And here is a good example of why not to tell your kids things

Third grade is when our public school system decided it was the right time to start teaching the kids about sex education.  They learned about male and female “parts”, the sperm and the egg and when those two things mix up together that they make a baby.  They watched a baby being born and then wrapped up the experience with sharing and question time.

PJ came home, the day of SEX EDUCATION CLASS, and asked me all sorts of questions about how I felt when she was born, if it hurt, did I cry, was she cute, all those things.  Then she went on to tell me she shared a family story with the class.  She said, “I told them that I had a baby brother that died (oh how she loves the dramatic).  He was still in your belly when he died and you named him Paddle Boy.”

A sort of audible cough/laugh/choking sound came out of my mouth as I said, “Really?  You shared that?”   She replied with a, “Yup and Mal shared that her dad passed out when she was being born.”

It is at this point you might be wondering if Paddle Boy was real. Did we really have a child that died? Did we really name the child Paddle Boy?

Answer:  yes, kind of.

The story of Paddle Boy.

I was pregnant for the first time back in 99.   We were so excited because it seemed to take an awfully long time to get this deal going. There was lots of temperature taking and charting and trying to figure out when I was ovulating and lots of sex…yeah baby, lots of it.

We found out I was pregnant and couldn’t have been happier.  I was seven weeks along.   With my first pregnancy, I was reading just about every damn book under the sun to know exactly what stage the fetus was in day by day.  At seven weeks of pregnancy their tiny little arms and legs are growing by leaps and bounds but they start out looking like buds and turn into paddles and then turn into fingers and toes.

Needless to say, I started to cramp and bleed and cry and think the world was coming to an end and ultimatly ended up in the ER filled with sick people while I was having a miscarrage.  There were so many people there.  It was the middle of winter and we were hosting a large family dinner at our house.  They were all there…Adam and I were not.   We had been waiting for HOURS  in the chairs. The pain was becoming so intense that I dragged my sweating cramping body over to the nurse to ask if I could go somewhere else, anywhere else, while we waited for a room.

They sat me in a dialysis chair right behind the triage nurse.  I could at least lay down.  I was wearing jean overalls, Adam was wearing an orange J Crew roll neck sweater.  One little tiny ball of his orange sweater sat on my belly.  I was crying at the pain and the loss and the possibility of it never working out.  Adam picked up the little orange ball, looked me in the eyes as he cocked his head to the side and said, “Hey honey, this would be the perfect size sweater for paddle boy.”

And in that moment that felt like the end of the world, we laughed and laughed and laughed, as the tears rolled down our cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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