On Fridays, a group of bloggers set the clock and write for 5 minutes, no edits, just writing, throwing perfectionism out the window. Completely cray-cray, right? Yes, well, the prompt this week is the word RED.
My daughter has been asking me questions this week about when she was born, her first words, when were her first steps. Who knows what has triggered this “need to know”. It is not near her birthday, which is when these conversations tend to happen. Regardless of why, it is fun to remember those times with her, now that she is 15 and nearing womanhood herself.
I remember the day she was born very clearly. She was 8 days overdue. Contractions came on very strongly during the night as I slept. I woke to intense labor and a baby who was finally ready to make her entrance. Finally. It was a Wednesday, May 6th and there were tornado warnings that day.
We drove to the hospital my husband and I, while my mom stayed at our house with our son who was 3 at the time. A short 2 1/2 hours later, she entered this world. Face glowing red, as blood rushed to her angry face. Boy was she mad! She had meconium in the amniotic fluid and so the nursing staff was rushing around jamming suction tubes down her nose and into her throat—over and over. Her little pink lips contorted as she cried. Oh, it was pitiful. The faces she made—I will never forget. I was just so glad she was here and she was okay. All 10 pounds of her.
She was the talk of the nursery that night. My sweet red-faced 10 pounder. My baby girl. My Emma.
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