Today, February 19, Trevor is five years old! If you’ve read this blog at all, you know all about him. He’s witty, mischievous, strong-willed, has excellent fine motor skills and vocabulary, and loves to play with his ten-year old friends. He’s a smartypants, which is baffling since his parents would never smart off or argue with anyone, and he rocks a great front cowlick. He is Dennis the Menace. Our son makes parenting an absolute heart-bursting joy and a complete rage-inducing disaster. We love him even as he threatens to “punch you in the face.” We spank him when he actually does punch you in the face.
Farm kid, age 3, in his element.
Speaking of punching in the face, that’s what I nearly did to Matt the night before Trevor came into the world. We lived in Canyon and Matt thought it would be a good idea to start up the fire pit in our backyard. It was not a good idea. Smoke completely filled the yard and house, which made me so hormonally furious I lost my mind, so when I woke up to my water breaking at 3:00 am, Matt was asleep on the couch. I took a shower, packed my suitcase, and eventually woke Matt up with the vacuum cleaner around 4. We were expecting a baby AND company. For the record, it hurts to shower and vacuum with contractions. (I wasn’t surprised to have gone into labor that night because a teacher I worked with a few days prior told me my face was looking fat so it would probably be soon.)
By the time we made it to the hospital in Amarillo, it was 6:00 Saturday morning and a jackhammer was breaking the concrete of my internal organs. For girls wondering: on your first baby, no one believes you’re in labor when you “call the doctor” as you’ve been directed to do. So the doctor tells you wait an hour, walk it off, drink some water. Waiting an hour results in immense pain and questions of death. At the hospital, our nurse was super as she went through the list the of 9000 questions during check in, all of which I had previously answered when I pre-registered. Thanks for the test prep, Hospital, but I still don’t have HIV or family history of diabetes.
Since amniotic fluid was leaking all over the bed I was huddled on, breaking into pieces via the jackhammer, I was admitted to a labor room and given a little “margarita” medicine cocktail to take the edge off the pain while we awaited the life saving epidural. Note: these drugs are a worthless waste of Tylenol. Hold out for the spine-paralyzing good stuff.
We had nicknamed the baby “Taco,” and didn’t know the gender, but Taco wanted out and he/she wanted out now. I WANTED OUT, TOO. Around 8:30 I received the epidural, after five hours of one minute long contractions two minutes apart. The fact that humanity is in existence right now is a miracle. Also: labor doesn’t hurt everyone as bad as it hurt me with Trevor. If you’re currently planning natural delivery because of the horrid side effects and detriments of epidurals, you go right on ahead. I’m out.
After the epidural, we texted and called family and watched the CMT Hot 20 Countdown. My parents live five hours from Amarillo, so I was worried that they wouldn’t make it in time for the birth. Between 9am and noon, the baby’s heart rate slowed dangerously a couple times, I nearly lost consciousness and my ears and face went numb due to oversensitivity to the epi, and I spent the entire time shivering and itching. Just normal labor stuff.
At 12:53 pm, after a few last bets on the gender of the baby (final prediction: the doctor said he thought it was a boy), we had a little 6 pound 12 ounce boy! The cord was wrapped around his neck a couple times, but other than that, he came out crying and perfectly healthy, five days early on a full moon in February. We hadn’t exactly decided on a name, but after a short debate with the nurses everyone unanimously agreed that he looked like a Trevor. Our nurse for Trev’s delivery was the very very best; she made the whole process fun, kept us both alive, and took photos for us.
Our family, including my parents, and some good friends were in the waiting room to welcome him (because he was nice to come on a Saturday), and Matt got to take the little bundle out to introduce him to the world. Priceless.
Pure joy. And also a little fear that my legs had actually become jell-o.
Just the best moment in our lives. No big.
We brought T home to a very special nursery, designed and made by my aunt and cousin, who were the only ones to find out the gender. They finished the nursery in our house a few weeks before the baby was born, so we walked by a locked door in our home every day for a while. It was really just the most awesome thing ever.
He’s always been the cool kid.
Trevor hasn’t changed a bit in personality since that day. He was a giggly, happy baby who hated to nap, he has big blue eyes that notice Everything Everywhere, he has always been, in the words of Kinsey, “freakishly mature,” and he is the oldest grandchild on both sides, so take a moment to imagine the rottenness inherent there. Claire and Kate adore him, he is the apple of his daddy’s eye, and although I have millions more wrinkles now, there is no better gift from God than this boy and his sisters. (They’re smile lines, anyway, right?)
Happy 5th birthday, Trev-man. We are so glad you’re here.