Now he is SIX

ZOMG I'm posting something.

I know it's been over a month since I last posted and it had been a while before that. It's just... the pressure... the pressure got to me.

But you know what? I'll get into that more in another post.

Because today's post is for something else. It's for GOOBER!

Today is Goober's 6th birthday. SIX! My baby, my last child, my youngest. He's six. It boggles my mind how fast the time has flown by.

So, of course, we must have another birth story.

Goober was scheduled. It was a Friday. My doctor wanted me to schedule him for Thursday but I refused, not wanting his birthday to be a day of mourning for the rest of the country. I remember she seemed irritated by that. Whatev.

That Thursday night, as memorial programming graced our TV, I folded laundry and scrubbed the floors. I washed the bathroom, I dusted the windowsills, I made sure every dish was put away and everything in place for when we brought our brand new baby home. I didn't get even a wink of sleep. Because, really, who sleeps when they know they're going to have a new person the very next day??

We arrived at the hospital at some ridiculous hour. It was still dark outside. I was dressed in my favorite maternity shirt and our bags were packed. Sitting in the hospital bed, all hooked up to monitors and waiting for the doctor to get there and perform my Cesarean, I carefully applied makeup and made sure my hair looked great. I knew people would be taking pictures and for ONCE I was going to be prepared.

As the sun came up, family began arriving. Our hospital room was filled with all the people who loved us, all fresh faced and excited. Before long, The Man was dressed up in some weird meshy get-up, and I was being wheeled into the operating room. Yeehaw!

I sort of wish The Man was writing this because his perspective of the whole thing is so much different than mine. His involves blood and a screaming purple alien and a horrible fear that I would die.

Mine is much less gory.

Perhaps from lack of sleep or a bad reaction to the anesthesia or who knows what else, I had to continuously ask my poor anesthesiologist for one of those little barf trays while they prepped me. It never stopped. Luckily I had followed directions and not eaten anything for 12 hours so it was nothing but water. Oh how fun.

It all seems like a blur... not as clear to me as when Munchkin was born. The Man was very attentive... perhaps a little horrified at what was going on around him.... and before I knew it we heard him cry.

And yes, he was screaming and purple, but somehow my heart grew again and made room for another love of my life.

It wasn't a perfect delivery, though. I was reacting badly to anesthesia and caused The Man some huge amount of worry. Poor Goober had a ton of fluid in his lungs that had to be cleared out and all in all we had the nurses running around in a small panic.

Once my vomiting was under control and I was simply an odd shade of greenish blue and shaking uncontrollably, I was deemed a-ok and ready to head back to see my family. Goober was already in the room being fawned all over by everyone.

And he certainly was adorable.

And he still is!