I remember how I spent five days in painful contractions and took three failed trips to Labor and Delivery just to be told that there was nothing they could do to stop the wildly painful and almost-irregular contractions.
I remember how when I went in the last time they finally believed me that I was in labor because I had magically dilated to a five and then jumped to a seven a half hour later.
I remember how I was entering transition by the time they wheeled me into the OR.
I remember sitting hunched over the table and wishing I would just pass out while they prepped my spinal.
I remember them finally ushering my husband in - bleary eyed because he had managed a single hour of sleep after working a graveyard shift before they decided to move my c-section up by a whole week because "baby ain't waiting".
I remember when they pulled him out it sounded like a suction cup.
I remember his head was already starting to point because he was way ready to slip through the birth canal. I remember his scream - oh, he was so pissed off that they had pulled him out of his warm womb.
And his big feet, and his wrinkly old man forehead - the way he latched like a pro - how long and thin his legs were.
Now he's turning three. He's running, jumping, arguing, laughing, singing.
That boy is pure energy - energy that always seems to emit a high-pitched keening sound and that manages to leave hand prints and broken things everywhere he goes.
My sweet little Brett.
Happy early birthday, Buddy.
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