Happy 11th birthday, Peanut.
We miss you so very much, but today is a day of joy and remembrance. There was so much joy that day - and funny circumstances- that happened that day.
Momma was at a pedicure appointment that morning and thought she might have had an upset tummy. An hour later I started keeping a journal of my contractions. When we got to 5 minutes between contractions I called Dadda, who was coaching a football practice and told him to get home. Now.
Dadda came home and didn't seem too concerned about the timeline until he realized I was 2 minutes between contractions. The drive to the hospital was pretty exciting. By the time we got to the maternity floor they rushed Momma into a room and tried to start an epidural. The first didn't work, so we had a second one. Dadda almost passed out watching the epidurals, so I told him to just look at my face.
After that, Dadda had an "angry cam," because childbirth class had terrified him. We saw a lot of people yelling/screaming on film during that class. He was shocked when all I wanted to do was watch a St. Cardinals baseball game until it was time to push.
Then we had a situation where you, my Peanut, weren't positioned for birth. Momma was so numbed by the epidurals that the nurses needed to lift me onto my hands and knees - and at that moment your aunt walked in!
When it came time to actually push, your Dadda, the gentle giant, bumped into the tray of sterilized equipment and knocked it all over. Our delivery doctor declared, "We have a dad going down" and then ordered him to a couch to order Momma some dinner.
But then...you arrived. And one of the nurses declared you were a perfect little Peanut at 5.1 pounds. And the nickname stuck.
Thank you for teaching us to love as parents.
How much do I love you? You know! To the moon - and back.
- Momma
