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Good day all! Let me begin this entry by telling you that my husband and I had a lovely visit with my mother yesterday, and during our visit we reminisced about years past. Hearing the stories of my childhood from my mother’s perspective delighted me so much that I have decided to share them with you here. 🙂

As some of you may recall, I revealed in my very first blog post ever that I was born with a complication called Gastroschisis, which required immediate surgery. What I did not reveal was how unbelievably stubborn and lively I was in NICU…

After the surgery the doctors put me into an induced coma for ten days, and after taking me out of the coma they probably expected that I would behave in a fairly weak and docile manner. After all, I had not yet reached the two week mark of my life and I had already experienced invasive surgery and a morphine induced coma.

Nope.

I apparently hated the respiratory tube they had down my throat, because I constantly tried to pull it out. I also seemed to hate the IVs, because I tried pulling those out, too. Eventually, at about five weeks I think it was, my mother walked into the NICU to see me with mittens on my hands, my hands tied to my chest, and my head shaven with a bunch of IVs sticking out of it. So, naturally my mom asked, “What did you do to my baby?” The nurses then proceeded to tell her that I had been pulling my IVs out and I wouldn’t stop. I nearly bled out a couple times. I guess I really didn’t like foreign tubes in my body and had no patience for them.

Later on after my respiratory tube was removed (by the nurses, not by me) my mother came into the NICU again and saw me laying quite content underneath a Winney The Pooh mobile. She asked the nurses how I’d been, and they told her that the respiratory tube sure didn’t damage my throat. My mother asked what they meant by that, and they informed her that I threw a fit any time the Winney The Pooh mobile was taken away so another baby could have it for a while. I would scream, and scream, and scream, and I simply wouldn’t stop until the Winney The Pooh mobile was placed over me again. Needless to say I got my way.

The word that was most often used to describe me was “feisty”.

In another entry I told the story of when I had to get stitches when I was a young child, and instead if displaying fear I was just pissed off. Well, apparently I got run over by a car once (because I ran across the street with out looking), and the poor guy who was driving the car got out and saw me laying on the ground. He immediately picked me up and ran me to my house (he lived just down the street from us so he recognized me) and even though I was crying it was not entirely for the reason he thought. Sure I was in shock, but mostly I was mad. I wanted to go back and continue playing with the sidewalk chalk with my friends, and now my mom was going to take me to the doctor’s office. Ugh! Talk about a fun sponge!

Then, when we were finally at the doctor’s office the doctor kept looking at my leg and knee. Come on, how many times did he really have to check my knee? According to my mother I kept complaining that it was going to be dark when we got home, and I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike after dark. That made me mad, too. Apparently the doctor asked me how my leg felt, and I kicked it up and down vigorously and declared, “Look, it’s fine, see!? Can I go home now?” And according to my mother I said that with a heaping helping of sass.

Oh, the memories. What was especially sweet about hearing these stories was that my husband was there hearing them, too. He has told me many times that he loves my sass and attitude – my feistiness – and he was learning that the attitude he loves so much is truly a deep part of who I am. Ah, what a lovely day that was.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as I much as I enjoyed hearing it. Thank you for reading my blog and God bless you.

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