How I Met Your Brother

I could hear the bass murmur of your daddy's voice reading your bedtime stories in the next room as I waited for Aunt K-K to pick up the phone. I got her voicemail and, as I watched the flakes fall outside with the glow of the snow making the night seem blue, I told her it was time for her to come over since your Daddy and I would be heading to the hospital tonight. I made the call in the dark, as if conducting some secret business, which I suppose I was. You would go to sleep thinking it was just a night like any other, but while you slept a covert changing of the guard would take place. Your aunt would watch over you as your father and I labored miles away.

I skipped our weekly library trip that night. You and your daddy picked up new books about diesel engines through the ages (at that point you recognized several famous models, including the J Class, Andes Class, and Challenger, among many others I've already forgotten) and dinosaurs. At home I packed your lunch for school the next day, tucked last minute items into my bag, and chatted with some friends over the phone, casually mentioning that I was in labor. I learned that the Davises had lost their beloved dog Zoe and that they were all still reeling. We talked about the new puppy due in a couple short months. They would name her Regan (I'm sure you'll come to know her well).

We ate pizza when you returned and I quickly ushered you and Daddy up to the bath and then to bed, not wanting you to see me in any pain. I couldn't hold you the way you wanted me to, which was more upsetting to me than you. This would be the first of many such occasions over the next few weeks.

With you asleep, I showered and blew out my hair, experiencing my first real contractions. They continued with no regularity as I applied my makeup. Aunt K-K arrived and laughed at my labor preparations, which I considered as important as my Lamaze breathing. Your father came up to check on me and I remember telling him "This is going to be awesome." I felt excited and ready--to meet your brother, to keep up with you again, to not be so huge. I left any trace of fear in that bathroom and eased into a feeling of excited anticipation.

Through all of this, right beside me as if on a tight lead, was the Boda Bean. She followed me from room to room, from one activity to the next. Within minutes of spreading our things out at the hospital, we had little Lab hairs hidden all over that room. Each one I encountered brought a smile to my face, remembering how much even she was looking forward to Jack's arrival.

It was 11:30 when we left the house. I sent out a flurry of texts (to my boss, friends, and family) as we drove the 12 miles to the hospital. In the car, the contractions became much more painful. What I remember from the drive is there was very little traffic. I think your father played Paul Simon for me. I was wearing a brown knit hat, a big scarf your father bought me in Montreal, some sweats, and Ugg boots. Even though it was freezing I was too hot for a jacket; I had my cardigan draped over my legs. I had light pink nails and darker toes (OPI's Baguette Me Not, my favorite).

I was 6 cm dilated when we checked in at triage. The next hour and a half was what's called transition: the most difficult phase of labor, but, outside of the pushing, also the shortest. My pain was exactly the same as it was with you and, just as I did last time, I asked your father massage my lower back through the contractions. When I was having you, I focused intensely on the rosettes on my hospital gown. This time I found myself studying the decorator fabric on the easy chair as I draped my body across it. I brought a picture of you at the pool last summer and taped it to the chair. At the end of this, I would have another little beauty.

Your father and I held hands, and looked into each others eyes. He told me I was beautiful probably 200 times in two hours. He refreshed my coconut water and talked to me about hotel rooms with big beds and Bravo t.v. and no laundry (this, my meditation image).

There was a moment to breathe. I leaned back on your dad and told him I couldn't wait to run after you again, to not waddle. My water broke and that was it. Your father and the nurses helped me back to bed and in a couple pushes, Jack emerged. As soon as I saw him, I gasped at how much he looked like you. He made a little cry and they handed him to me. I cried and cried, not out of fear or exhaustion like the first time, but because I knew how much I loved him. And that, little friend, is because I'd already met you.