I’m on my way to my son’s house in Missouri, to watch my two year old grandson tomorrow, while my daughter-in-law is induced to bring their second child into the world.  It’s definitely one of those “history repeats itself” moments.  And one of the more adventurous moments of my life as a pregnant woman.

There is that moment when you are about to have your second child, where one or both parents have this sadness that it will never be the same for their firstborn.  They have had your full attention for the current balance of their life on earth, and that is about to change in a drastic way.  I was not that parent in my marriage.  The way I looked at it was practical. The first born gets those initial years ALL to themselves with their parents.  No subsequent child is going to get that, unless perhaps there is a very large gap before your last child comes along.  My husband was the one who felt bad for our firstborn.  Poor Drew’s little two year old world was about to change, for what he thought was for the worse.  So he took it upon himself to make sure Drew had a very special final memory as the only child.  (Do two year olds remember these things?  I seriously doubt it.)

We went in for one final doctor visit the day before our scheduled inducement.  They applied a chemical to my birthing canal that they said would help “soften things up”. Then they sent us home with instructions to return in the morning.  I remember the doctor saying, “You may have some preparatory contractions, but you can ignore them.”

My amazing mom was in town for the birth (the grandmother that all my friends wanted to be grandmother to their children). So my husband felt fine leaving me with her and whisking Drew off to his first Minnesota Twin’s baseball game. Picture said two year old in umbrella stroller with baseball cap.  We lived in the Twin City suburbs, and the Metrodome was a good hour away in downtown Minneapolis.  Also remember, no one except successful realtors, had cell phones in the year 1987.

I remember relaxing on the couch watching movies with my mom when the pain began.  I recalled the words of the doctor about ignoring the contractions.  I eventually called the hospital and described them to the nurse on call.  She repeated the phrase, “It’s nothing, just preparatory contractions.”  So as not to alarm my mother, I went and took a bath hoping the warm water would be soothing.  When husband and son finally walked through the apartment door after 10:00 p.m., I was this combination of, “I am so happy to see you!” and “I can’t believe you left me for the night!”

Another phone call was placed to the nurse to see if we should head over, and again the answer was, “Try to rest and we will see you in the morning.” Eventually the pain got so bad that my husband said, “I’m taking you to the hospital no matter what the nurses tell you.” I had to stop periodically as we walked down the long hallway to do my breathing exercises.  Thank the Lord the hospital was literally across the street.  We arrived at 4:05 a.m., Spencer Glen Darr entered the world at 4:17 a.m.  The nurse barely got the doctor into the room in time to deliver. The doctor was confronting me while she was stitching me up about not coming sooner to the hospital.  When I told her I had been in touch with the nursing staff she asked the nurse why she hadn’t told us to head to the hospital.  Her answer was that I had sounded so calm and polite on the phone that she was sure I wasn’t in real labor.  (Note to all pregnant woman—do not try to be calm and polite in these situations.)  This “on-call” doctor was eight months pregnant herself, so I extended some grace for her grumpy disposition since she was no doubt sleeping when the urgent call came.  I laughed when I saw her name on the birth certificate, Dr. Buttweiler.  It described her disposition that night to a “T”!

Later that morning we called my mom to tell her the happy news.  Her fourth grandchild was already here and it was another boy!  She dressed Drew up in his little navy and white romper and brought him over to meet his first brother.  We have precious video footage of him giving Spencer a kiss and placing a little brown bear in his bassinet.  Twenty-nine years later they are still best of friends.

So as I look forward to history repeating itself this weekend when I get to go introduce Parker to his baby brother, I can’t help but miss my mom. I miss my boys being little, and I miss their dad who was such a good father during that time.  And as for my grandson Parker, I don’t feel one bit of sadness for your little world changing, because honestly there is nothing in the world like a brother to go on adventures with. I can’t wait to watch! (And don’t worry, you will always hold a special place in my heart–you made me a Nini!)

Drew’s final night as an only child!

Welcoming his baby brother Spencer.