tribute to my middle child

On this day, four years ago, I called my husband at work and said, "Hey, I may need you to come home. I think I may be in labor..." I hung up, wrote down the time, went back to doing dishes and waited to see when the next feeling came. Four minutes. I called him back and said, "Better get home now." He arrived 45 minutes later to find me waiting on the porch with my suitcase. My mother-in-law was already there to stay with our 2 year-old son. Once I was admitted to the hospital and checked, the nurse informed me I was already at 6 cm. "Kick ass," I said.

Unfortunately, the birth of my first son had been a traumatic experience. I am always grateful that he was born healthy, but other than that I hold nothing but resentment in my heart for the hospital and doctor I entrusted with his birth. I allowed myself to be induced which I later determined was pushed on me by my doctor to make it more convenient for her schedule. We had no reason to believe I was overdue or the baby in stress, but I succumbed to her nudges. From there on, the entire experience was out of my control. I was seconds away from a c-section when my son was finally removed by a vacuum. Because of an over-zealous nurse and the epidural that prevented me from feeling anything, my left leg was hyper-extended during delivery and I could not feel it from the knee down for weeks afterward. I was sent home to my third-story apartment to be basically trapped with a newborn. The day we brought my son home from the hospital it was raining and I had to literally scoot on my butt up 3 flights of stairs just two days after giving birth. It was the only way I felt I would not fall down. For months I couldn't take him for walks or even get out unless my husband was home to assist me down the stairs.

When I found out I was pregnant with our second child, I was thrilled but then my next thought was one of fear: I have to go through labor again. I began reading up on alternatives and decided that a home birth would be the answer. We went so far as to interview some midwives but after finding out our insurance wouldn't foot the cost, we had no choice but to go the traditional route. But just because we were going to a hospital, it didn't mean I was going to give up control again. I educated myself about natural child-birth and made up a birth plan. My doctor seemed to almost snicker at me when I presented it to her but it was too far in my pregnancy to switch doctors. I decided to pray about it, for a fast delivery and a healthy baby.

After hearing I was at 6 cm, I settled into my bed sitting crossed-legged and closed my eyes. I concentrated on relaxing my shoulders and breathing, in and out, slowly and deeply. It worked. The labor progressed quickly and less than two hours later it was time to push. It was such a routine labor that the doctor and nurse were chatting with each other about one of their new haircuts as I was pushing. I wanted to say, "Hey! There is something sacred happening here! Have some respect!" But I guess I was too co-dependent to be rude even while I was in labor. The good news was that my regular doctor happened to be on vacation so I had a different, more progressive one. She supported my decision to have no drugs and no I.V. She was an answered prayer.

My second son was born at 5:24 pm., weighing 8 lb. 9 oz. He was healthy and strong. We named him after my father, a middle child. I was also a middle child, and my son was to become one himself.

He was a mama's boy from the beginning. He was also very difficult. For a while the only way I could get him to sleep was to put him in a completely dark room with the vacuum cleaner running right next to him. My husband warned me that I was going to burn the motor up but to me, it was worth buying 20 vacuum cleaners if necessary. The child would not sleep! As he's grown older I've come to realize he is very complicated and brilliant. And I'm not just saying that because I'm his mother.

His personality is multi-faceted. On one hand, he's naturally aggressive and contrary. He will never admit to having fun even when we spot him giggling and having the time of his life. We'll ask, "Did you have fun today?" And he'll reply, "No. Because so-and-so did such-and-such to me!" He never forgives. But on the other hand, he has a nurturing spirit and we'll catch him petting his purple unicorn, whom he's named "April", and talking sweet talk in her ear. When we were expecting our third son we were very concerned about how our middle boy would take it since he was so possessive of me. But as soon as we brought the new baby home, he was cooing at him and bringing him toys. And these days they are very close.

It makes me proud to have three sons who love each other the way they do. Their personalities are all so unique it's amazing they come from the same parents. Each one of them fills a niche in our family and it would be a completely different picture if any of them were not who they are.

The birth of my middle child was a healing experience for me. After feeling so victimized from my first birth experience, it really changed the way I felt about myself. It seems contradictory that his birth was so easy when his upbringing has been anything but. But I wouldn't trade him for anything. We middle kids have to stick together. We have a reputation to uphold.