Nineteen

"Pregnancy is a disease from which you recover in 18 years and 9 months." ~Carrie Latet

Yesterday Merv and I spent the afternoon in Port Hope celebrating my great niece Emily's sixteenth birthday. I don't know when it happened that Emily grew from the shy little girl into the beautiful, poised and gracious young woman she has become. I could swear I barely blinked and it happened.

On the way home from Port Hope I was remembering another August 15, nineteen years ago. It was a painfully scorching Thursday. I wore my hot pink and black suit to work and my assistant moved the buttons on it while I sat in my bra in my office. I couldn't quite get it buttoned up over my belly that morning without straining so as she had done several times before, she moved the buttons to give me a little more room. That morning, however, she told me she had extended it as far as she could go and there would be no more chances after that day to give me a little extra room. By August 15, I was pretty short on clothing options. I only had a couple of things I could still cram into. I was self-conscious of my protruding belly button and swollen feet. And I was exhausted.

My due date was August 23 but I knew Jacob wouldn't wait that long to make his appearance. I had told my obstetrician the week before that I expected my scheduled August 16 office appointment would be taking place in the labour room at Mt. Sinai. He laughed and told me he would see me in the office the following week. That August 15 morning, I knew with relative certainty the day would be my last in the office before giving birth. I finished up my work, cleared my calendar, drove to Markham on my lunch hour to pick up Merv's gift for our anniversary five days later and bought a small gift to leave on the pillow for Merv when he returned from the hospital following Jacob's birth. I told my boss I expected to go into labour that night and so I wouldn't be in the office the next day but would call the next week. He thought I was nuts. The women in the office tried to convince me that I was not ready to go into labour as I would get a burst of energy first - nature's gift to help me survive labour. But I know my body and I knew I had hit my pregnancy limit.

When I arrived home from work that night I was too tired to cook so we ordered Swiss Chalet. I packed my bag and stashed Merv's pillow gift for easy access so I could slip it on the pillow while he went to get the car. I told him I was going to go into labour and asked him at what point he wanted me to wake him up. He laughed and told me to wake him when the contractions were five minutes apart. And that is what I did. Around 11:00 I went to bed, knowing there was no chance for sleep but at least I thought I could get a little rest. At 1:15 my labour started. At 3:30 I woke Merv. At 5:30 we left for the hospital (via Merv's office where I sat in the car on St. Clair Avenue while he made some preparations for the morning meeting he was going to miss).

Thinking Jacob would arrive on that Friday, I turned the nursery rhyme over in my head...Friday's child is loving and giving. I didn't know he wouldn't make his arrival until the next stanza doomed him to work hard for a living. It was a long, and painful day. A little more than 26 hours after I started labour, Jacob was born by c-section at 3:15 A.M. on Saturday, August 17.

He was beautiful. Nineteen years later, he still is.