Dear Sommer,The day you were born I was sitting in a Principal's Meeting, counting my contractions on a napkin in the Aqua Resort. I thought you'd take your time, like your brother and sisters, so I wasn't too worried, but everyone around me clung to my notes. Eight minutes became five and five minutes became three. I don't know why I was so calm, but I figured I'd prayed for a calm daughter, one that would cling to me unlike her independent and strong willed siblings who I encouraged to speak their minds and explore their surroundings. I remember asking God to please make this baby want to hang on to my skirt and cry for me when I leave for work. I even prayed you would have trouble getting out of diapers and giving up your bottle.
At two minutes I sent a note to the Commissioner. I am in labor. May I be excused? To which my colleagues promptly slid their chairs back so I could make my way out of the room. I drove home, belly bumping the steering wheel, tensing then relaxing as I planned what the next few hours would be like. You were not calm, and probably never meant to be that way. You were in a hurry, scooting yourself into my life with the same vivacity you have now. I walked into my room and packed my bags, ready to take a shower. I phoned my secretary, standing in the middle of my bedroom and made out two sentences, "I'm in labor, I'm getting ready to . . ." when my water broke!
Having done this three times before, I soon lost all composure and started to realize that in a matter of minutes I would be in excruciating pain. Nix the shower, I grabbed the most absorbent thing I could find, Peyton's Pull Ups and put on the the loosest outfit within arm's reach. I remember Peyton watching me, "Pull Ups are for babies, not mommies!" she scolded.
The normal eight hour labor I anticipated took about 30 minutes with you, little girl. I remember the mid-wife telling me, as the epidural needle hung from my spine, that I there was no time for the medicine to kick in, I needed to lay back and push. You came into the world demanding a dramatic entrance, and that you got.
Seven years have gone by and I've watched you with amazement. You are none of the things I prayed for, and everything you were destined to be. Last night when you said, "I wish I could be a Scientist, then I would make a machine to rewind my day back to my birthday party" I wished it could happen too, so that when time flies like it does now, I could rewind my day back to the first day I met you.
Love,
Mommy
