How'd we get here? Part II

Welcome back.  If you’re joining me for the first time, I recommend you do not start with this blog.  If anything read this first, and then come back here. 
 
It’s Jan 7th, I’ve just settled in to watch a show before I hit the hay.  I can literally feel my body relaxing.  Jason has been asleep for over an hour.  I pick up my phone, because I see it blinking. 


I have a text.
 
“I’m at the hospital.  Its time.”  A quick call to our birth mother.  She wasn’t due until February.  What do you mean, “it’s time?”
 
“Girl, have you been checked out?”
 
“I’m 7cm.”
 
“I’m putting on my shoes.  See you soon.”
 
“JASON!!  IT’S TIME.  WE’RE HAVING A BABY.”
 
I heard Jason get out of bed, come running, and he’s barely dressed.  “Whaaat do you mean?  She’s due February.  Its January.  Not February.”  He’s rubbing his face the whole time. He had apparently taken his melatonin and it had kicked in.
 
I fill him in.  Tell him a good start was to find pants. I was present minded enough to grab the “God is Faithful” sweatshirt I had purchased just for this day, and slipped it on.  I had not packed our hospital bag.  I had no snacks.  I didn’t have a phone charger.  I had a purse and my phone.  And a heart that was beaming.  I would meet my daughter soon.
 
I called my bestie as soon as Bluetooth connected in my car.  No answer.  Sent a text, “911.  Need you to answer.” 
 
“We’re about to go to bed.   What’s up?”
 
“Birth mother is 7cm.  I’m on my way to the hospital.  She’s already there.”
 
“I will be right behind you.”

“Want me to scoop you up?”
 
And that’s what I did.  My perfectly put together bestie was standing outside her home about 5 minutes later with a bag of necessities.  And a Mac charger that worked with my phone.
 
Within moments of being on the road, she said to me, “It is perfectly fine for you to break the speed limit.  If you want to be there when she’s born, you’re going to need to pick it up.”
 
And once I pulled into the parking spot at the hospital she said, “I’m going to need you to never drive like that again.  Thank you for not killing us.”
 
Our birth mother texted me just after 10.  We were settled in just before 10:45pm.  Lots of moaning.  Nurses who weren’t really listening to her.  Introductions to our birth mother’s family.  An agreement I would be by our birth mother’s side during delivery.  Tons of medical staff swarmed the room.  Jason found his way to a waiting room. 
 
Barely two pushes.
 
12:10am, Jan 8th, 2020, a 6lb 11oz, 19-inch wonder came into the world.  I was a mother.  The cord was clamped, and I was handed the scissors.  They flipped this beautiful baby around.  My jaw dropped.
 
“That’s not a girl,” was said in unison by a Mom and a Godmother.
 
Then the nurse announced, “IT’S A BOY!”  And the room cheered.
 
Our birth mother looked at me and said, “Well, shit.  I’m so sorry.  Holy cow another boy.” 
 
I was a boy Mom.  My phone rang, as my cousin was calling me back.  Bestie told her that she really needed to go, and take some pictures of me with my son.  My cousin said, “Son!?”
 
My son.  I had a son.  His first APGAR score was an 8.  Second was a 9.  Only pediatrician’s kids get 10s.  He was screaming.  He was pink.  Jason Robert Jr was perfect.  My husband had gotten his Junior.
 
Oh, crap.  My husband.  I realized he was still in the waiting room.  A member of the birth mother’s family came back in the room, and said she had gone to find Jason, but was not successful.  I called, and said, “Where are you?  Meet me at the end of the hall.” 
 
I saw this handsome man I had shared 10 ½ years of marriage with.  Struggled for 7 of them to become parents.  He had the most concerned look on his face.
 
“Is she here?!  How is she? Is everything ok?”
 
“She is not here,” I paused. “Would you like to come meet your son?”  I think we hugged, but I can’t answer that truthfully.

“My son?  It’s a boy?”  He got the same look on his face he did the moment I walked down the aisle.  The same tears streamed down his cheeks.  We were parents.
 
The next hour or so was a whirlwind.  Jase was weighed, poked, and prodded.  We finally got to feed him.  The birth mother’s mom and little sister told him bye.  That was not a moment I expected to witness, and a part of my heart was forever shattered.  Jason finally got to hold his son.  His godmother got to hold him, and whisper sweet nothings.  When the nurses asked if we wanted to do skin to skin, our birth mother did it first for a few short minutes, and then told them to let me do it.  I ripped my shirt off quicker than a hussy at homecoming.  That was the most magical moment of my life.  I tried to call my Mom over and over, but she was dead asleep.  My grandparents answered the phone, and got to learn they had a great-grandson. 
 
I still can’t believe how that night seemed to sparkle.  How perfect it was in those moments.  The surge of love I had for this baby.  Baby boy.  My son.  There are no words.

Jason left and went home to catch a nap, because he had a very important meeting the next day.  So, just as his Dad did, he went to work the day his son was born.  We had decided he wouldn’t take paternity leave until Jase was home.
 
Around 1am things changed quickly. 

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