Yep. Hes 11. Hard to fathom, really. Seems like yesterday we had the conversation; “so….think it’s time to start a family?” We were a couple years in, marriage-wise and it seemed like the time was right. As I’ve said before, we got off to a bit of a rocky start…but eventually, I had a rolicking baby boy in my tummy. His name was chosen long before he made his debut…Henry, after my grandfather, and Matthew, for his own father (the Gage tradition is for the boys to have their father’s first name, as their middle name). I was rooting for Callaway, or Ritch as my grandfather’s full name was Henry Ritch Callaway and both my mom and I share the middle name Ritch, but alas…I had to concede somewhere!
I know people’s eyes tend to gloss over when people start re-telling their birth stories, but this is my blog, so I’m gonna say it yet again, and if you start to nod off, (or leave) I completely understand! Henry was a whopper, and because it was June, it was HOT. When I say whopper, the doctor said he’d probably roll in at about 8 pounds and be right on time. But when I went to the doctors office a couple of days before my due date, he’d changed his tune. He said he could be up to 2 weeks late. Up to this point, I hadn’t missed one single day of work…but that day? DEVASTATION. I waddled out to my car and BAWLED. Then I proceeded to call in sick, and drive home….BAWLING. I called Matt and asked him…no, TOLD him to meet me at home STAT. He complied, as all good (scared) husbands would have and prepared to answer to my demands. The first of which was shorts. I had, until then, avoided buying any maternity shorts…but if I had to endure two more weeks…by damn, I needed some. Off we went to town to buy shorts. Then, I needed some good reading material. Check. And then I decided, I wanted to go…fishing. I know. Stark raving mad I tell ya. We were living at the time, between Birmingham and Tuscaloosa so Matt could work in the latter, and me the former…in a little rental house in the sticks. There was a little pond by the house and that seemed like a perfectly logical day to take up fishing. So Matt went to gather the gear, and I began my waddle to the pond. On the way, I decided to take a rest and settled onto a big pipe in the middle of a drainage ditch. That’s when Melba (yep. that was her name) drove past and nearly had a coronary…was I having that baby in a ditch?!
Fishing didn’t quite work out so I went home to cry some more. And consume some more peanut butter and ice cream–pretty much all I craved, and all I ate.
The next day (my original due date) I hoisted myself off to work. The girls took me for a Thai lunch and I ordered the entree with FIVE peppers next to it. I could barely breathe it was so hot but I choked it down. I was determined. That baby was coming. out. today. Poor Henry went plum crazy that afternoon. The plan was this: hot, spicy food, a really long walk after work, and…yeesh…sex. (Trust me, if I hadn’t been told it would help get that baby OUT, it would NOT have been a consideration). Thank God for miracles…
We set off on our walk…dog in tow. As we were walking, I told Matt that I could have sworn, that earlier that day when Henry was trying to escape the inferno I had felt a little trickle…as in, could it be my water breaking? His eyes read “yes, dear, I’m sure that’s what it was…with a hint, of poor-deranged-woman”. We trudged onward…and then…like a bolt of lightening…IT HAPPENED. Of course now, we are a couple of miles from home…on foot. With a dog. So there, the fat, pregnant lady stood, with wet pants and a dog. All alone, as her husband took off running in his big work boots…high-step running, marching-band style.
A little while later, SCCCRRRRREEEEEEEETTTCCCHHH, he peeled up, bags packed. “So…um… Matt–we taking the dog to the hospital?” I think not. And mama needed a shower, and…fresh pants. The doctor gave his blessing for a quick shower (“don’t make a career of it”, he said). Soon enough we were in our room, Matt clicking channels…and waiting. But not for long. Turns out, I was the poster child for giving birth. Epidural went off without a hitch, nature did it’s thing and one hour into the next day he arrived. Easy as pie (no, really. I actually thought it was the most fun I’d ever had). I remember the awe I felt in seeing his little face, those chubby cheeks…and Matt and I laughing hysterically when they told us he weighed 9 pounds, 8 ounces.
And so it was. Henry Matthew Gage had joined earth’s population. And he was mine, all mine.
I love you, my son. Happy, Happy Birthday.
