Happy 20th Birthday to my Keithie Joe-Pookie-Pot-Pie-with-Bum-Dumplings!!!!!!!!!!!
Twenty years ago today, I gave birth to my one and only son.
He was a doozie.
11 pounds!
I always said he was the biggest Mother's Day gift I ever received.
Literally and figuratively.
I realized I might be pregnant with my second child when Mer was nine months old.
How?
I threw up after eating popcorn.
When mentioning to my ex-husband that I thought this might be the case, he replied, "You'd better get that checked out."
Sure enough.
Number two was on his way.
Honestly, I was terrified.
Mer had already proven that mothering and childrearing were tasks not to be taken lightly.
Times that by two. . . .
Terrified.
I knew Keithie was going to be different, though, as soon as I passed the three month let's-just-throw-everything-up-and-spare-the-annoyance-of-eating-stage.
I had to force myself to feed Mer, as just looking at her food, smelling food, everything made me want to throw up.
However, once I bid the first trimester adios, the baby inside of me started growing at an epic rate.
Twice my doctor sent me for ultrasounds because she was convinced there were two babies in there.
I will reiterate: terrified.
Mer and two babies?
Terrified.
I grew at leaps and bounds as this pregnancy progressed and at my anticipated due date, my mother flew to Toronto to help me out.
She didn't recognize me when she got off the plane.
Mer and my ex husband, yes.
Me?
I was just the HUMMUNGOUS woman who happened to be standing beside them.
She took me aside before we left the airport and said, "You're lucky your father can't see you like this."
I couldn't even put on shoes that required tying, I was retaining so much fluid.
And then we went back to our apartment and waited for the birth of this baby.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
My mother was supposed to fly out May 10th.
May 6th there was still no baby.
May 6th I went to McMaster Hospital to see my paedeatrician.
Who then informed me that May 8th, a Friday, I would give birth via c-section.
This was before I came back to New Brunswick pregnant for Em and FINALLY a doctor was able to tell me that I would never give birth naturally.
I so wish I had of had this information when Keith was born.
May 8th was a busy day on the McMaster maternity ward.
In fact, there had been so many babies born the week before the ward had actually been closed for several days.
No room at the inn.
Instead of arriving and being whisked off to a room, I was plunked in a reception room, with a television, and informed I would have to wait there until a room became available.
My ex was with me, and he was due to write a test for his plumbing apprenticeship that morning, so I told him to go.
I figured I'd be waiting a while.
The c-section was scheduled for 1.00 pm.
At 2.30 I was still sitting in the waiting room.
And then I felt an all-too-familiar-tug-and-pull in my nether regions.
Labour.
A fact I kept to myself.
Because there was NO way I was letting on I had started labour.
I wanted, needed, expected this baby to. be. out. by the end of the day.
Plus, my one and only labour experience with Meredyth was more than enough to convince me that labour was not something I wanted to experience again.
For me or the baby.
At 4.30 I was finally put into a room.
6.00 pm, May 8th I was wheeled into an operating room to give birth to the mammoth child inside me.
The anesthetic wore off eventually, and I was informed I had a son.
YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
And he was 11 pounds.
THAT explained a lot.
Apparently, the nurses attempted to weighed him on the operating room scale, which only went to ten pounds.
They were rushing past my ex with Keithie swaddled in their arms, causing some panic.
"Our scale only goes to ten pounds. We have to weigh on him another scale."
Pookie was a hefty child.
I didn't know what color his eyes were until he was a day old because his eye lids were so fat he couldn't open his eyes to any extent.
He had more rolls than a sharpei.
And long!!!!!
At the end of my pregnancy, his feet were pushing up against my ribs, and all that was between his head and the world was a thin flap of skin.
His great grandfather, upon seeing him for the first time asked if I was feeding him bacon and eggs yet, and if not I should be.
He had a point.
At two weeks old, all he did was eat and sleep.
In my arms.
Because after I fed him and tried to put him in his crib, he would wake up, crying, wanting to be fed again.
I did what any young mother would do.
I called my mother.
Who informed me that the child was hungry and huge so she suggested I put an ounce of rice cereal in his bottle, and that should fill him up for more than 15 minutes.
Thankfully, it worked.
When he was three months old, he was 18 pounds.
Neighbours would come by just to look at this behemoth baby in their midst.
And handsome!!!!
I should say so.
He was a marvel.
The second I laid eyes on him, I knew he was my special little man.
So different from Mer.
He ate, slept, smiled, hardly cried.
Easy to get along with.
Just like now.
That isn't to say that he hasn't had his moments.
He has.
In grade three, he came home, grabbed a club pack box of baking soda, a club pack container of vinegar, a box of ziploc bags and Emily and went outside.
Apparently, in school that day, they had done a science experiment with the above mentioned items and he wanted to replicate it at home.
The next thing I know, little explosions reverberate from the backyard.
Looking out the window, I see corpses of used ziploc bags littering the landscape.
He and Em are covered in baking soda and vinegar.
And beside them, empty containers that once held said baking soda and vinegar.
That's the price of scientific exploration.
Another spring afternoon, I am working on my doctoral dissertation, and I look out the window to see my only son sitting backwards in a wagon, wearing a bike helmet, while hurling himself down the incline of backyard deliberately crashing into a tree stump to assess how far, upon impact, he could be thrown from said wagon.
HAD to be a boy thing.
In grade four, his teacher (who eventually had a nervous breakdown) asked the class was WCF meant in regards to the weather.
Keith, always pensive and thoughtful, raised his little boy hand and said,
"We could freeze?"
Being the only boy in a single mother family complete with two sisters couldn't have been easy for Keith.
He looked forward to "Boy's Night" with my brother.
These sleepovers consisted of eating spaghetti-os, sugary cereal, playing video games and watching movies.
For Keith, it meant they could burp and fart and not have to say "excuse me."
He learned, probably earlier than he wanted to, the meaning of menstruation, tampons, hystrionics, makeup, accessories, Muchmusic, S Club 7 and the Spice Girls.
I believe, to the end of my days, that the Spice Girls traumatized Keith in ways he has yet to share.
When people wonder why he doesn't have a girlfriend, I simply reply,
"Why would he want one?"
He so desperately wanted a brother when Em was born.
He asked repeatedly for a brother.
If I could have, I probably would have.
Because life is about balance.
So here he is at twenty.
Still my little man.
Quiet, thoughtful, caring, loving, independent, intelligent, strong. . . .
A sense of adventure.
Always asking questions and investigating the world around him.
A brilliant sense of humour.
He makes me laugh. . . .
Sometimes cry.
My life and the lives of those around are richer because of him.
I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful son.
A son who, when I look at him, fills me with a love so strong I fight to keep the tears back.
His sisters demand much from me.
He never did.
I always worry he won't know how much I love and adore him.
How important he is to me.
How much joy, pleasure and stability he has brought to me, and will continue to bring to me.
I LOVE YOU MY ONE AND ONLY SON!
Happy Birthday Keith Ronald Alexander!
Title Lyric: Happy Birthday by Carly Simon
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