Where Is This Coming From?

Funny Story: I tried to snap this photo to show how Chris was an angel sent from heaven. Before I could get one picture
she promptly turned her head and peed all over. Sets the stage for the rest of our lives together.

     According to my obstetrician, I was a crazy, ancient, eccentric lady who should be ashamed and fearful to even dream of having a baby at the ripe old age of 34. As she looked at my chart she tsk-tsked and sighed, then explained to me as one might explain to a complete idiot that the rate of complications during birth increases tremendously the older a mother becomes. Low birth weight, developmental and emotional problems and more could all be lurking around the corner for me and/or my kid.

      Fortunately my doctor was wrong about pretty much all of that stuff. Especially the low birth weight. The kid ended up being huge. 9 lbs, 10.3 oz to be exact. And she was so attached to me from day one. In fact it was a long and arduous ordeal getting her out of me and into the world. At least that’s what I've been told because for the last couple of days of pregnancy I took full advantage of whatever drugs the hospital pushed. I was so drugged up I was seeing flowers growing out of the walls. This followed several days of both out-patient and in-patient procedures in which they tried to induce labor in inventive ways before giving up and breaking my water manually with something that looked suspiciously like a crochet hook.

     After waiting around for quite some time while nothing happened, the baby’s heart rate became erratic and my own blood pressure dropped dangerously low. So it was decided by all around me (remember I was higher than a kite and could not reason a semi-intelligent opinion), that a c-section was the best option. Immediately the activity fluttered into high-gear and I watched somewhat amused from my drugged daze as I was strapped to a table, arms spread-eagle.

     Then the bets were placed on just how big my child was going to be with the doctor and all the nurses each guessing somewhere around 10 lbs. Sure enough, the first words out of the doctor’s mouth as she pulled the baby from my belly were, “Oh no. There’s no way you would have been able to have her naturally!”

     What I focused on as they held my healthy and BIG baby girl in the air was the fact that she didn’t cry. I know babies aren’t supposed to be able to see anything for a time, but I felt as if she looked right at me and was communicating that I should make no mistake she was angry to have been pulled from her warm nest. With her eyes dark and almost nonexistent brows furrowed she looked downright PISSED! 

     When I could breathe through the shock and form my first words, I exclaimed in nervous laugh, “Wow! Uh…ha..ha. She looks… mad!” 

     All the nurses tittered that indeed she did appear to be peeved to have been kidnapped from her safe, warm little home. I imagined if she could raise that chubby little fist in fury she would no doubt be shaking it in my general direction and reading me the riot act. I could hear the teenage prophesy words “You always have to ruin everything!” ringing in my ears.

     And things haven’t changed much since.

     I always imagined my child would be a miniature copy of myself with a few traits of her father thrown in the mix. I was quite wrong. I had been a shy, scared child, not only with strangers but with my own family. At times even myself.

     While Chris has moments of shyness, especially when strangers constantly touch her curly hair, she is my polar opposite in self-assurance. Sometimes I believe she came out of the womb with an opinion on everything and a self-possession that means she will take over the world. And talk. Good golly the kid can talk!

     So this is where our story starts. 

     We  had a few very, very brief months of peace in which Chris cried, cooed, hummed and stumbled over words like Mama and Dada. Then it seemed as if she jumped from sweet baby to surly teenager over the course of one week. It never ceases to amaze me what an accomplished parrot she is or the curiously funny things that come out of her mouth.

      She was sent here to entertain me. And I was sent here to chronicle her exploits.