Friday, 7 November 2008

Boy Oneder

In February, 1995, I quit smoking in preparation for getting pregnant. Hubster wanted me to have quit for at least six months before we even started trying because he didn't want me to relapse, so on a cold and bitter winter night on February 4th, 1995, I smoked my last cigarette. It was TOUGH. I used the patch, which helped, but it certainly still took everything in me to stop.

In May, it had been three months since I quit and I was getting antsy. I started bugging Hubster to start trying to begin our family. I don't know if it was my begging or the wine I fed him, but we started trying. We did everything according to the books, watching my cycles and "meeting" on the right nights. May turned to June and June turned to July and I wasn't pregnant. I thought for SURE it would only take once...isn't that what our parents tell us when we are teeneagers? Sigh. In August, I started taking my temperature every morning and using charts and reading fertility websites and stuff. Nothing. September rolled around. Another big fat NEGATIVE. I was devastated. It was also at this point that I "accepted" the fact that I was baron...never to conceive a child.

October came around and I had pretty much given up. I checked my temperature in the mornings and it never rose above the baseline. I told myself that I wasn't ovulating and was a lost cause. Unfortunately, no doctor would even see me until I had been trying to conceive for a full year. Dammit.

Imagine my surprise on that early November day when I peed on a stick and saw a pink line. OMGOSH!!! I was STUNNED. Hubster hadn't come home from work yet, so I had no one to show it to. The short time it took him to get home felt like HOURS, but I was waiting for him on the porch, barely able to breathe. I ran up to him and showed him my stick. It was dark, so we went inside and he saw it. The darkest pink line you could even imagine. I thought for sure that there was something wrong with the HPT...that line was SO must have been a dud. We hopped in the car and drove to Shoppers Drug Mart, where we picked up another double pack of home pregnancy tests. I would only need one. The line was just as dark. WE WERE PREGNANT!!!

I realize now that six months is NOT a long time to try to conceive, but when you are going through the emotional hell of it, ANY amount of time is hell. My heart goes out to women who try for YEARS.

So now that I was pregnant, I thought of NOTHING else. It consumed me morning, noon and night.

About two weeks after I found out we were expecting, the morning, noon and night sickness kicked in. After 14 weeks of pure hell, requiring me to take Diclectin in order to function, the nausea finally wore off. THAT my friends was awful. The sciatica kicked in quite nicely afterwards, along with hemmoroids and heart burn. Oh yes friends, pregnancy certainly did NOT agree with me.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, I knew I was having a boy. Not because we found out through an ultrasound or some other medicial technology. Not even because MIL's side of the family all told me it was so because I sat on a knife instead of scissors, I had no butt and I was all belly. No folks, I knew he was a boy because I grew balls. I swore like a trucker and had patience for NO ONE. It as pretty nasty.

I was due on July 7th, 1996, but Boy Oneder decided that June 28th would be his 5:23 pm to be exact. I had my first contractions in the night of the 27th and didn't realize that they were contractions...oh yes my friends, I had BACK LABOUR. Ouch is an understatement. Long story short, I went to the doctor for my regular appointment at 11:15 and was 4 cms dilated. He told me to go home and have a snack and go to the hospital around 1:00. We arrived at 1:30 and I was 5-6 cms. They broke my water at 2:40 and all hell broke loose WITH my water. Back labour is excrutiating torture. Boy Oneder came into this world and I did it without the help of any drugs. He weighed 6 lbs, 15 ozs. From June 28th, 1996 at 5:23 pm, a piece of my heart has walked outside of my body.

Boy Oneder was named for his two grandfathers. It is an Italian tradition to name the first son after the father's father and I wanted my Dad honoured as well, so his middle name is my Dad's.

His grandfathers, who have both passed away, adored Boy Oneder. Hubster's Dad had his namesake and my Dad had his boy. They worshipped the ground that kid walked on. It breaks my heart that neither of them are still here to see what a wonderful boy he is growing up to be. They both played a part in his wonderful personality.

And that is the story of my Boy Oneder. My handsome, sensitive, loving, affectionate Boy Oneder.

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