Mario is 11!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARIO!!!  Oh my.  I can hardly believe that you are 11 years old!  When we went to the middle school information meeting a couple of weeks ago, I had a total "pork chop moment."  I got a little teary eyed and I tried to hide it from you.  You just looked at me and rolled your eyes.  And that is ok, because I know you are becoming your own person and you don't need your mother bawling her eyes out in front of everyone at every little milestone.  But, just a word of warning, I will probably bawl my eyes out at every little milestone anyway.

I want to tell you a little story right now, about the days leading up to your birth.  First of all, you know I am not a very patient person.  And, dear son, before you came along I was even LESS patient than I am now.  Shocking, I know.  Anyway, I was not very patient.  Your due date was February 26th.  As the 26th got closer and closer, your dad and I were ready.  I had my hospital bag packed and waiting by the door.  Zaza flew in a couple of days before so that she wouldn't  miss anything.  Our dog, Abby Normal, paced around in your bedroom, just waiting for your arrival. 

And the 26th came and went.  With no baby.

That's ok, I said to everyone.  He will be here soon.  He just wants to be fashionably late. 

The 27th came and went.  Still no baby.

Well, I am a little uncomfortable, I said, trying to hide my displeasure at your failure to arrive.  But, I knew, just knew it wouldn't be long.

The 28th came and went.  Guess what?  Still no baby.

Haha!  I joked through gritted teeth.  At least it isn't a leap year!  Wouldn't want a leap year baby.  (Actually, at that point, I would have taken any baby, but that is neither here nor there.)

I prepared myself for a March baby.  And that is when my sanity started to pack it's bags and leave.
Ok, baby!  If you are born today, I will take you to Disney World for your first birthday!  So, come on out!

March 1st.  No. Baby.

Now I was just getting angry.  Come on, Baby.  Get out.  GET OUT.  If you are born today, I will take you to Disney World EVERY YEAR for your birthday.  Now that's a deal!

March 2nd.  Still. No. Baby.

There were a few things happening at this point that I feel should be noted.
     1--Zaza tripped over Abby Normal and hurt her shoulder.  So, we went to the emergency room, where everyone came out with wheelchairs yelling, "we got one for L&D!"  (Labor and Delivery to the lay person)  Imagine my happiness when I had to waddle by and say, "Nope.  Here for my mom."
     2--My belly was too large to drive myself anywhere, so Bowser would drive me and Zaza to the mall every day.  We walked probably 438 miles around that mall.  And we saw every movie in the theater. 
     3--People were calling like crazy, wondering if Baby Boy had made his debut.  I eventually stopped answering the phone. 

Moving along...  At this point, I figured, Ok, well, at least he will have a cool birthday!  03/03/03!  And, baby, if you are born on this day, I will buy you a pony!  And of course the Disney trips are still on the table.  So, come on, this is your eviction notice!

March 3rd.  You refused to budge.

I think it was sometime around this point when Papa finally gave up waiting and drove out to await your arrival.  Not that it mattered.  You had no interest in seeing what the outside world was like.  This time, I promised you a car, whatever car you wanted, gifted to you on your 16th birthday.

March 4th.  No. Baby.

Then came Ash Wednesday.  It was about 2 degrees outside, but I waddled out in my shorts and tank top so that we could go to church.  Because, obviously, you had no intention of gracing us with your presence.  The priest at that particular church was from Vietnam.  And when he gave his homily, he had a slight lisp, so it came out as "Ass Wednesday."  So, in the back of church, Bowser and I sat giggling like idiots every time he said, "Ass Wednesday," or "on this day of asses," or "to ass we shall return."  It was the highlight of my week.  Oh and...

March 5th.  Ugh.  I was getting desperate.

Which brings us to the morning of March 6th.  Doctor appointment.  I played several scenarios in my head in which I had to beg and plead with the doctor to just take this baby out.  I vowed to myself that if she wouldn't do it, I would do it myself.  I ran up and down the stairs at the office when we arrived, just so that I would look extra pathetic.(Of course, running is really a subjective verb to a lady who is 9 and a half months pregnant.)  Thankfully, something worked and my blood pressure was pretty high by the time I got back to the room.  Induction it is!  "Take your time," said the doctor, "go have lunch, get your things, yadda yadda, blah, blah."

We got home and I gave Bowser 10 minutes to get his affairs in order, because we were going to the hospital NOW.

The rest is just a long drawn out story about how I labored for hours, thought my nurse was Anne from Anne of Green Gables, pooped on the bed, spiked a fever, and ended up with a c-section.  But then, there you were, chubby and loud and beautiful.  The most precious gift I have ever been given. 

Mario, you made me crazy in those last days.  But, I will tell you what, my Baby Bear, you were worth every minute of that wait.
Happy 11th birthday, my curly-haired, soccer-playing, football-loving, Pokemon-catching kiddo.  I love you more than words could ever say.

Love always,
Your Mom, Daisy