Weekend Journal, Part 1

Jonah turned nine today.

On June 8th, 1999, nearly 24 hours after I entered the hospital,
they put my baby in my arms. He had two purple marks on his forehead
from the forceps. He was majorly pissed off from all the pushing and
pulling. The doctor said that Jonah was the first new borne that ever took a
swing at him. It had been a rough twenty four hours and I was barely
conscious enough to feel the baby in my arms, but I talked quietly to
him and he stopped crying. A few moments later, Jonah and Steve were
pushed into the hallway with a bottle of formula, and I spent another
six hours in surgery.

Two generations ago, I would have been dead.

This morning, Jonah and I looked over his first photo album. It was
the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was unbearably hot. We
only had air conditioning in the bedroom. I was too injured to walk up
and down the four flights of stairs. So, I lived in the bedroom for the
summer watching TV and reading novels while breast feeding. Steve had
taken a temp job for that summer to make some money, so it was just the
kid and me in that little hot room in Washington Heights.

But we were so in love with our new baby. He dozed next to me in the
bed during the afternoon. And Steve fed him a bottle in the middle of
the night, while watching Nick at Night. He hooked him to his chest in
a Baby Bjorn and marched around the neighborhood. For the next three
years, Jonah was attached to Steve in that sack or the backpack.
Steve’s second head. As soon as I healed, that kid went everywhere with
me, too. I had a diaper bag stocked and ready by the door at all times.
We made all our own baby food and froze them in little cubes. I made
new friends in the playground, and we compared nap times and snack
foods.

Nine years ago, my baby smelled so nice in my arms and my life
turned around. In addition to figuring out the baby thing, Steve and I were
still getting to know each other and figuring out the jobs and
discovering the future. Our lives have turned out much better than
either of us could have imagined. My kids are strong and happy, we have jobs, we have a parking spot. Yet, I miss the potential and excitement of my first born and my new
life.