Boy, Oh Boy!

February 23, 1982

    My consciousness slowly swam up through the wooziness of the anesthesia.
    “Wake up. You have a healthy, bouncing boy.”
    Oh boy! A son. His hair was fine—golden brown—eyelashes long, lips full, and he had a slight dimple in his chin. Yep, he definitely was all boy. One look at his privates confirmed the obvious. After having three girls, I didn’t know what “he” was supposed to feel like. But once his solid bulk cradled in my arms, I knew. And I knew what to name him; surprisingly Donny didn’t object.
    I kissed my son and whispered, “Hello, Daniel Michael. I’m your Mommy.”
 I shuddered at the thought that months earlier, I might have gone through an abortion. That day God had given me the strength to make the fateful decision not to abort my baby.
 This pregnancy was my last, the caboose. I had signed the forms to have my tubes tied. Because I had my babies so close together, the doctor warned me that my uterus might tear in the process. Thank the Lord there weren’t complications.
 “You did good, honey,” Donny crooned, patting my hand. “Thank you for my son.”
 “Why don’t you thank God?” I retorted.
 Later, in my hospital room, the nurse came for Daniel. Donny soon left for the night. Alone, I thought about my household and did the math. Anna Marie, the eldest, was five. Diana and Angela were barely fourteen months apart. My husband was thirty-eight, and I, a frazzled twenty-two-year-old had baby number four.
 I contemplated the future. My marriage had been a journey on a long, difficult, and bumpy road. Without the prayers, love, and encouragement from others, we wouldn’t have lasted. I remained hopeful, but rough waters were still ahead . . .

* * *

   I was lost in my thoughts one evening. As I put baby Daniel to bed, I wondered what manner of young man he’d become. Will I spoil him? Cater to his every whim? Or allow him to learn from his mistakes? Will I be able to look him in the eye? Show him right from wrong? Will he become responsible? Loving? Respectable? Will I be able to love him enough to let go?
    I silently prayed for wisdom and pushed a strand of golden-brown hair from Daniel’s forehead. I loved the different shades of light brown in his curly coif. They were so different compared to the black hair of his parents and sisters.
    “His hair . . .” Donny warned, interrupting my thoughts, invading my heart, “had better turn dark.”

A small excerpt from Chapter 33, “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit & Grace“