I'm linking up again with Five Minute Friday, writing for five minutes on a given prompt. Today's word: WORK.
Fifteen years ago today, at about 5:30 in the morning, I gave birth to Jonathan.
It was hard work.
I'd had a caesarean with Allison four years earlier but decided to try a normal delivery with our second. Jonathan was BIG -- nearly 9-1/2 pounds -- but I had a successful, hard-but-fast delivery with no meds other than a few puffs of laughing gas.
I was so proud of myself when I delivered him. It wasn't so much that I hadn't used meds: I have no judgment about that because every baby, every mother, every delivery is different and requires different approaches. But I felt as if giving birth to this big butterball was the hardest work I would ever do.
Fifteen years later, I realize that there are a lot harder things than giving birth to a large baby. One of them is parenting a boy who is on the autism spectrum, who has had seizures intermittently since 10 months of age, who is developmentally disabled.
But I don't feel proud of myself anymore. I feel very, very humbled and inadequate and a little in awe of this now-fifteen-year-old who gets so excited about the simple things like the recycling truck and seagulls and clotheslines full of laundry, who is so funny and silly and so very exasperating.
I guess I feel proud of him because he is so good at LIVING and never for one moment thinks that he's been shortchanged in any way.
Happy birthday, Jonathan.