Elias Anders

He's one year old!
I've decided to follow the tradition of remembering a child's birth on their birthday because it was such a sweet experience.
A lot of times, I've told people that if I could skip the 9 months, I'd deliver as many times as I could. I kind of stopped telling women this when I realized the looks they gave me were absolutely disbelieving. Their experiences included crazed moments of strange, hormonal lapses of sanity where they said terrible (and now "funny") things or did what they'd never even consider otherwise. Probably the final time I realized this was when I remarked to a group of women,

"The pushing is my FAVORITE!"

All heads slowly turn to me. Every face with wide eyes. Shock. Silence. I shrug... One skeptical woman asks how long. "Two and a half hours," I reply innocently. Apparently, that's a long time.

So as I share this, I will make the effort to emphasize why it was so special. No details of the uncomfortable, embarrassing things linked to giving birth.

I received a blessing before my little boy was born that everything would be ideal. This incredible promise soothed my imagination monster back into its cave; it would all be smooth and perfect. Sometimes I wondered what ideal meant to Heavenly Father. Now, that blessing gives me quite a bit to ponder as I consider what indeed was ideal during the birth of our beautiful, energetic child. I was induced, and things progressed dreadfully slowly. Except for the pain--it came a little ahead of itself, bringing

blessing number one: my flawless epidural. The tiniest pencil prick in my back and soon all I felt was a gentle, tingling sensation in my legs.

Blessing number two: this let Michael and me nap on and off, chatting companionably when awake. I sipped ice water and watched the contraction graph spell out mountains I barely felt. After waiting
all day like this, the epidural began to wear off. Just in time for the pushing.

Blessing number three: I relished the pain. Compared to the hell of kidney stones, this pain came from heaven; the baby will be here! It's almost done! I wanted to push, more than the nurse would let me! I felt the power of the divine Hand give me life, and I thought in awed wonder "I can do this!"

Blessing number four: The doctor plopped a bloody baby on my chest, and my honest first thought was at his otherworldly beauty. Even unbathed, my son looked stunningly angelic. More perfect than any infant I had ever seen. This is mine? Yes, yes, yes. I bawled.

Blessing number five: I healed relatively quickly, as my blessing had also promised. Elias Anders Wahlquist showed love for us and life from the very beginning. Like any baby, he cried sometimes, and we had difficult moments when nothing could console either of us in the process of becoming mother and child. But always with a sweet ending. As most any mother feels about her child, I feel that Ender is particularly precious. His charm and charisma have a pointed destination and purpose in this life. His happiness is not only an answer to my prayers but an ingrained part of his soul. His quirks are delightful! I have no idea why he loves to carry a sock around with him, but I love it! It makes me laugh, and he loves that. He is a bringer of light and peace. I wonder sometimes that I get to be his mother. He, with his eternal potential, is perfect.