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Okay, I know that in Japan this date has already passed, but here in the USA, it is still January 5th, the 28th anniversary of the birth of my first born child, a legend you know as UltraBob. I thought this would be a good time to relive that event for you, as I have been doing it all day in my mind.
UB was the first grandchild on my side of the family (I am the middle child of 5) and the second on John’s. At first, I was going to a doctor in Arco, the near town only 30 miles away, but partway into my pregnancy, the doctor moved and recommended a practice in Idaho Falls, 70 miles away. It seemed that there was a possibility of problems, so it seemed prudent to see the “experts”. As with each of my pregancies, I was “sick as a dog” for approximately 8 1/2 months. There were the odd days now and then when I didn’t throw up, but ususally I just got up and headed for the bathroom to, as my husband so eloquently put it,”talk to the toilet”.
About 3 months before Bob was born, I was lucky to win the “draw” to hunt an antelope! My husband, growing up in a family of avid hunters, wanted me to share in the love of the sport, and I was willing to try. I was a terrible shot, however, and the one I finally ended up hitting was about a yearling. I sobbed over that little antelope while John tried to comfort me with thoughts of how good and tender the meat would be! It was, and I later drew on and shot one more antelope, but I never really “got” it, and shortly after the second one gave up the sport altogether.
My baby (back then the sex of the child was a surprise) was due to be born at the end of 1975. We were a bit nervous; we lived too far away to attend Lamaze or birthing classes, so we went to stay with my parents in Idaho Falls around Christmas time. So, we were there a couple of weeks before Bob decided to make his appearance! As it turned out, we never had a problem making it to the hospital in time before the birth of any of my children, even when, later, we drove the 70 miles from Howe! In due time, Bob was born, and I was thrilled with my little red-haired baby boy, whom we named after his maternal Grandpa, Robert Wesley. My Dad, who didn’t know beforehand of the planned name, was over the moon.
Soon, however, it bacame apparent that everything wasn’t as it should be. Little Bobby was having trouble breathing on his own and was turning a rather unnatural, though becoming, shade of blue. (Many years later, I overheard UB teling a friend that he was my little “Smurf Baby”.) At that time, all of the infant intensive care was in the other Idaho Falls hospital, across town. So, my baby boy was taken by ambulance to Riverside Hospital, while I was left in Parkview Hospital to recover! At that time, 3 days was a normal hospital stay after having a baby.
I didn’t learn til later how serious the situation appeared. From medical tests, it appeared that Bobby may have holes in his lungs. There was definitely a fluid buildup around them. Little tubes were inserted to drain the water away from his lungs (the scars are still there, if anyone cares to check), and the “holes” were gone; they had only been shadows. I didn’t find out most of this til the danger had passed. When I was released from MY hospital, I was told that my son was also able to be released. Boy, was I scared! I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to take care of him!
When we went to get our baby, we found that he was already addicted to a pacifier! He was so fussy that the nurses had fastened a baby bottle nipple onto a towel to soothe him. So, a pacifier was his constant companion for the first year or two of his life. It did calm him down sometimes when nothing else would, but it was also a major problem when he threw it on the floor in, say the grocery store. Sometimes, though, we were just so desparate that we would wipe it off the best we could and plug it back into his mouth: peace at any price? And, of course, he had to have the BIG bulby kind; he would have NOTHING to do witht he cute little Nuk pacifier.
But, he really had no lasting effects from his scary surgery, and we did fine, with the exception of a little colic. He was also LOTS of fun, and was thoroughly adored and spoiled by grandparents and numerous aunts and uncles on both sides of the family. LOTS of nicknames; Bobcat, Bobolink, Bad Boy, once in a while ( I think Uncle Dan is still holding a grudge about being whacked over the head with the big corn popper toy when UB was about 2.) He loved to be held (for hours on end) and spent lots of time in a baby backpack so I could make an attempt to get other things done. We had a metal, wind up swing that would often put him to sleep, but sometimes he woke up when I banged his head on it while attempting to carefully remove him from it. Sometimes not. He loved being read to, and as I loved reading out loud, it was a match made in heaven!
UltraBob, I am SO glad you are my son, and I love you as fiercely and completely as I did when I first saw you 28 years ago. Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.
With Love,
UltraMom