This, of course, has led me to think about my own Alexander’s birth. His actual birth was crappy. Sorry, but it was. There was no spiritual or profound experience attached to it. There was, actually, real fear for my safety and I was pretty much out of it for the last 4 hours of my labor and the  24 hours after his birth.

I was healthy, ultra fit (much more so than today), and didn’t even look pregnant from the back, and I developed severe preeclampsia in the days before he was born (we didn’t know at the time). And during labor it moved into scary, scary HELLP syndrome. It came as a complete shock and I very rapidly became extremely ill.

Today, Alexander was watching an interview I did in June, and in the middle of it he said, “I have no idea what you are talking about”. Fair enough for a 9 year old. So, we talked a little about his birth. He knows I was very sick and that is why he was born by cesarean. That is the extent of the story he will get on that unless he one day really needs the details. I don’t honestly think they matter to him.

So, a 5-day hospitalization, which involved a serious medical condition, has now been summed up in a couple of sentences. What he will tell someone in his future is that my water bag broke in the Christmas card aisle at our local drugstore and that I ran out of the store before anyone noticed, laughing and leaving a trail of fluid.

And that his dad, who was an anesthesiologist (who had attended hundreds of births) was so nervous that he was completely incapable of packing a bag for the hospital or driving a car. One of my best memories is getting into my friend, Chelan’s car (thank God she was planning to be with us) in booming labor and seeing clothes sticking out of my bag.

His story also includes that when we came home, our two dogs were terrified to come near him for 2 days. They knew he was a very important new addition to our family. And lastly, that our lab, Harley, loved to creep up to him as he laid in his bouncy seat and gently steal his binky (aka pacifier) directly from his mouth, lay down next to him and keep it in his own mouth.

Honestly, these are the parts of his own birth story that should be forefront in his memory. And, most importantly, that his safely entering the world is all that matters. ALL that matters.

People sometimes dwell on what “goes wrong” in an experience. That makes me sad. I smile every time I think of Alexander’s birth. It in no way minimizes the scary parts. I just am really aware that bad things happen in life but that ultimately life is simply vibrant and full of wonder and humor, so long as we let it be.

I want this to be Alexander’s story.

He was due on Christmas Eve, and on the 19^th I was shopping for Christmas lights in our local drug store. I had, only a minute before, run into someone I hadn’t seen in a really long time. That day, I happened to be wearing a black, billowy maternity dress. A hideous dress actually. I really hated it and had never worn it before. But I felt so big and miserable that it just worked on that day.

For 15 years, I had told the women in my PillowTalk classes that the chance of their water bag breaking in public was really very small. Only about 10% of women actually even have their water bag break before labor starts.

As I was standing in the store aisle, I felt a little pinch, and suddenly, on the floor, was one of the largest puddles of amniotic fluid I had ever seen. I stood there for a second, stunned, and then literally ran out of the store, laughing hysterically and dripping all the way out the door.

I called Ray from the car thinking he would think it was as funny as I did. Being very much not the doctor who had seen hundred of births and very much the extremely nervous father, he found  little humor in it at all. It wasn’t long before I was in booming labor but that is a story for another time. Alexander and I came home from the hospital on Christmas Day.

Tonight Alexander is curled up next to me. His tummy hurts and he is very much a little boy. I don’t know how 9 years has passed. In some ways it feels like a long time ago but as I look over at my baby (who now comes up to my chin) I understand what happens to all parents. No matter how old they are, our babies are our babies. Happy Birthday Alexander.

I am sitting on a US Airways flight taking a trip that I have cancelled and rescheduled 3 times in the last 6 days, twice being in the last 8 hours (yes, you can kind of do that with Orbitz). I readily admit that I do carry a true “lack of advance planning” gene when it comes to travel but this has set a new record even for me.

To add to this adventure, this morning I drove halfway to the WRONG airport before realizing it. The only reason I did not end up in San Francisco instead of Oakland was that I had listened to my cell phone messages in the car and there was one from the airlines confirming both the flight AND the airport. Swung the car around and drove 20 miles back towards home to go over the other bridge. Distracted? Yea. Just a little.

This was all received with guarded amusement by our Czech sitter, Tom and with sheer delight by my eight-year-old, Alexander. Tom has witnessed more times than I’d like to admit, what kind of tornado happens when I am late for a plane. He balances that quite nicely by quietly asking what would be helpful for him to do which generally involves physically catching some additional item and stuffing it into my “she who does not travel lightly” suitcase.

Alexander  finds great humor in the fact that his mother is generally less predictable and quite likely less balanced than other mothers he has come to know. Looking up from playing “Pocket God” on my iPhone as I whipped the car around, he interjected with “That would have really been a screw up, Mom. Darn it- you would have had to put $5.00 in the jar cause you know you would have said bad words and cried.” Nice to know he has his mother pegged.

So here I go on this 3 day trip. A trip where I intend to mostly sit in a room alone (perhaps one of 2 rooms) and re-invent myself. Lay it all out on the table, (and I am sure the floor and the bed also), both literally and  figuratively, — the realities of where I am today. Gingerly pull those little buggers apart, really look at them, do the math, figure the odds, research the options. Stop wishing anything were different. Allow myself be scared, do the hard work. Say my prayers and then listen. Really listen. And be very brave. I have been brave before. Then rip apart whatever needs ripping apart, put it back together,  — maybe even put something together for the first time. Maybe I will sleep – maybe not. It is hard to know. I have work to do.

Roxie and Buster with the Evil Duck Toy

So here I am, writing a blog about babies and pregnancy and life and how I interpret and experience these things. And today, I have one hand to type with (very slowly, in case you are wondering) and I have to include some of the real life challenges that come along with an accident in an otherwise extremely packed life.

I don’t mention this often but those of you who have read The Joy of Pregnancy may have noted in the book’s foreword that my husband Ray died of cancer during the time I was writing, coming up on five years ago. He died 12 weeks after being diagnosed with an inoperable malignant tumor. Although some time has passed and Alexander and I have traveled a long hard road, he is now blossoming and I am so hopeful for what lies in the future. Being an only parent however, adds a whole different dimension to working, running a household, raising a young boy AND sustaining an injury.

My best friend has, more than once, commented that my life has the makings of a reality show, or perhaps a cartoon. Working with pregnant and laboring families, getting the word out about the Joy of Pregnancy, writing a blog, speaking, volunteering at Alexander’s school, raising a feisty eight year, and having a house full of creatures (two puppies, 5 birds, a soon to be new kitten) makes for more interesting tales than I could possibly conjure up.

And now, we throw a shoulder injury into the mix. The injury part really does not fit into the schedule. I see a doc tomorrow morning. I’ll keep you posted.