No Longer Short and Squatty
All Butt No Body

Day # 11

May 1st, 2013

Team Zybko

 

Happy Birthday Dylan!

 

I swear I just saw his newborn picture the other day, I must have put it in a safe place. So safe I couldn't find it this morning for this birthday post. If you have been lucky enough to see it in the past then you know it is for the best I was unable to locate it. The sort of contorted, swollen up image voodoo masters hang on hut walls to ward off evil spirits. That's alright, we all know those pictures of your hour old baby are mostly for the mom anyway.

A perfect memory for her and nobody else. It shows what labor was like for the dynamic duo, a bonding experience to say the least. Forceps marks, cone head, puffy face, you name it. Battle wounds from the journey. For the mother, no matter what, it is the face she loved before she even laid her eyes on it.

On the other hand, the short and squatty toddler rear end picture above I may need to back peddle and apologize for a tiny bit later. While searching for a pen that actually worked in the desk drawer it fell onto my lap, literally. It had been jammed between a bunch of junk for who knows how long. It reminded me of Dylan's well child visits, laughing to myself as the nurse explained the #'s off his newly updated chart.

20th percentile for height.

150th for weight.

and, uh...well we aren't sure about his head circumference,

we don't really have a chart for that.

So, basically I paid them $50 to tell me my child was short and fat and has a big head. Thanks so much, I knew that.

Much like a babies newborn picture, nothing stays the same for long. They change, they grow and they eventually, beyond your parental control move away from the nest.

   

 

A Happy Birthday text has already been sent to the freshly turned 19 year old. I will save the iPhone singing message for later. Finals week at Clemson, I figured he didn't need an early morning call from his slightly teary eyed momma. It wasn't my intent this morning to get all blubbery about one my babies but it's hard people. Hard not to get emotional when I can recall so many details from that day, like it was yesterday. I suppose moving a ten pound cannon ball through ones body has that effect on a woman.

After almost 2 decades I can still hear the clank of medical tools and what sounded like in my mind, to this scared barely grown woman a huge buck knife. I had just been prepped for a c-section after a day of stalled labor, big headed baby was stuck. I wasn't so sure I wanted to be cut open, couldn't we wait til another day. Please? Surgery was not the chapter in the baby book I had read or the hee hee ho breathing I had practiced for. Never the less I was rolled down the hall to the ER and my fat belly swabbed with odorless orange iodine. My 200 year old OBGYN who had delivered approximately 873,244 babies in his career told me I could try pushing one more time, all of this said with forceps waving slowly, in slow motion above my naked kneecaps. 
Oh, yes....please, thank you.
 I got this thing.
Don't wanna be cut open.
Don't wanna be cut open.
1...2...3.....push Mrs. Loving. As I pushed the room began to spin, the anesthesiologist, against all hospital training took a leap and power jumped directly onto my abdomen. I distinctly remember watching with eyes wide open as his size 12 white New Balance shoes came off the sterile floor. Creating a perfect man plank on top of me. Later I would thank him, as I am certain this was the extra uummfff that was needed in preventing going under the knife. 

 

 

   Not sure how to re-cap 19 years of  memories, stories and silly times in one post. From the gushy ball of a baby on that happy May 1st night to a young man finishing his 1st year of college. What I do know is, the man boy you have morphed into is totally awesome. I'm proud of you. I love how us moms think our child is super special and different than any other child on the planet. That's how a mother is programmed, if not the human race would be in big time trouble. You don't have to agree with me but Dylan really IS different. He is the type of person you need to work really hard not to like. He gets along with everyone, well I take that back, everyone except that one math teacher back in 10th grade. I'm not sure she actually liked kids so she doesn't count.

 

 

 

Dylan sees the good in people and naturally plays upon it. He is amazingly cool at laughing at himself and allowing the little pesky annoyances of life roll right off his back. I could take some lessons from this guy. A patient, giving heart he wears on his sleeve 24/7. He reminds me of my dad and brothers in so many ways it makes my insides smile. A big proud lucky smile, like when I look at his newborn picture. I'm completely blessed I was chosen to be his mom.

 

      

I'm sure I have gone overboard, but every kids deserves a mom doting over them at least once a year. I'm also pretty sure he is gonna kill me for the naked hiney cheek picture too. Oh well, just a tiny pay back from childbirth, as I still can't do jumping jacks to this day with out a little worry.

Dylan is no longer short and squatty, all butt no body. That season is long gone. In preparation for boot camp at West Point and a possible career in underwear modeling he has hit the gym hard and eats clean. Again, I should be taking notes.
 

Happy Birthday Dilly Bar!

Love Team Zybko :)

(stole this pic from Di Di)