I remember every emotion, every feeling, the pain, and the joy.
I remember my fears. I remember my excitement.
I remember the outfit that Joey was wearing.
I remember being super annoyed when he was filming me while I was in extreme pain and rockin' an oxygen mask.
I remember the exact moment when I realized that dang epidural was not working.
I remember wanting to punch my nurse when she told me that because things were taking so long, my baby was going to come out with a "really pointy head." And then proceeded to try justifying that ridiculous comment by telling me, "but that's okay, we'll just slap a bow on it."
I remember my daughter's first sound. The most precious little scream.
I remember the overwhelming emotion and the instantaneous, never-knew-existed love I felt when they plopped her on my chest.
I am so incredibly thankful for those memories. I am so thankful that I remember.
Eight years ago today, halfway around the world, my son was born.
And I have no idea what I was doing on that day.
I can only imagine....
May 19, 2004: It was a Wednesday. I was twenty years old. I had just finished up my sophomore year in college, and would soon be starting summer session. I am sure I was with Joey, considering that we spent every waking minute together. We were more than likely just hanging out at my parent's house where I lived. We were probably playing an insane amount of ping-pong games, because we were always playing ping-pong, and he would never let me stop playing until he won (and that always took a super long time....I am not one to throw a game....even if it is in my best interest.)
|Whooping Joey in front of an entire cruise ship. |
He is on the other side of the table crying. (I am not sure what I am doing, but I can only guess I was suppressing laughter)
I wish I did.
I wish I knew exactly what went on in that hospital room the day that he was born.
I wish I knew how his birthmother felt.
Was it hard for her to sign those papers? Did she struggle with the decision?
What about his five older siblings? Were they there? How did they feel?
Archie spent 50 days in the hospital after he was born. For 50 days my baby was alone, in a hospital. No mom or dad there to comfort and love him. I pray that someone loved him while he was there.
I wish his birthmother could see him now.
Not because I want to show her what she is missing.
But because I want her to see how amazing her son is. I want her to be proud of him. I want her to be happy that he has a family who can't imagine life without him. That he is loved by so many. That he is a cherished, beautiful, hilarious little boy.
I don't think about these things often because it is hard. But on days like today, I cannot help but think about her. I cannot help but grieve for my son and his rough start to life.
I am also so thankful to "K", for giving life to my son, for bringing him into this world, eight years ago today.
Happy Birthday, my precious son.
Here is to many years of making new memories.