21 Years Ago

My sweet baby Bug turned 21 right after I got back from my trip home to Canton. Things were so busy last week that I didn’t really have time to appreciate the enormity of the occasion.

My oldest is grown. 

She’s officially an “adult” – a label that feels as surreal to write as it does to experience.

I can’t wrap my head around it. It seems like she should still be running around in diapers. But nope. Bug is the same age I was on the day she was born.

My pregnancy was an easy one. I expected delivery to be that way, too. I grew up on stories of my own birth. Mama spit me out in under an hour and swore that once I was in her arms, she forgot all about the pain.

I had it in my head that I’d go into labor, and it would all be over quickly. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Labor started faintly around dinnertime, just a bit of discomfort I shrugged off. I was having contractions when I climbed in bed – but I’d experienced so many Braxton Hicks that I ignored them. By midnight, that was impossible.

I tried waking Brandon, but that’s never an easy task. Mama Clark had to come get him up because I couldn’t manage it.

We rushed to the hospital, where they checked me out and admitted me. My contractions were strong and fast – but my water never broke, and I wasn’t dilating. Still, I thought once things got started, delivery would be swift. By 6 am, I lost all hope of that.

After hours of pushing, they discovered Bug was sunny side up. They were unable to flip her and rushed me off for an emergency C-section. I almost died during the operation.

I never forgot the pain of labor or the discomfort following surgery.

But nothing worth having comes easy. And Bug—well, she was worth it. Every bit of pain, discomfort, and fear.

I’d do it all over again for her.