A decade of cheerful

Ten years ago, we were blessed with a child who came out of the womb smiling.

She almost didn't make it. Her labor was so hard, so fast, that she practically raced to be born. In the process, the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck several times, a fact I was not told until much, much later. Post-cuddles and smiles, then my spouse broke that fact to me.

She's still smiling. It take a LOT to get her down. Unlike her siblings, she can rise above most events that depress others. She has an inborn resilience that I wish I could transfer to other kids.

She loves hugs. Hugs are something you do to make other people smile.

She loves pink things. Frilly things. Princessy things. Girly things.

That said, she'll turn on a dime to do sports like soccer and softball. We've nicknamed her Smity. That's a portmanteau for small, but mighty. She's petite, barely weighs 40 pounds, barely scrapes past four feet in height, but she'll steal that soccer ball from a kid twice her size and run with it, or slap a hit into the gap when it will hurt the most.

She's deceptively tough in a tiny package.

We've enjoyed every minute with her, and we can't wait to see what the next ten years will bring.

A reflection on a decade

Ten years ago, I was working from home. I'd had on-and-off contractions all day, but they were a tease, getting my hopes up only to stall out the minute the ten minutes of resting was up.

I plopped on the couch and started editing the legal journal (shout outs to Cindy and Lona here!). At some point in the middle of a Supreme Court opinion on takings, I dozed off. I woke up at 5, decided I'd get up, start dinner in the kitchen, and finish editing.

My water broke as soon as I stood up.

Those pregnancy manuals (I'm looking at you, "What to Expect") that say your water rarely breaks haven't met me. Mine breaks every time, in a hellacious mess, and then the contractions *really* start.

I called my husband, who then was promptly pulled over on Caton Farm Road by a cop. Thus begins the story of our son's birth, with a frantic husband waving at the cop, a kindergartener in the car ready to tell the cop all about her new sibling to come, and my frantic walk through the neighborhood to find someone to watch her, because our people weren't answering their phone and we had no relatives nearby.

Ten years ago at 8 p.m., I caved and took pitocin when labor stalled AGAIN. Plus, the Cubs game on TV was awful and I wanted out of L&D before the game ended (joking, joking).

Our son was born soon after. He was chunky. He was a good eater, unlike his sister.

He was a charmer. Still is.

Ten years later, I'm looking at my witty little dude, who pops out with the strangest things. He listens intently to Nina Totenberg on NPR, to the point that my editing a legal journal was a help in parenting.

He is a hoot. He loves sports. Loves basketball, which has resulted in an injury that has sidelined him to playing the Wii versions for now. He enjoys tormenting his sisters, both younger and older. Often with puns. Bad ones. He is his father's son.

Ten years later, I'm slowly regaining my stamina and body. I managed to run two miles at a 12:30 pace in 80+ heat today. I brag, a bit, because I remember those first few days ten years ago, when I would have sworn I'd never maintain my sanity, much less get my body back in some semblance of shape.

Nothing is forever. Not the lack of sleep. Not the newborn smell. Not the ten-year-old wiseacre sitting across from me.

Enjoy the moments.