Happy 5th birthday to “S” — kid #2. I went to his class today to bring cupcakes and read a story (How to Train Your Train — a surprising but endearing Target find). Every year in this class they trace him on his birthday. Now we will have side-by-side comparisons of S at 3, 4, and 5. He is getting big!
I do not feel like it was just yesterday that he was born. This has been a long 5 years, probably because we’ve packed in a lot: another baby, plus another on the way, a move, several books.
However, I do remember his birth quite well. Here’s some hard-won knowledge for anyone in the NYC region: Do not give birth at NYU Medical Center 9 months after Christmas. The place was a madhouse. I was scheduled to be induced early in the AM, and was turned away twice because people were basically giving birth in the hallways. I was finally admitted in the evening. It was a quick hard labor: a little more than 3 excruciating hours. I wanted an epidural but, what with the hospital being as busy as it was, the anesthesiologist didn’t show up until 2.5 hours into the process. S was born around 9:30 p.m. He was a big baby: 8 lbs, 12 oz. Cute, and ate like a champ. Alas, there was no room in this inn. The maternity ward was full. I wound up in the urology ward with a guard stationed outside my room (because there wasn’t the layer of security that there is around the nursery). I enjoyed feeling a bit like Beyonce, but I really just wanted to get out of there. We talked them into discharging me the next day and my husband and I walked S 5 blocks home in a stroller at about 11 p.m.
After that slightly traumatic birth experience, though, S was and still is an awesome kid. He’s easy going, and is my little foodie, willing to eat broccoli, tomatoes, and cucumbers. He’s learned to swim and play soccer and goes after the ball aggressively. Nonetheless, he’s still willing to cuddle up on my lap. I enjoy seeing the odd mix of maturity and being a little kid that turning 5 entails. Last night he got so into playing with his new Pokemon cards that he didn’t make it to the bathroom in time. He called to me that he’d peed in his jammies, but he also informed me that he’d cleaned up. He’d changed clothes, and simply presented me with his soiled shorts. Everything else was taken care of. I look forward to seeing what he’ll do with his life.