery, blue-eyed, happy, goofy, baby. 

Happy birthday, Thing 1.  I love you tons and bunches.

Getting prepped for senior portraits yesterday...STYLIN'!