This was supposed to be your birthday. Your mom’s second doctor - the first one left town suddenly without explanation - determined that you were three weeks late and decided to induce labor. I thought you were right on time, but I deferred to the experts.
We drove to the hospital calmly and prepared for the procedure, but your mom went into labor on her own. We were optimistic that everything would flow naturally, but the contractions were weak. Your grandma and I slept on chairs as we waited.
In the morning, the doctor decided to proceed with induced labor, but it didn’t go well. Your mom was in a lot of pain. She wasn’t dilating. They rushed her into surgery. I sat beside her.
It’s a miracle that you both survived. You were blue when they pulled you out of her incised belly. The nurses rushed you over to a table. You didn’t cry right away, and no one said a word. Your mom got very upset fearing the worst. “Is he alright?” She stated to shake. The doctor gave have her a sedative.
“Everything’s fine,” one of the young nurses said finally. “Thank God!” you mom exclaimed just before she fell asleep.
They guided me out of the operating room. The obstetrician went outside for a cigarette, and somehow, I ended up out there with him under a brooding gray sky. It wasn’t bitterly cold, but it was chilly.
“Do you smoke?” the doctor asked.
“No.”
He took a long, deep drag and shook his head. “Don’t start.”
I met up with your mom in her room. She was awake, but she couldn’t move due to the spinal block. She seemed happy now and at peace. There was no hint of worry on her face.
A nurse walked in with a big smile on her face. “Do you want to hold your son?”
After all she’d been through, your mom was thinking more clearly than I was. “She means you.”
“Shit, yeah!” It was a grotesquely inappropriate comment which I regretted immediately, but no one seemed to mind.
I held your warm, tightly-bundled body in my arms, and my whole world changed.
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