Friday, June 19, 2009

Son #1 The Preacher

It was just thirty-one years ago that my Dear Professor and I were driving the 45 minutes to the hospital to welcome Son #1 The Preacher into this world. In those dark ages the baby's gender was not determined until they came out of the chute, so to speak, so we didn't know during that fateful ride whether we would be bringing home a boy or a girl.

One thing I did know. I wanted this over. Fast!

I had been in back labor for what seemed like 48 hours. You just don't know what to expect the first time you're expecting. We had taken a Lamaze course, so we were prepared for the delivery. Or so we thought. When the time came, my Dear Professor was so awestruck by the events unfolding that the attending nurse had to take over as birthing coach!

We only had one "slight" complication. The Preacher had a huge head. I mean really big. How big, you ask? Big enough that the physician needed a screwdriver, a four foot pipe wrench, a bottle of whiskey, and four Oiler linebackers (remember this was the dark ages, back when the Houston Oilers were in Houston!). Actually, it was ME that needed the whiskey. "Natural childbirth" was "in", I was convinced that doing this "cold turkey" was most healthy for our baby.

PB 78 copy

And perhaps I am exaggerating a bit. Perhaps all the doctor needed was a pair of forceps. All I remember is that I found a voice I didn't know I had. My parents, sitting outside the delivery room with my Dear Professor's parents, didn't know I had that voice either. There is an unconfirmed story that citizens of the next county were responding to what they thought was an air raid siren.

Son #1 The Preacher, before we knew he would be a preacher, arrived shortly after the forceps and the siren. It was then I knew I was in trouble. They wheeled him into my room and left him there. With me. Alone. I came face to face with my worst nightmare. I had never changed a diaper before. At least not one on a real baby. Somehow, in the midst of the exercises, and breathing, and focusing, they forgot that little detail.

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Things worked out, though, as long as you don't count the Trevi fountain incident. It happens to every family of a baby boy at least once. Hint, never leave a male infant unattended or uncovered in the nether regions while changing their diaper. White boy babies may not be able to jump, but they can "squirt" remarkably high.

Son #1's most important claim to fame is being the husband of our second daughter, Beautiful Mommy, and the father of our three Sprittles (Mommo loves you Boo, Bee, and Colonel Mustard!) That, and the incredible support he was for his Mom the day his grandfather and namesake, my Dad, died. He threw his arms around me, gave me a hug, and told me the exact words of comfort I needed to hear.


Mommo loves you, too, Son #1. Very much. Happy Birthday!

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