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White House Bound

February 15, 2012

It was the ice storm of 2004.  The power was out, which meant we didn’t have heat, and I was stuck in the house, ordered to stay in bed.  I was days away from having our first child. I just needed to make it through the next few days and we would get to meet our baby.

It hadn’t been hard to stay on bed rest.  I didn’t have another child, and work had been very understanding.  My main goal was to stay pregnant.  There are plenty of people who say that bed rest doesn’t work, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.  This was my first, I didn’t know any better, and I just wanted a healthy baby.

In bed I stayed, until, after 10.5 weeks, I was far enough along and set free.  I squeezed in a doctor visit, a stop at Target simply because I could, and lunch at Poppy Seeds before we started counting contractions.  At one point, the young girl serving our lunch asked what my due date was, and I had to take a second to answer her, because the contractions were about five minutes apart.  “Any time now!” we told her, and we paid our check.

I finally admitted that it might be time to go to the hospital, so we checked in, got settled in a bed, eventually got the epidural (no judging, it was amazing!), and we waited.  I watched TV, and The Man slept.  “What?  I’m tired!”  Really?

A few hours passed, and it was go time.  I remained calm, and all went without a hitch, until The Man’s cell phone rang.  And he answered it.  It went something like this:

“One, two, three, four, fi-“

“Hello?”  He proceeded to have a three minute conversation with his bookkeeper.  He still claims that had he ignored the call, she may have wondered where he was.  Um, dontcha think that the “I’m a dad” call that you can make when I STOP PUSHING THIS BABY OUT will explain everything?

He was born at 8:01am.  The nurses all came running in to see who won the bet.  It was a boy.  The Boy.

He was a great baby.  He put himself on a schedule and slept through the night by six weeks.  He ate anything and everything and had the best baby chuckle.

I know that it sounds like I’m bragging, but if you lived with him now, you’d see that I’m getting my penance.  He talks all the time, and tells me he feels more comfortable when he’s talking.  Just this morning, he was flitting about the house, being a total know-it-all.  When I remarked (with a smile) that he sure seemed full of himself this morning, he said “Yeah, I like being full of myself.  It feels right.”  I’m learning every day just how much he’s like his dad.

He loves learning and he teaches us new things all the time.  We may not be interested, but we pretend to be.  Did you know that Rutherford B. Hayes was the 19th president?  That his middle name is Birchard?  Can you name the 29th president?  I can.

He wants to be a grown up, but doesn’t mind holding my hand.  He wears ties, crosses his legs in that manly way, thinks gray hair is cool, and pretends to go to the office.  Once, after Communion, he said, “That’ll hold me ‘til lunch.”

He marches to the beat of his own drum, and that’s the best part of him.  He isn’t worried about what anyone thinks, and he is fiercely independent.

He has his life planned.  He plans on running for Commissioner, then Mayor.  He’ll become the Governor of Georgia next.   Anyone who knows him trusts that he just may be a US President one day.  Most importantly, he thinks he will be.  He has no doubt.

Happy 8th birthday, kiddo.  You make me proud every single day.  You are handsome, smart, kind, and hilarious.  And yes, I’m kissing up.  I plan on retiring in the White House.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Aunt Leroy permalink
    February 17, 2012 2:34 pm

    Careful what you wish for there Miss Jenny 🙂

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