Adventures of an Eight Year Old

Today, my first born, my original baby (if you don't count Spike, my first pooch), the little person who officially made me a "mommy," turns 8. I am filled with both incredible pride and joy and wonder at the amazing little person he has become, and a slight tinge of longing for those delicious months when he was still small enough to pick up with one hand.

David was born at approximately 9:40 pm at Cedars Sinai Medical Center on October 13, 2003. He shared his birthday with my dear friend, Robert Lee, who is one of my closest friends from high school. David is small, but mighty, and BIG on personality! If my musings and bragging on earlier blog posts have given no indication, I'm incredibly proud to be his mommy.

David's entrance into the world was, of course, sprinkled with flair. I awoke very early the morning of October 13 (a Monday), having to pee. This, of course, was not an unusual occasion by any means, given that pregnant ladies have to pee all the time. However, this time was, in fact, a bit odd. In my groggy stupor, I noticed that, well ... I kept on peeing. And peeing. And peeing. And, I thought, "Hmm. I wonder why this is? Maybe I have a really full bladder."

Then it occurred to me: my bag of water might have broken. Or, more to the point, the little person inside of me, whose gender at the time was unknown to anyone, had just busted it open.

So, I did what any practical, data-driven, research-oriented person would do. I went to my computer and Googled, "bag of water breaking symptoms."

Within 30 seconds, I had my diagnosis. It was time to act.

I padded back over to the bed where Glen, bless him, was still in blissful slumber.

"Rise and shine, dude! It's time! My bag of water just broke."

A pause.

"H...hh...huh??" he replied, still pretty much out cold.

"Let's roll. It's on."

That was all it took. Glen instantly sprang into action, suddenly and very much wide awake. My suitcase for the hospital was about 80% packed, so getting my last items together was not a problem. I made my self presentable while Glen fed the dogs and let them out for one more nature break, and we loaded up into my old Jeep. We were off. It wasn't even 4:30 am.

Within two hours, I'd called my wonderful friend and assistant at Scripps, told her to cancel my meetings because I was in labor ("you're kidding me, right?" she said), and was hooked up to a pitocin drip to induce labor. My sister and mom arrived soon after, and then we waited.

Fourteen hours, and one epidural later, a beautiful baby boy was in my arms. And, my goodness, he was sweet, tiny, and had the most beautiful strawberry blond hair I'd ever seen. Because Glen and I had opted not to find out the gender of our first born, it was like opening a present at Christmas. And, perhaps most importantly, he looked like a wee version of my dad, also named David, who'd passed away three years earlier.

Glen and I had been going back and forth on what to name the baby, and had a bit of trouble coming to a firm and set decision on a boy's name. Were it a girl, that was easy: Elizabeth was set (but, as we later learned, she'd be coming along three years later). We'd tentatively agreed on Michael, which met our standards for something traditional, classic, and a tad Biblical. But, when my new little boy was placed in my arms, and his little blue eyes popped open, the name decision had been named for me. With feet still in stirrups, I motioned Glen to me, and whispered, "I HAVE to name him David! Please, please, please, please!!!!!" Now, Glen is a wise and practical man. He knows better than to argue with a woman who is immediately post partum is still in a compromising position on the gurney. "No problem!" Glen replied like a champ. And, thus, David Thomas Hastings came to be.

Eight years later, David is all boy. He runs around the house, skipping, jumping, turning, leaping and basically just happily spazzing out, all the time. It's no secret that his current passion is drumming, and can happily spend time banging on his junior drum set, teaching himself new rhythms or practicing the ones he learned at his weekly lesson. His culinary pallet is expanding, and he's more likely to try new foods now than he was even a year ago. He is an amazing big brother to Elizabeth, and serves as her guide, defender, negotiator, and, on occasion, sparring partner. He gets his easy-going demeanor from Glen, and his moments of anxiety from me. He loves school, his friends, and (thank you, God) math. He can construct pretty much any Lego set. Any.

I simply could not ask for a more wonderful son.