July 4th, a Real Firecracker

On a hot summer day many moons ago, I could hardly breathe. Walking was a struggle. My face was red. I was sweaty. It was only early morning and I already wanted to go back to bed.

I was restless; nothing seemed to satisfy me. I went to visit family and complained most of the time how I felt terrible. It didn’t help when those I complained to agreed with me about how I looked and felt.

It was July 4th. I should have been in a wonderful mood. Fireworks that evening. A planned picnic. I didn’t even want to prepare the foods I was supposed to take. Wow, was I crabby.

I went in the bathroom and looked at the full-length mirror and shuddered at what I saw. What a blimp I was. I looked like an over-sized whale. Maybe I should consider going on a diet; but that sounded like a terrible idea.

Maybe some exercises? Oh my gosh, what would happen once I got on the floor and couldn’t get up? Was the  local crane company going to have to be called to help me off the floor?

I looked pathetic. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. I just wish things would change for me. I said a tiny prayer, asking for a miracle to  happen.

Well someone heard my plea. Within one hour, I kid you not, I was at the local hospital, and had given birth to my second son. What a firecracker baby he was. No pain, nothing. A tiny bit of spotting, a call to the ER and a visit produced a fine, healthy baby boy. I smiled.

Happy Birthday Ryan. Mom loves you so much.