Okay. I’m a bad mom, not really, just in this case.
Friday, January 18th, was Gavin’s 19th birthday. I had a post all planned out, however, life got in the way and it didn’t get written.
Nineteen years ago, I was nineteen years old and heavily pregnant. In fact, I was going crazy because Gavin’s due date was January 14th. He was four days overdue. I was huge and so, very uncomfortable. I saw one of my OB’s on the 17th who took pity on me and scheduled me to be induced. I was thrilled, until I learned the OB on call was the one OB in the practice who judged me every time I saw him, because I was young.
When I finally went into labor, once induced, my Mama helped me through everything. I received an epidural because while I may have a crazy high tolerance for pain, that was one type of pain I was unwilling to experience. Aside from the doctor and injuries I shall never, ever mention here, my labor and delivery were amazing. Then when it was all over, I had this perfect little cone-headed baby boy laying and fussing on my chest.
During my pregnancy, I’d read the books, the websites and made friends with other women who had due dates near mine. So I knew Gavin could hear my voice while in utero. I just never realized the effect it would have on him. After they laid his fussing 8 pound 15 ounce body on my chest, I began to shush and tell him he was going to be okay. He immediately calmed down and just looked at me with this “so that’s what you look like” expression on his face. It was one of the most amazing, awe-inspiring moments of my life.
Now here we are, he’s 19 years old, the same age I was when he was born, and time has flown. He has more than his fair share of challenges in life, yet he doesn’t seem to allow them to get to him. He’s sweet, helpful, kind and loving. I feel honored and blessed to call him my son.