Dear Sebastian,
As of this writing, it's 15 minutes past 4 in the morning on the 24th of February in the Philippines. It's already your birthday! But by this time, a year ago, in the US, it was just a Monday, on the 23rd of February and I had just entered my second hour at work.
It was an astoundingly pleasant day. I was very amused at how the usual people who slightly annoyed me with a combination of asking how far along I was with my pregnancy and then making a comment at how much further I still had to wait (don't they know that a regular pregnancy is 40 long weeks?!) were now telling me that it wouldn't be too long anymore. Add to that an unusual number of passengers exchanging pleasantries with me and in that brief chat, the same remarks about how I would not have to wait much longer.
How was I supposed to know, anak, that on that very night, you'd present signals of being ready to greet this big, bright world? I was just 34 weeks and four days pregnant with you. I still had a work shift exchange to fulfill (thanks, Edward Tapel!), and more or less a month 'til my carefully and strategically planned maternity leave. I was so confident that I'd carry you to term that if my memory serves me right, I probably left only a full week before my due date to commence my maternity leave and attend all three of my prenatal classes (between your daddy's business trip and the lack of available class schedules the moment I reached my 28 weeks of pregnancy - the recommended time to start attending classes - there really was no way I could wrestle these into our schedules).
How was I supposed to know that my initial effort at packing my hospital bag was actually timely considering that a few minutes after, my water would break and that the notes on my phone on what to add to my bag in the days leading to your due date would have to be hurriedly consulted several minutes after typing and saving them? Heck, I had even barely finished completing my birth plan, the filling out of which I just thought of doing a few hours earlier while waiting for your dad to pick me up at work.
Baby boy, we had been waiting patiently for you. It took about almost half a decade and a heartbreak in the form of a miscarriage for us to become "mommy" and "daddy". But looking back at the abruptness of it all, not excluding the trips and other plans that had to be shelved prior to carrying you in my tummy, that rollercoaster ride to mommyhood threw me off guard. There was no amount of planning that could have prepared me for the way you came. In fact, for more than five minutes, while talking on the phone to a hospital nurse to describe my condition, I was trying to control and calm my literally shivering body.
But little one, please don't think of this as being less than ideal for your dad and me. After all, you are the perfect little soul God has entrusted to us. During that very moment, in my head, there was not much time left to think of the wet carpet, bed sheet and mattress. Even if personal experiences of famous mommy bloggers told of still being able to take a shower after their water broke, I didn't want to leave anything to chance. I pushed to the back of my head that I was leaking and put on my best coat. YOU WERE COMING!
I remember leaving our South San Francisco house sometime past 8:30 in the evening. We were headed to the Kaiser Permanente Hospital in downtown San Francisco. Imagine, anak, San Francisco! The original plan was, if I carried you to term, we'd welcome you in the relatively closer Redwood City branch of Kaiser. It was a brand new hospital, so it was not so bad. However, if labor symptoms presented before I was 37 weeks with you, we'd have to go to the San Francisco branch where there is a neonatal intensive-care unit (NICU). Your dad and I were even joking that you probably liked it better if your birth certificate indicated that you were born in San Francisco. :)
Here's one of the cherries on top, little boy. Everyone in the Bay Area knows to expect a moderate to heavy traffic driving on a weeknight to the city, even if it was slightly past the usual rush hour. But no. That wasn't the case at all when your dad drove past one green light after another going into the downtown area! God's designated welcoming committee led by your guardian angel must have been on hand that night!
Sure, we missed the hospital by a full block (it was our first time to go to the area at night, and while I was in labor, no less!), your dad got ticketed the following day for parking at a no-parking zone, and the labor contractions before the epidural were hell, but everything else was smooth sailing. Unlike your grandmother, your
Lola Rory, who also went through premature labor with me, my blood pressure was normal. Plus, no offense to other moms, I even thought that all that fear about the epidural was overrated.
Sure, I would later find out that I would not be able to breastfeed you as originally planned (by this time, it should be known that nothing ever came to plan) and partially because you were so tiny, but it was not so bad because at exactly 3:20 the following morning, you came out healthy and surprised us by breathing on your own (most babies born before 36 weeks of gestation typically need breathing support).
Sure, you did spend a few days at the NICU, from the 24th of February on a Tuesday to the 2nd of March on a Monday, due to jaundice and weight issues, but you were in good hands with a great team of equally baby-friendly and parent-friendly doctors and nurses who generously and patiently gave mommy and daddy a crash course on Parenthood 101.
Sure, you only spent a total of two months sleeping on your own in your bassinet, but I wouldn't exchange ten months (and counting!) of sleeping and waking to snuggles (and little feet on my face!).
Sure, I bid adieu the possibility of learning anew via training sessions at work and post-graduate courses and certificates, but mommy wouldn't trade the time she spends learning mommy-baby stuff and teaching you how to walk and master your ABCs.
Sure, tomorrow, on your first birthday, because of how far we are from relatives and friends, there will be no clowns, party favors, photo shoots, piles of gifts, and well-wishers, and for such my heart partially breaks, but I promise you, anak, there's nothing mommy and daddy wouldn't do to make sure that for the rest of your life, you are loved.
Love,
Mommy and Daddy
P.S.
Mommy will bake a special gluten-fee chocolate cake for you later so we have at least your birthday cake covered. :)
