The note Dave left me that inspired this piece:

“1 thing I love about you?

Your love for your family……your children and grandchild are your everything……you go the extra mile to make their visit full of great food, conversation, entertainment and love for all…….the passion you put into each and every one is unmatched…..an ear to vent to or a voice of reassurance….they are your everything!!!!
Just 1 thing I love about you.”

DW

My response: Family

To me they are my life. You, our children and now our children’s children. Family brings me such joy. 

That is what came from my unfortunate circumstances, my desire to have the family I longed for as a child. It started with you.

We started our married life in Washington. Not much money, still in the small town with dark memories for me, we were both ready for our life to really start. Ready for the challenge of just you and I and making a go of it.

A year went by before we were finally transferred. Perry was fun. The jobs I had were interesting, the friends we made, the ones we kept in touch with. You were all in at the store, writing schedules from home, closing as many nights as you could. Glenn was good for you, he was a Manager who was all about teamwork, taking his guys out, what a crew that was. The parties there really were something. You made some lifelong friendships there. 

I remember when I found out we were expecting. I remember the instant protectiveness that came over me. Being the workaholic that you are, it was during a quick lunch at Subway when I told you the news. You were stunned but rolled with it in a way only you do. 

I’ll never forget the night/day of the birth. We were downtown Des Moines with“The gang” playing volleyball in the sand. I didn’t play, never one for sports. Afterwards we drove across town to McAvoy’s newly purchased house. I remember walking through it, dreaming of one day having something similar. Our small two bedroom, one bath was a fixer upper with stairs too steep to walk a queen size mattress up. Remember that, you took out three or four stairs before giving up and instead had me on the front porch roof 7 months pregnant to “catch” the mattress and boxsprings. 

That night at McAvoy’s, I was past my due date and my swollen stomach was heavy and uncomfortable. Then the contractions started and Traci started timing them. They were inconsistent but strong enough to give me an inkling of what was to come. I remember the mass of thoughts and nerves on our thirty-minute trip back to Perry. Then the call to Mary Greeley Hospital in Ames. Remember being told it’d be cost effective to wait to check in after midnight. Say what? Then the drive to Ames in the aqua colored, two door Honda civic. You tried staying focused on driving and talking to me while holding my hand and I gripped yours every time a contraction ripped through me. 

Such anticipation. The pain of the contractions was this tightening, all-consuming force that took my breath away but I knew what the result would be and I kept my eye on the prize. I remember the darkness of the night. I remember when we got to the hospital and parked, you grabbed the overnight bag that held extra clothing for me and this tiny, universal sex, footed pajamas for our baby to wear home. 

Remember the car seat ordeal, didn’t Nika (Our first furbaby and quite possibly our favorite)  help unwrap it? I’m not even sure if we brought the car seat to the hospital or if you went back to Perry for it?

We got to the maternity ward via an elevator just after midnight September 1^st, Labor Day. As the doors swished open I remember feeling this calmness wash over me. We were shown to our room, it was spacious and sanitized, with a large bed that operated like a recliner and behind it a wall of medical equipment that seemed ominous. I was asked to change into those ever-attractive gowns with two laces to tie together, one around my neck and the other at my lower back. 

Excitement, anxiety, heart pumping, body in overdrive and this palpable sense of I cannot wait! I couldn’t either. My mind was on overdrive. My body was working the hardest it ever had and although it was foreign to me, it knew what to do. 

I remember wearing a pair of those tan colored no slip socks on my feet. I remember watching wide eyed at the monitor when they checked to make sure our baby was okay. They put two belts on around me. One for the baby’s heartbeat and the other the nurse explained was to monitor the contractions. She showed you how to read it when a contraction started and ebbed away so you could tell me. I didn’t like the belts, they were uncomfortable and felt restricting. 

Everything seemed to be going pretty well. I was dilated when we arrived and we were told it wouldn’t take long. 

You paced the room, fed me ice chips and had this nervous/scared aura. You watched me with wonder as you held my hand and checked the monitors. Then came the wash cloth incident. The contractions had increased in veracity and I’m certain my pain was something to behold. You wanted to take some of that from me. Of course, I was hot, it was September and being hot blooded anyway… I smile remembering how I threw it at you. I was in the middle of a contraction and you were distracting me. I was having none of it, I had a job to do. 

