Birthday wishes and children

My daughter came over today; she spent a couple of hours here. I'd called and asked her to come over, since I had a birthday card for her.

I can distinctly remember the day she was born. I'd been told that I wouldn't be able to have any kids after her older brother; there were times when they were growing up when I'm sure they both would have preferred being only children; instead, they were joined by two younger brothers. I tell M.H. that she's my favorite daughter; it helps, if you're going to be the favorite daughter, to be the only daughter. (For the record, she's married to my favorite son-in-law; he has informed me that I'm his favorite mother-in-law. I also have a favorite oldest son, a favorite middle son, and a favorite youngest son.)

Several days before M.H. was born, her father and I put up our Christmas tree and decorated it. The night before she was born, I'd peeled several oranges. I was making homemade orange spice tea to give out for Christmas presents, and it called for the peels of three or four oranges; these were cut into strips, then baked for several minutes, then cut up further and mixed with loose tea, whole cloves, stick cinnamon, and several other things I no longer remember.

After baking the peels, I decided to go to bed; the cloves, cinnamon, et al could be assembled the next morning, then packed to send out.

But M.H. had other plans. Sometime during the night, I woke my then hubby up; he called my mother so she could come take care of J.A., after which, we'd head for the hospital. When Mom showed up, I was puttering around the kitchen, putting the tea kettle onto the stove so I could fix her a cup of tea (obviously not the spice tea, since it would have to wait an extra day to be assembled). She came in, checked to make sure J.A. was asleep (he was), then asked how far apart the contractions were.

"About five minutes apart," was the answer. The hospital was a good half-hour's drive away; five minutes apart meant things were beginning to speed up a little.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded. I thought it was obvious; she'd always taught me that when someone came over to your home, you fixed that person a cup of tea! The water was almost to a boil, and..."If I want a cup of tea at three a.m., I can fix myself!" she scolded. "Now GO, before you end up having that baby in the car!"

As she pushed me out the door, hubby pulled my arm. "Let's go!"

M.H. was born several hours later. As with most babies, she looked a little like an elfish prize fighter, but a beautiful one. Ask most parents, their newborns are the most beautiful babies in the world.

Two asides here: When M.H. gave birth to G., sometime during the night, B. called from the hospital and left a message on our voice mail. "Hey, Grandma," the message started; you could hear the emotion in B.'s voice. "G.'s here. She's beautiful." When I visited a few weeks later, the man who swore nobody had better come up with any nicknames for G. already had two or three for his little girl.

The second one is from when I was born. Dads were not yet allowed in the delivery room, and Dad didn't have much experience with newborns. He figured I'd look like a two or three month old right from the start, all pink and clean and advertisement-cute. After Mom got back to her room, Dad came in to see her.

"Did you stop by the nursery and see Robin?" mom asked. Dad nodded solemnly. "Well, what do you think? Isn't she beautiful?"

Dad struggled to find the right words. He'd never seen a newborn before. Finally, he managed to spit out the truth, in a round-about way: "I'm sure she'll have a nice personality."

Fortunately, Mom forgave the remark, Dad realized newborns are beautiful in their own way, and things got better. (I hope my personality is at least passable.)

But back to M.H.: She seemed very alert and happy (i.e., she wasn't a screamer), she had a tuft of red hair, and the nurses ooohed and aaahed over her.

That evening, after dinner, hubby and I sat and watched TV, me in the bed, holding M.H., he on the chair nearby. After he left, I watched one of our favorite shows while he watched the same from home ("Starsky and Hutch"). I managed to keep M.H. with me until 10 that night; she slept most of the time she was with me. I only half-watched the TV; I was busy counting tiny fingers and toes, looking at her red hair, remembering how tiny newborns are.

We went home the next day morning, a change from when her brother was born, when we nearly had to stay in the hospital three days (he was four hours shy of the 48 hours of age that babies were required to be before being released). That afternoon, I managed to finish putting the tea together, then let hubby take the presents to the post office to send out.

Now, years later, M.H.'s taller than I am. Fortunately, she's also more organized than I am. She's a mom, wife, sister, sister-in-law, artist...a lot. She does them all well...

Happy Birthday, kiddo.