I saw it coming the night he was born. A week late already, he came into the world on President's Day, 1992 (also Michael Jordan's birthday.... big shoes to fill... LITERALLY!). As is my luck with many things in life (now remember this was long before the popularity of swanky birthing suites), they were doing construction on my side of the maternity floor so I had no access to the bathroom in my room. I had to haul my (VERY SORE) butt down the hall and around the corner to use another patient's bathroom (seriously, I swear). Here I am, stumbling down the hall back to my room, arms full of "necessities," when I glance into the hospital nursery. I swear there must've been a thousand babies in there, and the place was lit up like Polish Cathedral (I have never seen a Polish Cathedral, but it's a big saying around these parts so I'll just safely assume it's darn bright). I look at the babies, all snug and sleeping peacefully. Then I see one, a parent's nightmare.... arms flailing, blanket all askew... screaming its head off... ONE BABY out of the whole bunch. I remember actually saying out loud to myself, "I feel sorry for that poor mother." Then it hit me... I pressed my nose against the glass to get a closer look at the name tag on the bassinet.... and, naturally, I saw my own last name staring back at me. Oh, crap..... I am that poor mother. I shuffled back to my room and cried for a good half hour.
Things got better from there, slowly..... VERY slowly. If I had the pay the price early, so be it if it means "easy" teen years. But don't blame me in 10 years if your rotten toddler turns into a rotten teenager.... I make no guarantees! And it ain't over yet for me, either, but may the gods of the teenage years keep smiling on me!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RYNE!!!