A mood for memories...

It is late – too late and I find myself in the mood for remembering. It is timely and I’m able to focus my mind on a few memories in particular. Today was Jason’s birthday and the writer in me screams DOCUMENT IT! The mother wants to go to bed and clean up the large jar of spilled sprinkles, melted ice cream and chocolate frosting tomorrow. But tonight my mind wins and it is a good thing because I’ve never written down his entire story. I feel guilty.

It took a while to get pregnant with Jason. I think the Lord was helping me not take him for granted. I needed to struggle a little in order to appreciate what a blessing he would be. I was ravenously hungry all the time—as in, I gained 57lbs type of hungry! What a mental game that was for a girl with a great metabolism who wasn’t used to EVER eating breakfast. I didn’t experience much nausea and thought I was pretty lucky as pregnancies go. Until I hit month 6, had uncontrollable heart burn every night from 5pm on and pretty much puked my way through the last 4 months. Finally I woke up on April 19th around 2am with contractions and there was no apprehension at all. I couldn’t fall back asleep. I kept thinking of all the things I could do to get him here faster. I paced the halls, ran up and down the stairs, did jumping jacks and then tired out around 5am where Scott found me with a heating pad on my back, dozing in the rocker in Jason’s soon-to-be nursery. We headed to the hospital around noon where things were slow but at least we were there. 1am hit, I started pushing and then suddenly was being told to stop, hold still, lay back down, don’t even cough because the doctor was stuck in 2 emergency c-sections and I was going to have to wait. The only conversation I remember from the entire hospital experience occurred right at that moment. Scott: to the nurse “Are you kidding?” Natalie: totally glaring and ready to lose it “I just really need you to be positive right now. Be quiet.” And that was that. The lights went back off. He proceeded with his portable dvd of something manly which I don’t recall, and I sucked deep breathes through my oxygen mask and tried not to hyperventilate from claustrophobia (as it happens I don’t like things covering my face so the mask made for an interesting 10 hours). My epidural was wearing out but as luck would have it, the anesthesiologist was with the doctor so I was stuck.

Two and a half hours later the good doc rushes in, asks if we’re ready to have this baby (yes, I bit my tongue--after 26 hours of labor I was a little too tired to get feisty with the man who would be offering relief!) and about five minutes after that, there was Jason. I kept hollering for Scott to grab my glasses because I couldn’t see what he looked like. But everyone kept saying how “healthy” he was (8lbs 14oz, 21 1/2” long). And as the chaos of birth died down I was able to take a non-masked breath and be grateful that our lives had suddenly changed forever and I loved it. For a moment time stood still and everything was just a little clearer—at least for the three of us in that room at 4:19am.

Jason loves to laugh. I can never get enough of that sound. He is all boy, 100%, especially when it comes to sports. No one ever taught him about balls, cars, rocks or mud. He is ingrained with some male affinity for all things “manly” (except for his fear of instability i.e. swings, being swung, jumping on trampoline’s etc then he totally screams like a girl!) Jason loves to help me cook and I hope it is something I can pass on to him. Anytime he sees me getting out ingredients he scoots his chair up to the counter wanting to “mix with you”. The minute Ryan was born Jason became his father’s son. He and Scott were bonded for life. They go golfing together and one of his first full phrases was “dad, you’re my best friend,” enough to make any grown man melt into goo. Jason has piercing blue eyes. He is smart and intuitive beyond his age. Sometimes I wonder if he was placed here to help me grow up and teach me lessons. He wipes tears from my cheeks and says, “Mom, why are you sad? Don’t cry.” He is sassy, stubborn and knows his own mind (quite the combo for a three year old). He loves his brother and I find him telling Ryan how cute he is, good job, and clapping for him. And no matter how old he gets I think I’ll always be able to remember the feeling of the first outfit I dressed him in as we packed up to come home from the hospital. It had chunky baby blue stripes and was oh so soft—not like fleece but like shaggy, thick carpet that you squish your toes in. And I remember the way he smelled and how light he felt when I held him. I know someday he’ll be taller than me and smarter than me and all the things I never was. But hopefully, somewhere deep down he remembers what it was like to be wrapped in thick, squishy blue softness and be held oh so tight and know that everything is right in the world.

And now I know that no matter how much time goes by, I think I’ll always be in the mood for remembering if I have memories like these.