Everything progressed, they gave me an epidural (that never worked) and the contractions came closer and closer together. Our room filled up with medical staff and then the doctor arrived. I remember seeing the plastic bassinet being wheeled in and it all became even more real. Soon we would add one more to the room.

The Doctor on his short-wheeled stool, my legs in metal stirrups and suddenly the bottom third of the bed was removed. You took it all in, watched the monitors, listened to what the Doctor said and stood beside me feeling helpless. Then you were given a job. The nurse told you to grab my right foot in your right hand and my knee with your left hand and mimic what she did when a contraction started. While I was following her instructions on breathing and pushing you both brought my knees to my chest assisting gravity. You were happy to be doing something and anxiously watched the progress. I still remember the look of wonder when the doctor announced the crowning and you watched as I pushed with every ounce of my being. Then with one final push baby Waite was out. A BOY was announced and you were handed a pair of surgical scissors to cut the umbilical cord.

Baby boy Waite was placed in a towel, being attended to by nurses while the doctor attended to the damage our son caused. I remember the many stitches he made after the placenta came out. I remember the remnants of the contractions reverberating through my abdomen. You followed the nurses to the incubator and watched in awe as our son cried with his arms and legs flailing as he shook and took in his new environment. When his vitals were taken, his APGAR assessed, he was wrapped burrito-like and brought over to meet me. 

You stood by my head on the side of the room where the windows overlooked Duff Avenue and you were every bit the proud Dad. It was to be one of four of the most precious moments of my life. With an IV in my hand and the doctor still stitching all the pain just dissipated. 

How do I describe what I felt in that moment? 

As he was placed into my outstretched arms, he was still fussing from the rude way he was treated, coming from a warm cozy space that had been his home for nine plus months, then thrust through the birth canal and out into the world. I couldn’t blame him for being in a state of shock, he did find his voice quickly. But I remember how he settled almost instantly when placed skin to skin on my chest where he could hear that same heartbeat, he’d been listening to for months. He was so warm as I took in every detail. He was a little purplish blue and his head was misshapen. The sticky white pasty stuff was in all his creases and his eyes were swollen and closed. My maternal instincts kicked in and I knew THIS was everything I ever wanted. I would protect this child, I would play with him and read to him, I would nourish him and I would love him until my last breath. I would love unconditionally and do all the things I wish were done for me, from infant into his adult years. We spent those first moments with him in awe of what we had created. His everything was perfect; his skin tone went from this purple/blue to a soft warm pink and I remember noting the perfect little nose. I held him close, cherishing the fruits of my labor and when the doctor had finished and only a nurse was left in the room you kissed my forehead and I felt more complete than I ever had. 

I think you were amazed at the entire process and now you were a Dad. 

Eventually the nurse took our boy to clean him up and put one of those tiny white long-sleeved shirts on him with the cuffs that could fold over his sharp baby fingernails and scratch his perfect little face.

The minute he was wheeled out, I felt desolate. I was tired, yes. But the adrenaline was still there and I needed our boy to feel whole again. You sat on the side of the bed and held my hand while we waited. We didn’t say much, both absorbing the moment. We had names picked out and when the nurse returned his was written on the little card above my name, along with time of birth and date, his length and weight. He bore the smallest of wristbands with our last name and even though it’d only been a little while he seemed different when we met again. 

This time it was you who brought him to me. You gingerly picked him up, bundled in a white scratchy baby blanket. The look on your face looking down at him is something I will never forget. You were hooked.

We learned many things that first 24 hours with him, how to nurse him, how to change his diaper, what to expect and watch for. His jaundice and what that entailed. But I can honestly say how much everything came naturally to me. The breastfeeding, the cries and what each one meant, how to handle him and dress him, how to bathe and wrap him.  Remember after the circumcision and I changed his diaper and he was not so happy. It was you that logically asked if I’d put it on too tight. What can I say, I’m a girl without those issues. So you adjusted it and he quieted right down.

When you tell me one of the things you love about me is my love of family, you must know it’s everything I ever wanted. EVERYTHING! You are ALL my world. You are the key to my happiness. I feel each one of yours sorrows when you’re sad. Feel pride when you succeed and protective when you’re wronged. I have this bond, this passionate love for you, for each and every one of our children and am so very thankful for the capacity to have room for those they love. It’s an amazing thing to watch our family grow and feel my heart expand. 

Maybe someday I will write about each of childrens’ births. Those moments are etched in my memory bank of happiness. 

Thank you for your kind words and I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride down memory lane to what started The Waite 6.