Happy 26th Billy

Twenty Six years ago I was feeling the twinges of labor pains for the second time. My mother was visiting and it was a beautiful fall day. We had gone out for pie and coffee and I was "heavy with child". Billy was due on October 16th and was way past his time. My mom suggested Castor oil - a remedy that worked for many women in her day. So we went home and I choked down a tablespoon or two of this vile stuff that had the consistency of snot, just to satisfy her. Sure enough, later that night I felt twinges of labor pain interspersed with the inevitable diarrhea. I waited them out because Bruce said he had some homework to finish - I don't believe he believed that I was in labor but as it turned out, we had plenty of time. Finally we went into the hospital early in the AM of November 2nd and my mom got up and sat and knitted all night while she waited word of William Raymond. We were going to name him Nicholas Michael but she somehow got it into her head that he should be named after the two grandfathers which in the end, was perfect - despite that it gave him a nickname he didn't much like later in life "Billy Ray." Being that his big sister's name was Kseniya - a Russian name, we probably should have named him something like Boris, or Nikita.

Bill's birth was before the time when you could invite anyone you wanted into the delivery room and I think maybe even before video cameras....at least the tiny ones they have now. Thank God for that....I really didn't want anyone shooting a picture of that part of my anatomy - I had a hard enough time watching things in the mirror in the delivery room. I had asked my mom to come to the hospital with us, but she said she didn't want to see me in pain. I realized then that no matter how old my kids got, their pain would be my pain. That's just how it is. We will always be someones baby and we will always worry about our own babies, no matter where in the world they are or how old they are.

I remember getting an epidural even though I had wanted to go "natural". Epidurals were pretty new in 1981, and most women were still led to believe if you puffed and panted and blowed enough and rubbed your belly, and picked a focus point on the hospital wall (which really had nothing to recommend it or even focus on in those days before labor rooms looked liked swank hotels) you would not feel the pains of labor. I call BS on that one! Would we ever ask a man with a compound fractured femur to forgo morphine for some puffing and panting and blowing? What about a guy with a kidney stone the size of an orange that he had to push through his urethra? I think not! Still, if it can be done, not having to get anesthesia is probably better for all in the long run...but I can't even conjure up the pain of labor in my mind any more - it was that bad that I guess I forgot....like the pain of finishing a marathon. No one would ever have one more baby or run one more marathon if the pain was remembered.

I remember seeing Billy for the first time - He was the biggest of our babies at 7 pounds 2 ounces. He immediately wrinkled up his face and cried when he saw his father - I am sure it was only a coincidence. But he was healthy and fine and that was all that mattered. I called work to tell them Billy was born and the doctor working in the ER that morning actually started crying....he had a son named William Robert or "Billy Bob" who was not much older than my Billy Ray. That morning, a baby had come in and died in the ED and this doc was stricken with the sorrow of death and then the joy of a new life all in the same day....sadness for one family and happiness for another - lives both changed forever but in different ways.

When big sister Kseniya came to the hospital to see the new baby she cried because she could only look at him through the glass - they didn't let anyone but the dad hold the baby in those days. Kseniya really loved him she complained that "all he does is sit there...he doesn't do anything." As he got older, she didn't want him to play in the back yard because "he's so cute someone might steal him".

And now Bill is 26 years old with his own health insurance and a new job and maybe a girlfriend named Scarlet. It is interesting how he and I are both alike in a lot of ways but that fact sometimes creates conflicts. I remember how, growing up, he hated that I knew when something was bugging him. I may not always have done everything right as a mom, but hell, I did the best I knew how. And I think we have been able to give our kids some things that are important - great senses of humor, an appreciation for all kinds of music, and of the benefits of exercise

So happy 26th son, and keep remembering what's important. Enjoy life, stay happy and keep running. Someday maybe we can do another marathon.