Three years ago, at this very moment, I was probably folding laundry and attempting to ignore the contractions that had started around 4am. I was a veteran of “false labor” so I thought that my contractions were a cruel joke that my body was playing on me. I call that phenomenon “The Uterus That Cries Baby!”
But it was the real thing. Four days late, but right on time, our Thomas was born. The images from his birth are odd. The TV was on in the room, tuned to one of the most overdone and cheesy epics of our time, “Titanic.” My obstetrician spent the day making truffles in the microwave. She gave some to me. It was a slow night.
December 16th also marked one year since the loss of hubby’s dear grandfather. We chose Tommy’s middle name to honor him, believing that his birthdate was no accident.
Tommy came into the world looking a little skeptical, with one eyebrow raised and an observant, bemused air. He was an early teether (3 months), an early talker (said bye-bye at 7 months), and he contains an astonishing amount of confidence, whimsy, and affection. There is no child like Tommy, our Boo, our “Chickenhawk.”
We love you.
