Eleven years ago I was sitting in the hospital bed watching the pitocin slowly drip into the IV tube...waiting and wondering when the contractions would hit.
And when the pain came, I puked. What an embarrassing start to bringing forth this boy into the world.
He was ten days overdue. The doctor asked me if I wanted to wait over the weekend and then start induction on Monday. Considering I hadn't even started to "ripen", I told her, "No way - get this kid out of me."
After 90 minutes of pushing, he entered the world, quietly. The nurses quickly worked on him to start his breathing. He cried a bit, and then just looked at the world with wonder in his eyes.
That's how Jammin's lived his life so far; Always running a little late, a bit on the quiet side, but that brain is working overtime.
His fingers dance lightly over the piano keys, math equations solve easy, and Pokemon watch out for his traps. He's not a typical boy, running roughshod across life. He has a gentle soul; prefering music over sports, playing chess over wrestling, and petting the cat over the dog.
And yet, sometimes he transforms before my eyes. I watch him climb to the top of the Maple tree. My heart stops beating and I start to call out. Then, I bite my tongue and remind myself: This is what adolescent boys do for fun.
He is eleven. He is on the cusp of transforming into a teen. I will enjoy what little left of childhood I have with him.
Happy Birthday, Jammin'. May the next 11 years be a joy!