6.

Six years ago at this time (around 5am), Wife and I were sitting in an exam room at the hospital. She was at 32 weeks and had woke up in the middle of the night with some pretty severe stomach pains. I had blamed the soup I'd fixed her late the evening before. As it turns out, I just didn't read the label: "CAUTION: MAY INDUCE LABOR," and the decision was made to take her via ambulance from the hospital in Jasper to another hospital about 40 minutes away, in Evansville, where they would likely deliver our baby. St. Mary's was more capable of succeeding with a newborn who was 8 weeks early.

My last vivid memory before he was born a little less than 8 hours later wasn't the fear I'd felt that everything wasn't going to be OK. Rather, it was a heated discussion I'd had with my mom at the hospital in Evansville. We'd started making small talk - in Wife's room at the hospital, mind you - about the primary that had taken place the week before. The particulars escape me at this point, but the gist of it was that I'd noted something peculiar on the Republican ballot.

"Why would you know something like that?" Mom demanded to know.

"Because........ I ........voted on a Republican ballot?" I replied. (Having NEVER voted for a Democrat in my life, which I'd assumed was common knowledge - in spite of the fact that my maternal lineage includes people, living and dead, who were active in local politics on the Democrat side.)

Which should have been the end of the discussion since there were more pressing issues at hand, like the fact that my son was about to be brought into the world, and the calendar did not say JULY.

But no. It was not the end of the discussion.

I had an aunt who was running - on the Democrat ticket, of course - for one of the county offices. Didn't need my vote; I believe she was running unopposed anyway, but it didn't matter if she wasn't, because I wasn't going to vote Democrat even if her primary opponent was bin Laden himself.

Anyway, this pissed my mom off. How dare I not vote for my aunt. Et cetera.

"Your grandma would be turning over in her grave," Mom told me.

"Like she could give less of a fuck. Because she is dead," I replied.

And it was at this point that the nurses made note of the high-risk pregnancy in the room and the spike in her blood pressure, and cleared the room except for me.

Ha.

*****

Well, as you probably know, the story ultimately had a happy ending, and I don't mean the part where my aunt was defeated in her re-election bid four years later.

Despite the fact that he made his debut at 32 weeks and thus spent the first 24 days of his life in the NICU at St. Mary's, My Son Cool turns 6 today. And it's not all been wine and roses - no developmental problems or anything that preemies are susceptible to, thank God! - he's stubborn and spoiled and sweet and mean and smart and demanding and has the attention span of a hummingbird, but I still wouldn't trade him for most of the money in the world.

And it's like he's always been in our home. Truthfully, I have a hard time remembering what our lives were like before he came along. We'd been in our home for three years before he was born. And yet I have a difficult time imagining that he wasn't here. I guess parenting is pretty much all-consuming when it's done right. Not that I'm a perfect parent by any stretch; I curse myself for some of the habits I let him get into during his development (I truly feel like his lack of focus is somehow my fault - too much TV and video games, not enough sleep).

Happy 6th birthday, buddy. Your presence in my life has been rewarding and joyous and heartbreaking, but you are my son and I love you with all my heart.
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