(Warning: Long post ahead... but seeing as this blog has turned into my journal/scrapbook/family history, I wanted to officially document this story.)
Brandon's due date was the 1st of April. April Fools Day. I thought that was appropriate seeing that expecting a boy was kind of a joke on me...someone who grew up with only sisters and had already had two daughters. March 23, however, the doctor informed me that I was dilated to a 3, that he was surprised I wasn't in labor already, and did I want him to get me started that very day? I hemmed and hawed and then said no. My last labor had been quite long...close to 20 hours...and if this labor was going to be more of the same, I did not want to be confined to a bed. I wanted to labor at home as much as possible before coming in. But I told him I would be more than happy to have him strip my membranes and see if that got things jump started a little bit. He did. And my contractions started immediately. A few hours later they were strong and coming every 6 minutes or so. I figured I'd wait a few hours more and head to the hospital, completely certain that we were having little Brandon that day after all. It's good that I waited. Because as time passed those strong, consistent contractions got weaker and further apart. And by the next day they were back to being just regular braxton hicks contractions. A few more days passed, by which time I was seriously kicking myself for not taking the doctor up on his offer to be induced. I had another appointment scheduled for Monday morning and was prepared to eat crow and BEG to be started.
I went to church on Sunday, everyone rather shocked to see me. I was as big as a house by this point. I figured church would be a good way to take my mind off how miserable I was. I was counting down hours to my appointment the next morning. At exactly midnight both Bryan and I were awakened to a loud popping sound. And then the feeling of liquid. My water had broken! Hallelujah! Bryan stripped the sheets and sopped up the liquid best he could while I got the sleeping girls and overnight bags into the car. About half way to my parents house the contractions started. WHAM! Every 3 minutes...a few even piggy backing on the one before. Hard enough that I was gripping the dashboard and doing some serious breathing to get through them. Bryan started worrying that we needed to just go straight to the hospital and have my parents meet us there to pick up the girls. No, I told him...I was sure I still had some time. My shortest labor at that point had been 15 hours. We continued on, dropped the sleepy girls off to my equally sleepy parents and, ignoring most stop lights on our way, made it to the hospital in record time. We told the on-call intern that my water had broken. She wanted to do a test to officially check. We felt this was ridiculous...this was not the first time we'd had this experience. "Do you want to go check our mattress?" was Bryan's frustrated question. But she insisted. And came to the conclusion that, yes, we were right. Then, so as to "not introduce infection" she decided not to check me to see how far dilated I was. And then, after hearing that my last 2 labors were longish....even with me assuring her that I was pretty certain this would be faster...more or less wrote me off as someone she didn't need to worry about overly much for awhile.
We hadn't been there long before I was already getting to the point where I couldn't handle the contractions anymore. Usually I can go for quite awhile, only getting the epidural for the last few hours. I felt like a bit of a wimp when I asked for the anaesthesiologist so soon after arriving. It took 3 tries to get an IV into my arm. Bryan and I were both getting whoozy, my pain getting worse and worse. And then, laying on my side waiting for the epidural, I started panicking. I felt like I'd lost all control of my body. The contractions just wouldn't stop. Bryan, who was sitting on the other side of the room, not being able to handle watching them poke needles into the woman he loved, saw the look on my face and heard the panicked whimpers I was making and could tell that I needed help. He rushed over to take my hand. It felt like I was sinking and his hand was my life-line. All the sudden I had the overwhelming urge to push. I'd never felt that before! I'd always had the epidural before that. I mentioned this bit of information to all the medical personnel hovering over me so the nurse checked me, FINALLY. "Oh my!" she said. "You are at a 10!" The anaesthesiologist asked if I still wanted the epidural at that point. Had I been in my right mind maybe I would've declined and just pushed that baby out. But I was still brain befuddled and panicked and said "Yes, oh YES!!!" He got it in and it started working miraculously fast. Two contractions later my doctor got there and I started pushing. About a contraction and a half after that, little Brandon was born. 3:45 AM on the dot. My shortest labor by quite a lot! Brandon cried. We cried. They weighed him...8 lbs exactly. My doctor seemed surprised that I could have a baby that big. "Where were you hiding all that?" he asked. I laughed. I'd told him and told him I'd felt bigger this time around.
So my little Brandon was born on the 26th of March. It was 6 months to the day after my grandfather had died...an event that had been particularly emotional for me. We decided Brandon's middle name should be James in his honor. Brandon is very aware that he holds my grandfathers name. He asks about him a lot, wants to learn more about the man he is named after. Seems to be very proud of his middle name. I don't know if Brandon realizes how much that means to me, that he honors his great grandfather like that...a man he never even met in this life.
And now here we are, 9 years later. Brandon has given us such joy, as parents. He is such a good kid, such a sweet boy. And such fun to have a boy in the midst of all these girls. Bryan and Brandon have a special father/son bond. Brandon absolutely adores and idolizes his dad. He dresses like him. He matches his hobbies to Bryan's. When you ask him what he wants to be when he grows up he says, "A computer business owner...like Dad!" I'm grateful for my boy. I can't believe he is 9 years old already! I love, love, love him!! Happy Birthday Brandon!!
We're sitting around the table last night, calmly eating dinner. All the sudden Lilian turns to me. "Mom?" she says in all seriousness, "Do panda bears eat bamboo or grass?" 
