I dreamed of attending the Olympics until Joe got me knocked up again last June. My dream was to stand in the cold somewhere on the marathon cross country ski course and ring a cow bell. Should we chance traveling? Sigh. We decided to give the tickets to my mom and dad.
When my water broke three weeks early at 4:00 p.m. on February 14 (and here I thought all I was getting for Valentine’s Day was a box of chocolates and a card!), we didn’t make the same mistake twice: we called the midwife right away.
Being unprepared, I did the usual: cleaned things, boiled water, made beds, unpacked birth supplies, etc. I am so embarrassed that all of the photos show what a mess the house was. Finally, at 6:00 p.m. I decided I could relax and have a baby.
Sam’s birth was different than William’s. Instead of just Joe and me until the final moments, I invited two girlfriends and Joe’s mom over. It was more like a party. And with the Olympics on TV, I got to watch the Men’s Moguls event.
Joe likes to tell the story of me laboring: the skiers racing down the course, William cheering “oh, oh, oh” at every mogul, then “ooooohhhh” over the jumps, me leaning over the back of the couch, contracting.
An argument broke out with the crowd: was the American in first, the Australian in second and the Canadian in third? “Nooo”, I moaned through a contraction, “the Australian is in first, the Canadian is in second and the American is in third.” I love home birth. Not only do I get to watch the Olympics in high def, but everyone knows where the beer is and I can blame the cat for any unusual bad smells.
My friend Deirdre noted that William went to bed a King and woke up a Prince. Joe’s dad had an insightful comment, too, “Another boy, huh? In 15 years, they’re gonna say, ‘The Gray Boys? Yeah I know ’em. But I wasn’t with ’em last night.’”
The worst part of the whole experience was that, technically, we could have made that hockey game! Darn. It could have been Sam’s first road trip and cow bell ringing.
No comments:
Post a Comment