|Me, baby Ben...and the stereo system|
I always tell people it's my lucky day.
Flash back to early September of 1985. It was hot and humid and I was very pregnant with my first child. My feet swelled up. After I passed my due date, which just happened to fall on Labor Day, some couldn't resist saying, "Haven't you had that baby yet?" And if they didn't say it, they looked at me that way.
I changed my mind. I didn't want to do this anymore.
Jim and I ate Chinese food, having heard that this could make labor start. Nothing.
Finally, when I was two weeks late, my doctor induced me. I went into labor but failed to progress. Of course for years and years, I could tell you how many hours this went on. I could regale the best of them with all the details if I was with a group of women trying to outdo each other with our horrible labor stories (which we loved to replay).
Now, I can't even remember how long it went on, but I do remember it was very long.
My parents, who had been unable to reach us, got in their car, drove from New York and arrived at the hospital during the night.
I squeezed Jim's had through most of it, not wanting him to leave my hospital room. He read the peaks and valleys of the contractions on the monitor, telling me when a peak was coming and then letting me know when I could relax.
Finally, I had an emergency Caesarian section.
Ben was born at 11:15 p.m. Friday, Sept. 13. I was really happy to see him.
For 26 years, I've been telling people that Friday the 13th is my lucky day.