I use to mark time by my chronological age.
At 4 I broke three fingers by going down a spiral slide in the fun house at Lagoon.
At 5 we moved to New Jersey and celebrated my birthday in a New York City apartment waiting to move into our house.
At 8 I was baptized in a random Stake Center while our family was traveling on vacation.
We moved to Houston when I was 11 and I celebrated my 12 birthday by going to Astroworld.
And so on and so on.
Then I became a mother and my actual age became fuzzy in my mind.
I could tell you in months how old each child was
But I couldn't tell you my own age without thinking really hard.
One year I actually forgot and told one of my friends Jawan that I was a year younger than her.
She was not happy when later she found out we were actually the same age.
I now mark my life by imaging my children.
A doctor asks me if I have ever had any surgeries to which I reply
"Why yes I had my gallbladder taken out."
What year was that?
Like how long was awhile ago?
"Well maybe 5 or 10 years ago....maybe 15?"
(doctors disgusted look)
"Ok Ok well let me think about it. Lauren was 4. Todd had taken Jack 7 and Megan 10 to the Astros game and my mom had to come over" Sooooo it was 1996!"
A look of pride on my face while the doctor just shook his head.
So today as I was driving to the store I reminisced about just what I was doing 21 years ago this very day.
It was etched in my mind like acid on glass.
I was 9 months and 1 day pregnant.
It was my third delivery and my gynecologist had determined from the moment I walked in that I had gestational diabetes.
She needed no tests to confirm it. (athough there would be a plethora of tests at the end)
She just saw that I was overweight.
And she was thin.
I explained to her that my body actually performed miracles when I was pregnant.
That is was a cosmic joke that when I was pregnant....
I lost weight.
My skin cleared up.
My energy level increased
and given enough time I could have probably brought about world peace.
I always told people that if I could mentally and emotionally deal with a dozen or more children that I would choose to be pregnant forever.
(to all of the people for whom pregnancy is a b word...I profusely apologize for my actions)
After she diagnosed me she let me change from the paper thin tiny gown to my clothes.
As I walked out she sat talking to the nurses eating a bag of Fritos.
During the last three months of the pregnancy she had me take monthly glucose tests and weekly stress tests.
My only REAL stress was her.
The only bright silvery lining to this thundercloud was that I was considered "a higher risk pregnancy"
Why would that ever be good?
Well I had had two other pregnancies.
Megan 43 weeks and
Jack induced at 42 weeks.
This was my ticket to be induced at 40 weeks whether the baby was determining whether to take up permanent residence in my uterus or not.
June 1, 1992
The day my sweet little girl would be born.
I counted down the days.
They told me to call at 6 am to St. Lukes that morning to make sure that all was ready.
I knew that I had them by the diabetes and would not take no for an answer.
The nurse then said,
"I'm sorry you can't come in today. We are so busy that we are not doing inductions.....(and then a pause) unless they are high risk pregnancies.
A smile spread across my face as I said,
"Oh but I am....I have gestational diabetes." I said while trying to stifle the excitement in my voice.
Let me look at your chart.
To which the nurse smugly said,
You are not diabetic. Your glucose levels are fine. Maybe in the higher normal range but definitely no risk at all."
And that is when the crying began.
I cried all day.
I had never cried more in my life.
And as I rested my head down that night knowing that this baby would NEVER come out, I cried some more.
Then as if she could no longer tolerate staying inside of such a big baby, in the middle of the night at 2:41
made her debut into the world after a record 40 minute labor.
She would not have been happy when my foot slipped and kicked her right in her Frito loving face.