Happy Birthday, Train Boy

There aren’t to many pictures of Train Boy being goofy. This one is pretty darn rare (though happening more lately).
I wanted Train Boy long before I met his father, long before I understood how tough motherhood would be. He was always a dream, a hope that carried me through and kept me trudging forward. Somehow, even when it seemed like I’d never have him, even when I had no reason to believe I’d ever be a mommy, things changed, I met the Redneck, married him and was pregnant a month later.
It should have been a breeze from there. But I’ve never done anything the easy way. Our first ultrasound of our little boy showed something else. I had a cyst growing right along with him. As Train Boy grew from a little peanut to eight pounds, that mass grew to five pounds and a ball of pain for me.
As the due date got closer, my blood pressure went out of control. So, induced labor was planned and the Redneck and I prepared ourselves for a long night in the hospital. Most women want to kill me for this, but I slept through most of my labor. The next morning, I went into full on contractions and everyone was talking in those hushed whispers they use when the patient has “complications”. (I worked for the damn hospital. I knew.)
Sure enough, Train Boy was sending me a clear message. “GET ME OUTTA HERE”. I looked at the Redneck and that deer in the headlights expression told me there was no help there. (At least he didn’t faint) I got to work and three pushes later shot that kid out like a cannonball.
He came out after a fight with the umbilical cord blue and not breathing. The nurses whisked him into an incubator while the midwife took care of the damage I’d done to myself getting the boy out in a hurry. (I’m still convinced that Train Boy and I had a complete understanding. Something was wrong and staying meant he wouldn’t survive, so I got him out of there. The midwife said he was probably strangling until I shoved him out.)
The Redneck got to hold Train Boy first. I didn’t see him for a few hours until all the drama (TB’s and mine) was all over.te
Train Boy was the first everything. First diaper. First smile. First getting peed on. First step. First words. (which was, by the way, “deeg” Train Boy’s way of saying “dog”).
He’s smart, intellectual and talks, talks, talks. I don’t mean like one of those energetic people that never take a breath. He’s a conversationalist who doesn’t need a response. He loves history and books and is devoted to the Redneck. And yet, I think Train Boy’s love of trains is his very own, uninfluenced (though totally encouraged) by his father. He discusses politics, history and even his feelings. He’s stubborn as a mule and tends to dig his heels in deep when he thinks he’s justified. He has a strong sense of right and wrong which both makes me proud and drives me crazy (“It’s NOT FAIR, MOM!!).
He really is the most awesome kid. This last year, he “fell in love” for the first time and got taken for a very bumpy and ugly ride. The fact that she still lives is a testament to my restraint. One thing about Train Boy, some girl is going to very, very lucky to get him, redneckisms and all.
Happy Birthday, Train Boy.


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