Free and Clear: She was just 17, you know what I mean. . . .

January 21, 2011

Seventeen years ago, today, I was in the hospital.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Knowing that whatever happened that day, my life was going to change.

And it did.

My baby, my littlest child, my angel is, today, 17 years old.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My God she's beautiful!

Takes my breath away every time I look at her.

Em and I are very close.

She came along at a time in my life when I was at my lowest.

And when I needed her the most.

I had just left my first husband, was transported from Ontario to New Brunswick via an old flame, and during an overnight stop Em was conceived.

Comments about my morality, or lackthereof at the time can be saved for later thank you very much.

I was two and a half months pregnant with her before I even realized that something was going on.

I'd just assumed the nausea, exhaustion, ill temper was the result of trauma.

Leaving your husband is traumatic even if getting out of there as fast as you could was the absolute best decision you could have ever made.

Moving.

Uprooting two small children.

Mer was 3 and a half, Keith was two.

I brought nothing but all their stuff, my clothes, my books and the washer and dryer.

Overwhelmed with the work involved in starting your life over, again, it never even occurred to me that I could be pregnant.

Finally, my brother had had enough, and he took me to the doctor.

First thing my doctor asked me was "Are you pregnant?"

Pause.

Longer pause.

And at that moment, lights blew on in my head, red flags sprouted all around and fireworks went off in the middle of the day.

Oh yeah.

Knocked up I was.

But, wanting to retain as much dignity as I could muster, I said,

"Hmmm. . .I'd never thought of that. Perhaps?"

Hospital.

Blood test.

I returned to Fredericton (my doctor's office is in Oromocto) thought, just for fun maybe the blood test will be done and called to see if the rabbit had died.

Oh yeah.

It did.

And I was two and half months pregnant with my third child when I had just left my husband, made all the arrangements to return to university, was living with my brother and his wife in a very small two bedroom house, no money, no job, no sanity. . . .

And a baby on the way.

Not much has stopped me dead in my tracks over my lifetime.

But this certainly did.

I went back to school, pregnant.

Went to all my classes.

Did really well that first term back.

Christmas vacation came and went.

By now the kids and I were living in an apartment right nextdoor to my brother.

And I spent every minute of that vacation trying to convince this baby to come out during the holidays so I wouldn't have to return to school pregnant, and have to leave again later.

That was my first sign of the impending stubbornness that was as much a part of this child as her need to breath and eat.

It wasn't until the 20th of January, after I left my Modern Sociological Theory class for the hospital, where I was scheduled for a c-section, that Em thought it may be time to come out and greet the world.

All the kids arrived via c-section.

I have no feeling left where the c-section scar is.

Nerves cut too many times.

Considering how long I had waited for this child, a scheduled c-section for 9.00 am the following morning was fine with me.

Until the contractions started.

And I just kept.my.mouth.shut.

There was NO way I was going to experience the pain and agony of natural child birth.

Been there.

Done that.

Didn't work out.

C-section was the only way.

Luckily, as with everything she does, Em was slow and methodical.

No rush jobs coming down the birth canal fast as Olympic Luger's for her.

Nice.

Slow.

Steady.

That's Em.

I wanted a boy.

Convinced, I was, that this child was a boy.

Had to be.

Because after Mer, another girl would have been one hell of a cruel joke.

My mother was with me throughout the entire birth.

Gowned, gloved and bottied, she stood next to Dr. Crumley as she brought the third child of Dawne into the world.

While I slept blissfully through it all.

Coming out of the anesthetic haze, vaguely aware of my surroundings, my mother comes into the room, and whispers in my ear,

You have your Emily Elizabeth Dawne.

To which I slurrily replied,

"Oh no I don't! I have a BOY"

"Dawne, dear, you have a girl."

And she left before I could reply.

Smart move.

I came out of my drug haze scared to death.

Knowing the kind of girls I made, and the kind of boys I made, and what those boys and girls were like as babies. . . .

. . . .because I had yet been blessed with their semi-adult shenanigans, I was downright scared shitless about the prospect of having another daughter.

Three me's.

Let the nightmares begin.

And then I saw her.

She was gorgeous.

Beautiful.

CALM.

I knew she was going to be her own person.

Not me.

Not Mer.

Emily.

Our first night together, I hauled myself up into a sitting position, and laid her down between my legs.

While stripping her down completely, wanting to see every bit of her, I started to cry.

I was plain scared.

What was I going to do with three children?

How would we manage?

I changed her, dressed her again, fed her, all the while crying.

I said to her that I had no idea what was in store for us, but I promised her I would do the very best I could for her and her brother and sister.

Whether or not I have still remains to be seen, I guess, but from that moment, Em and I had a bond.

There was no father to share her with.

She was all mine.

Through the good, of which there has been plenty, and the bad.

And there have been some bad times.

Em was a calm, loving, gentle baby.

She was easy to settle when upset.

But none of this means she didn't have her moments.

Because she did.

One sunny afternoon, some friends were over and we were gabbing and guzzling coffee in the kitchen when Em came in.

She was about two at the time.

Her face had something odd on it.

Greyish, in fact.

Closely resembling KITTY LITTER to be closer to the point!

I asked her what she had eaten.

"Kitty!" she replied

Immediately, I called Poison Control.

Their reply:

Make her drink lots of water.

Clumping kitty litter, any kitty litter, is an absorbent.

I envisioned her dehydrating from the inside out.

So in addition to preventing dehydration, I made her drink so much liquid that day that I spent more time changing diapers than anything else.

And during all that diaper changing time we had a long talk about how come we would never eat kitty litter ever again.

Reilley came into our lives when Em was two.

He was two.

And the two of them have been inseparable from the second she laid eyes on him, grabbed him and proclaimed to all present,

"MY KITTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

And it was proclaimed and was to be from that day forward.

She and Reilley have had many adventures over the last 15 years.

Mostly Em making Reilley do things he didn't want to do.

In fact, that he's survived so long is still a mystery.

One Christmas I caught her gluing antlers to his head.

Another time, she dressed him in doll clothes.

When she much younger, she carted him around by placing his head in the crook of her arm and carrying him here, there and everywhere.

His bottom parts swaying to the rhythm of the unsteady two year old.

But he loves her and she certainly loves him, and better friends you won't find anywhere.

And she can be quiet the comedienne.

Nonetheless, there is a serious side to my girl, one where I see such beauty and grace, such talent, I wonder what I did to deserve such a beautiful child.