Today is the 25th birthday of my second child…a whole quarter of a century old. I wonder if alll mothers recall the days of their children’s births. The morning 25 years ago, was much the same as today. The sun shone brilliantly on a thin, but fresh diamond dusting of snow. Old mother nature had spruced up the place just a bit for him… <smile> she had actually dusted.
The middle child of three, he is at once, incredibly intelligent, and thickly bullheaded. He laughs easily and always searches for the way to make others laugh. Even at his own expense, laughter is the ultimate purchase.
It was February 10th, 1982, and I knew by 10 pm that I was to be a mom, again, before another day had passed. My s.o. was nowhere to be found…until I called the right bar <sigh> hindsight is so painfully 20/20. So my dad drove me to the hospital… arriving shortly after midnight.
I had never been so alone in all of my life.
Assuming that it would be a longer labor, as my first had been, I settled in for an all-nighter. But by 3:00 am it was obvious that the baby that had run almost two weeks overdue, was not waiting for sunrise to make its appearance. All of the sudden there was some kind of a big hurry?
At 3:35, with no pain medication for mom, his ,at first, squeaky little chirps regaled the world with a tale of his birth. Then a louder cry, but not anything that would be considred an audible assault. More like plaintive vocalized observations…there is so much light (cry) that i must squint. Why is it so (cry) cold in here?
He was beautiful. Well, of course he was, what did you expect? Brown hair, like his mom, unlike the blonde of his dad. 8lbs, 1 ounce, 21 1/2 inches long. The largest of my three children, but the easiest birth.
I strained to keep the isolette in view while I watched him. There was no drugged fuzziness clouding my mind…and this was the most amazing thing ever that I was witnessing. His tiny head turned as he squinted, looking around at the lights (really searching for me…no one can tell me differently).
There he was, the promise, the miracle…the world goes on.
And that is it. The moment of our separation was past…a precarious time at best for each of us…and he was his own little person, his own tiny piece of existence.
Today, he a handsome, 6’6" man, (still the biggest of my three children). His qualities shine through, along with the doubts and the searching that all middle kids of three have and do.
Born, not into a title or a preordained place in the lineage of the family, the middle child of three feels a deep compulsion to earn or to define his place in life.
He was not given the title of "Firstborn" nor the title of "The baby of the family" so he wants the title; he yearns to know what about him is special…and simply given…because he was born.
How can a person not love him? Yes, to know my dear Natters is to love him. The first to hold his hand out in friendship, or to offer help…as long as you let him know; he is not a mind reader <smirk>. A doer, a thinker, with a fascinating mind for numbers and patterns. He works in the tool and die industry, programming lathes and other machinery to do a job in the most efficient manner.
I wish that I could make him understand, that he is just so special, that there is no need to search. He has his title, his place. LOved son, forever in his mom’s heart…