I'm always impressed and a little saddened to view the proud Mormon Mommy blogs that are out there. Impressed, because these wonderful women are raising exceptional children and have the right to boast about their offspring. Saddened, because I missed out on having a Mommy blog. So here’s my attempt.
Tim and I married in July of 1982. (That’s a long time ago for you who are counting.) On our honeymoon, we went back to my mission area in Kansas and Nebraska. We also went on a wild goose chase to Texas pursuing a dream career for Tim, but that’s a subject for another blog post. (A really long and terse blog post!)
In November of 1982, I got pregnant with my only child, a son. I have to tell you that I was never so sick in all my life before or since. I think I used to pray to die it was so bad. I didn’t just have morning sickness, I had morning, mid-morning, mid-day, mid-afternoon, later afternoon, early evening, evening and nighttime sickness. The doctor was afraid I’d dehydrate or blow a gasket or something equally as vile. I managed to break all the blood vessels in my eyes and sprain a few ribs. Fun, don’t you think?
I’m not sure when the sickness ended, but in April of 1983, Tim decided he wanted to work for the church. The church was interested and flew him to Salt Lake for an interview which turned out great. We packed up all our belongings and had my brother Dale haul us to Salt Lake and we found a basement apartment on 6th East and 6th South. We stayed there until the landlady made it impossible for us to live civilly as neighbors. (Tim never got the job with the Church.)
We had to pack up and move in two days. I was eight months pregnant. The forced move caused my blood pressure to soar out of control. Suddenly we were in a new town, (Logan, Utah) I had a new doctor and going to give birth at a new hospital—all in one miserable day. Not the best of welcome's. We arrived in Logan on Friday afternoon, ate a chili dog and drank A&W rootbeer and then shuffled off to the Logan Regional Hospital where the doctor on call, (my doctor went out of town), induced labor.
I labored all Friday night, all day Saturday, (thank goodness for National League Baseball), and into the night on Saturday. The obstetrician on call decided to go horseback riding and forgot all about me. He finally strolled in about ten p.m. and found both me and my baby in distress. Without so much as a sorry excuse, I was hurled into the operating room, freezing cold, hooked up to tubes and wires and scared out of my mind. Because it was an emergency C-Section, Tim couldn’t be with me. There was no time for easing me into sleep, they just poked and prodded and forced that awful mask over my mouth and said “good night Gracie.”
Much later, when someone slapped me and told me to wake up, that I had a beautiful baby boy, I wanted to slap the person back. You see, I was expecting a girl. My doctor in California promised me a girl. I’d prepared sweaters, booties, and baby clothes for a girl. However, when Tim came to see me in recovery, he insisted I had a boy—not a girl. I was still too groggy from the anesthesia to argue with him. I couldn’t verify that interesting little tidbit because they didn’t bring him too me for several hours after delivery.
But when I finally saw my little boy, my heart was lost. I knew immediately the name we had chosen for him was wrong. He wasn’t a James Paul (after both our fathers), he was a Michael and I knew that without question. There was something about that little cherub face that spoke of Arch-angels.
From Logan we moved to Brigham City, Utah and then back to California. My son grew and matured. He was the delight of my life. I wish I could say I was the delight of his. I was tired. I guess that’s the best way to say it. Now that I look back now, I gain an enormous amount of weight after Mike’s birth and that added to the heavy burden that I felt. Thank goodness I had Mike to help me find a great happiness even though I felt like a miserable louse inside.
We moved frequently, but he never complained. I often thought how horrible it was that he would never be able to say that this or that home was his childhood home or the town where he was from. He did well in California. We took him to the beach for the first time. He loved it, especially the taste of sand. I never thought he’d put it in his mouth. But it made a great picture.
He also learned to walk while we lived in Claremont, California. He loved his friends and I babysat a couple of children that he adored.
Mike developed his love of computers at a young age. He was barely eleven months old when his father left out first computer down on the coffee table. Mike knew he wasn’t supposed to touch it, and from the grin on his face, he knew better, but the temptation was too great. From that single finger poke came his unconditional love of computers. Mike still works with computers doing help desk work at a company here in Camarillo.
Though he’s grown now, just turned twenty five years old and finally moved out of the house, he’s still the joy of my life. It’s not always been a smooth path Mike has chosen, and my heart has been dragged through the street a time or two, but he’s grown into a kind and loving individual, one I’m very proud of. So maybe I do have a legitimate right to brag about my baby boy.
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