At 7:55 a.m., on January 27, 2005, our son Ethan Stanford Dunham was born. He was born yelling, crying, and peeing!
We didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl, but his mother not-so-secretly just assumed "critter" (as we called the unborn hiccuper) would be a girl. After all, Heather is "#5" in a group of 7 sisters.
When Ethan first emerged, the doctor said, "It's a boy!" Heather retorted in a rather plaintive voice, "A boy? Are you sure? It was supposed to be a girl."
I was more worried about 10 fingers and 10 toes to worry about that other appendage!
Ethan would have weighed 9 pounds had he not decided to pee upon his birth. When we woke him this morning by signing "Happy Birthday, he jumped up yelling "Red Alert! Red Alert!" which is his usual urgent announcement that he has to go to the bathroom. There was no such warning 6 years ago this morning.
After he was born, I cut the cord, and marvelled at that little tiny being. He was whisked away to NICU for a bit, and I followed behind beginning my first "helicopter parent" action. Once he was secured, I was told I could leave to be with Heather in recovery.
"Recovery" was relative because it took longer than normal for the doctor and his staff to handle Heather's C-Section.
As a result, I sat outside her operating/delivery room by myself for almost an hour. Sitting quietly on a little bench in a dark and cold hallway, I thought about Heather and our new son upstairs taking his first breaths.
What would he be like? Where were his eye lashes? Would he have blue eyes? Why is his hair black? What the hell am I going to do now? Who should I call now because no one knew we were having him today? I've only changed one diaper in my life, and now look where I am!
Millions of thoughts rushed through my mind it seemed.
But I was overwhelmed with love for my son and for Heather.
I felt the same this morning six years later.