That can be the only possible explanation.
This is the only picture taken of me visibly pregnant with my first child. Bill snapped it as we headed out the door to the hospital. Unknowingly, I had been having labor pains for the entire day before as I attended my grandfather's funeral in Wyoming. Back home that night, I was awakened around four in the morning with increasingly intense pains, so I asked my husband (who makes those phone calls I don't want to) to call the doctor to see what we should do. I was SURE that it wasn't really labor, and that I was going to feel really stupid when I was sent home... an over-anxious fat lady. I was working at the time, and didn't want to show up late that morning due to a false alarm. And we were still 3 weeks out from our estimated due date.
The doctor told us to come on up to the hospital, and at least get it checked out. I elected not to shower (since I would just be coming home in an hour anyway), didn't put in my contacts, and probably finger-combed my hair (and apparently pulled my hair back into that awesome bow). I was that certain that I wouldn't be staying. Bill had the presence of mind to get a picture "just in case," which was a good thing, since 7 short hours later (one and a half of which were pushing) our first baby was born.
Twenty-one years ago today.
Gosh, I miss him.
I miss his baby-ness. I miss his bleach-blonde toddler hair. I miss his smile and his buck teeth. I miss scratching his back and rubbing his hair (which helped to wake him up happy no matter what time of the morning it was, and relax him in times of stress). I miss hearing him play his saxophone... his bass guitar... his acoustic guitar. I miss needing to buy tons of milk, and tons of Nesquik to go with it. I miss how he needs his blanket... still. I miss the twisted-to-nearly-nothingness ties on his quilts (another stress reliever). I miss the constant flow of his friends in and out of our house. I even miss the messiness of his bedroom. The "boy" smell. Honestly, I thought I would never miss that.
It's good that we can keep in touch with weekly emails. It's nice to know he can still do the "cock-eye." And today on his missionsite it tells me there are only 100 more days until he comes home. Check it out. That really means 100 days until it's officially been two years... I think he will actually be home the following week. But it's a good, optimistic number. I hope he knows we are thinking about him today.
Happy Birthday Taylor! We love you!
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