Well, today is C's 17th birthday. So much has changed in the last month or so. At one point he was coming to live with me. Then he was going to live with his girlfriend. Now I am pretty sure he isn't wanting to talk to me at all. Even though I held back and never told him how I felt about him moving in with the girlfriend. All I can figure is he needs his space. And I can understand that. I will give him all the time he needs, and make sure he knows that I will always be here. If he ever wants me again. But I find it fitting today to tell the story of my first born son.
I was 17 when I found out I was pregnant. I had been trying to get pregnant for a while. I came from an abusive home, where we weren't really loved. And in the mind of a know it all teenager, I thought the way to fix that was to have a baby. That would be someone who would love me unconditionally. I know, I know... Illogical thought processes. Haha
Anyway, I was still living in my dad's house, and went to the health department and they told me I was pregnant. I immediately sat in the floor and cried like a baby. How was I going to take care of a baby?!?! Yeah, I probably should have thought of that first. Also, why would I bring a baby into a family that I didn't even want to be in? So I did the next (il)logical thing that came to mind... I took off. I moved over an hour away with a man that had shown interest in me when I was 15. Sick I know. I should have had better sense. But I want to tell this story honestly, so here it is. I knew he was a man with a job. I knew he was interested in me. I knew he had custody of his daughter. So I figured he would do.
I got huge with C. I was 116 pounds when I got pregnant and over 200 when I had him. (I don't know the exact weight. I quit looking at 199 when I was almost 8 months.) I remember watching the World Series that year. I was hoping that my son would want to play baseball. I loved to play as a kid. On November 1st I was already 3 days overdue, and the Braves won the World Series. I was so excited that I was jumping up and down on the couch at my Uncles house. He told me to stop because he was not going to have me giving birth in his living room.
3 days later, I was still not in labor. So 2 of my Aunts decided to walk the baby out of me. At first they had me walking up and down the stairs of the condos that one of them lived in. They could hear me when I stopped and would push me on. Finally I told them that I couldn't climb the stairs any more. They took me to WalMart, and they sat in the little dining area as I walked back and forth. I was so tired, and I still wasn't in labor. So I kept an eye on my watch and started faking contractions. Sad, I know, but I just wanted to lay down, and this was a sure fire way to end up in a hospital bed. :)
We get to the hospital late at night on November 4th. They hook me up to all these monitors and inform me that I am having contractions every minute. I still don't feel anything though. I got to rest that night, and the next day the nurses had me walking the halls. After hours of trying to get me to dilate, and breaking my water, I am not progressing. I was dilated to a 3, contractions every minute, and nothing. They gave me an epidural the evening of the 5th. They also had me sign a consent for a c-section. They told me that if I did not progress through the night, they would do the surgery in the morning.
I still didn't progress. The next morning I went in for surgery with my Aunt by my side. I was terrified. I did not want to have a baby this way. A few minutes later, I heard the sweetest sound. The cry of my first born child. My sweet C. My Pooh Bear. I couldn't stop crying. Already, he was my world. Happy Birthday C. You will always be my baby!
I just realized the irony of this. I wanted C so I could have the one person that would love me unconditionally. And I think I may have messed that up, too. Maybe I'm not meant to be loved? Sad, yes, but sometimes I really feel that way.