The Birthday Story

My boy just turned thirteen.

How did that happen? I remember every damn thing that happened the day he was born, just as if it were yesterday. Did I ever tell you folks that story? I don't remember, so I'll tell it again . . . hell, I've never been one to let a good story go by just cuz you may have heard it a time or ten!

The Wife and I bought our home and -despite the fact it was a dump- figured we could start thinking about having children. As I recall, we stopped using birth control on a Tuesday and she was pregnant by Wednesday! The speed with which it happened completely destroyed our well laid plans for renovating the house (and no, you can NOT laugh because I'm still working on it 13 years later!) We realized that the house was not a viable living space for a baby so I did the only thing I could do - I gutted the place. Now, when I say "gutted" I MEAN gutted. Windows, electric, A/C, walls -interior and exterior- ripped out . . . I basically rebuilt the thing from scratch. Now, this is a stressful thing at the best of times. Do it when your wife is expecting your first child, watching the bills pile high and knowing that your job is in jeopardy is a recipe for disaster. Now (just for chuckles!) let's throw in the hottest summer on record for our area and imagine The Wife -9 months along- sitting on a pile of sheetrock, watching TV on a little 13" tube (no cable!) with no A/C in 105 deg. temperature. Now imagine that the only working bathroom in the house is down in the dark, musty, insect filled basement and my VEEEERRRRY preggers wife has to run up and down those stairs to shower and pee (90 times a day!)

Well, needless to say: things were not happy. She finally broke down into a (well deserved) crying jag after a giant water bug jummped on her in the basement shower. I swore I'd get the new upstairs bath done for her imediately. I called her father over to help me and we started on Saturday morning at 5:00 a.m. We worked 18+ hour days and got it 100% done at about 11:00 p.m. on Sunday night. The Wife was thrilled: she went in and took a lovely shower, came out, got dressed for bed and lay down. I jumped in for my own -much needed- shower and came to bed at about 12:30 a.m. I was whooped - I hadn't slept at all for the entire weekend. Of course, no sooner had I put on a pair of shorts and lay down in the bed next to her and she says:

"Ow!"

"What, another leg cramp?" I asked, preparing to rub it out for her . . .

"Uh, no. I think it's time."

"Uh-uh! It is not! I need some sleep!"

"I don't think the baby cares . . ."

"The hell with that! Can't you just cross your legs or something?"

Well, the boy was insistent, so we went to the hospital and spent the next ten hours doing silly-assed breathing exercises and such. In the end, I was useless and The Wife did all the hard work while I just sat there, staring, and muttering "Holy Shit!" a lot. My son was born just before 11:00 a.m the next morning and the very first thing he saw when he opened his eyes on this world was my face. (poor kid!)

So, my son is thirteen. He had a birthday . . . to him, it's just a cool day to get some presents on. I don't think he has any idea that my wife and I are actually celebrating the greatest day of our entire lives. That's alright - he doesn't get it but I have a feeling all you other parents out there do.

Later!