Happy Birthday NuNu!

Wow. I’m a terrible aunty. My X, K. just called to remind me that it’s NuNu’s birthday. He’s turning 3 today. Ahh, my adorable beautiful little nephew, don’t feel bad. I don’t remember anyone’s birthday on the correct date.

However, your day was an event sketched into my mind of how you brought your peace to our family.

My sister, Meme, was induced into labor on a Monday morning. Her last pregnancy had gone horribly wrong, so everyone was there to make sure she was going to make it through this one. Meme’s best friend, Miss J. was also there. Miss J was also being induced into labor that same day. My sister and Miss J were chatting before they were called into their rooms. It was like a little tea party between them, hardly the emotional levity I had expected.

About Meme was changing and getting into bed her doula walked in. The doula was hired because her husband is an unsupportive ass at times. It didn’t help matters that last time she tried to give birth she almost died. The extra help was crucial for her emotional state. The doula was a breath of fresh air. She was positive and had unnatural Kool-Aid red hair. She wore tons of jewelry and giggled with every sentence she spewed out.

Next up came the anesthesiologist. A handsome tall young man dressed in a routine white lab coat floated through the room asking my sister to call him when she was ready for her epidural. The nurses were in and out like a small swarm of bees. The doctor graced up with his presence and dashed out.

I was a wreck watching my sister talking away to her doula. She didn’t remember the last time the way that we did. Blocked for her memories are the seizures, the MRIs, her lost heartbeat, and the ICU. She doesn’t remember the pictures of the baby that we put in her isolated room. She forgets that she didn’t get to hold her baby for days after he was born. She was bruised beyond recognition. She was almost stolen from my life, and yet here she was excited to try it again.

The anesthesiologist came back in to give her the epidural. After she knotted up in a little ball, out came the long needle and then his shithead statement. “Oh, it didn’t go in the right place. I have to do it again”. I hit the roof at his error and was removed from the room temporarily due to my outburst and temper. Incompetency with a huge needle really isn’t a small discretion

By the time I got back, Meme was being coached on her pushing and her husband was working via his Blackberry. The selfish bastard! Here she is working her little body to death and he’s texting friends and coworkers. I wish she could marry that damn flaming red dula who is sweating as much as my sister is at that point.

We’re all coaching Meme along, when the door swings open and 10 firemen walk in. Yes, boys and girls, it was Austin training day on childbirth. So with a team of 10 firemen, one crazed dula, two sisters, two mothers, and one arrogant father NuNu slipped into this world with an audience at hand.

A perfect little baby boy born around chaos and fright. My sister was laughing, her husband texting away, and I was crying at the health that remained in that room. NuNu was calm and quiet after the initial shock of the world, and nestled into my sister’s chest. Everything stopped and for a moment and his grace, so new to us, filled the room.

He’s our blessing. He’s still the child who walks into the room while his brother is throwing a fit and crawls up into the couch and just watches him. He’s not judging Boo or looking scared. He’s just been here before. He’s patient. He’s our calm in the storm of this family, even at 3.

Happy Birthday, NuNu. I am grateful you are here.