I never thought I would be the mother that repeated the original birthday story year-after-year to my husband and child, but yesterday was Clare's fourth birthday and that is precisely what I did all day Friday and Saturday morning. The point wasn't to be nostalgic. I think the truth is I am surprise at how vividly I remember everything leading up to the beginning of my little one's life. I remember that the night before she was born was a Sunday night and we ate take out chinese food, Pings, for dinner. I had hot and sour soup and crab angles. The day had been cool outside and the wind was blowing all day with the most beautiful blue autumn sky. I remember that, earlier in the day, we had purchased a huge maroon mum to put on the front porch so that when we got home from the hospital Clare would come home to fresh flowers (my not-so-secret little indulgence in life). I remember how meticulously I walked through her nursery to make sure everything was in its place, not knowing if I was bringing home a little boy named David or a little girl named Clare. How I straightened the sheets, checked the monitor, laid out necessaries and somehow believed I was prepared for what was about to happen to me. I remember packing my hospital bag and choosing the shirt and pants I would wear home and the robe and pajamas that I thought I would wear in the hospital. I remember the uneventful little onesie I picked out for her to wear home, not knowing how little she would be and unable to wear even the smallest article of clothing that I had purchased. I remember wanting to go to bed as soon as possible so that it would be morning faster. I remember calling my mother in the darkness of the morning and telling her I loved her and hearing the tears in her voice because she might not make it to the hospital in time to give me a kiss and tell me she loved me by saying, "I'm not going to be able to give my baby a kiss before she has her baby." I remember the morning at the hospital and the excited anticipation I felt at meeting my new little one. How Mason and I laughed and laughed and smiled and couldn't wait to get our suite, and how scared I was because I knew giving birth would be hard, but how much more scared I was for my baby because he or she should would be alone for a little while and unaware of what was going on. At least I had people around me and I knew what was about to happen, she didn't. I remember the terror I felt when the heart rate monitor stopped registering her heart beat and the quick response of the birthing team around me to remind her that she was almost here and to hang on. I remember her safe arrival at 10:58 in the morning and how I had to ask if I had a boy or a girl because no one thought to tell me when it all happened so quickly. I remember almost every detail, not because I mean to, but because those moments are now a part of my blood and bones...she is as much a part of me as I am of her. Anyway, so I remember, and I tell her because she lights up with joy when I tell her the story of her first birthday. I skip a few details, but I get the major ones and she giggles and makes me repeat how daddy told everyone in the waiting room and how we wouldn't let her go into the nursery and kept her in the room with us. She thinks it's so very funny that we woke her up all night that first night because she was so quiet and we just wanted to make sure she was alive; How we would listen to her little sleeping breaths and squeaks and think we would never forget them. One day a year I get to relive the best day of my life and celebrate her!
Of course, the fourth birthday was perfect. She woke up a "big girl" and never stopped until she went to sleep. We got lots of pictures. She got lots of presents. Everyone came to be a part. We were all exhausted when it was over and went to bed happy. Sounds just like a Birth day.