July 5th Fireworks

Story ID:	4049
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan
Story type:	Family History
Writers Conference:	My Favorite Holiday Story
Location:	Effingham IL USA
Year:	2008
Person:	Brian

It was a time before air conditioning was considered mandatory. Sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades. I could hardly breathe after eating too much fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and homemade noodles. I wasn’t alone in my misery. Everyone had cleaned their plates. The men were outside telling stories about one past event or another. Each story was meant to one-up the other. The women gathered in the living room after putting away the food and cleaning the kitchen.

I closed my eyes, dreaming of a nap when I felt the first twinge. I almost ignored it, yet I couldn’t help feeling a quick surge of excitement. Could this be it? I had been disappointed a few times before. Yet June 25th was nine days ago. I glanced at my watch. 1:00 p.m. on the dot. I waited.

I listened to the women discuss the approaching family reunion. One would be bringing her specialty, angel food cake. Another had a new recipe for bar cookies. I groaned inwardly. The thought of food made me rub my tummy. I felt another twinge. I checked the time. 1:05 p.m. Could it be? No, I told myself. I tried to remember what the doctor said, but I felt sure labor pains would be farther apart in the beginning. I dismissed the twinges as unimportant, and felt another. 1:10 p.m.

One of the girls wanted to go see the garden. I decided a walk would do me good. We went outside and walked down by the pond. We admired the tall, colorful holly hocks. Some were plain white, others bright shades of pink, another dark red. A soft summer breeze caused them to sway back and forth, reminiscent of models on a runway strutting their stuff. I felt another twinge. It was 1:30 p.m.

A nephew tugged at my arm. He wanted to go see the calf his grandpa helped birth last night. I did too. We had to step over a few bales of hay to get close enough to the stall. He held my hand to steady me as I lifted my ungainly body over the first, and then the second. I sat down on one while he climbed up on the board fence. I rested, while peeking through the wooden slats. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt light on my feet. The calf was curled up in the corner, sleeping. His mother turned to stare, as if saying to not wake the baby. Another twinge turned my eyes toward the time. 1:50 p.m.

Back inside the house, my husband said I looked tired and asked if I was alright. I nodded. He said maybe we should go home instead of going to the fireworks tonight. I had been looking forward to attending my very first fireworks display. I shook my head no and assured him I was fine. My confidence was shaken when I felt another twinge. I looked at my watch. 2:20 p.m.

This was my first child and I didn’t know much about labor, but I knew labor pains were not regular at first. I decided this must be Braxton Hicks contractions. Besides, a friend of mine told me not to go to the hospital until my pains were strong and painful. She went early and hated lying in bed. She was thirsty, but they wouldn’t give her a drink of water, only ice chips. She made waiting until the last minute sound like a great idea. Anyway, I wanted to see the fireworks. I felt another twinge. 2:55 p.m.

Every five minutes throughout the afternoon, I felt a twinge. They were a little more noticeable by the time we warmed up leftovers. I ate, but only a little. My husband noticed. I said I was still full from earlier. I felt a stronger twinge. 6:40 p.m.

As usual, the women cleared off the table. We stored some leftovers in Tupperware containers, others were wrapped in aluminum foil or plastic wrap. My mother-in-law hand washed the dishes. I started to help dry, but she sent me to the living room. She said I would have a long night on my feet at the park and should rest. I propped up my feet. I felt an even stronger twinge. 7:45 p.m.

We piled into two cars and trained the fifteen miles to the city park where the fireworks would take place. We were late arrivals. Others brought their children early for the rides and vendors hawking food. We parked several blocks away. We walked from the car to the park. My back hurt. I asked to stop and rest at the first picnic table we came to in the park. I sat down. I didn’t want to get back up, but knew I had to. My husband was beginning to think I wasn’t well. I kept my secret and looked at my watch. 9:00 p.m.

I had seen fireworks on black and white television, but never in person. I was as excited as a child on Christmas morning. I waited impatiently. By the time it was dark enough, my enthusiasm waned. The display was impressive. Loud booms and machinegun-like pops filled the sky with bright colors. The fireworks seemed to last forever. By the time they were over, I wished I had stayed home. It was time to for the trek back to the car. I held my watch up under the streetlight. 10:05 p.m.

Back home, the pains were even stronger. Instead of telling my husband to take me to the hospital, I kept mum. Did I think they would go away? No. Still, we retired for the night. He went to sleep. I stared at the ceiling. I knew July 4th was over. I knew July 5th would be the day. I finally looked at the alarm clock. 12:00 a.m.

I decided to get up. I showered and dressed before pulling the overnight bag out of the closet. After brushing my teeth, I added my toothbrush to the bag’s contents and closed the lid. I checked my watch. 1:25 a.m.

I turned on the light. Startled, my husband sat up in bed. When he saw me standing there with suitcase in hand, he jumped out of bed. He dressed in less than a minute, slipped his bare feet into a pair of sneakers, and rushed out to the car. I think he forgot me. By the time I made it to the car, he had it in reverse. He put it back in park and helped me into the passenger seat. The clock on the instrument panel read 1:30 a.m.

We took the new interstate to the city. He drove too fast. I complained. He found the exit. I moaned. He drove too fast on the city streets. I moaned again. We pulled into the hospital drive. He parked the car in front, helped me inside, and then drove to the parking lot while I gave the receptionist my information. I moaned again. I checked the clock on the wall. 2:30 a.m.

I was taken to the second floor. A nurse examined me. Another nurse asked how far apart my pains were. I said five minutes. The first nurse called me a liar. She didn’t actually use the word liar, but that’s what I heard. I looked at the clock behind her. 2:50 a.m. I reiterated my claim. She shook her head and told me I wasn’t far enough along to have pains every five minutes. I looked at the clock behind her. 2:55 a.m.

I was taken to the labor room. My husband was brought in. I squeezed his hand so hard he grimaced. He didn’t say a word. The nurse came in several times. Quiet, shy me told her where she could put her examination. My husband didn’t say a word. I looked at the clock. 6:00 a.m.

The doctor came in. He examined me. The nurse joked with him about my having a boy. After all, out of forty-two deliveries Doc had only delivered 3 girls since the first of the year. He confirmed these facts to my husband. Happy at the prospect of a son, he smiled. I asked how much longer. Doc predicted late afternoon. I groaned through a moan. I looked at the clock. 6:25 a.m.

I screamed and called the nurse. She came. I told her it was time. She told me I was wrong. She started to leave. I called her back. She decided to check. I was right. She screamed at the doctor and prepared to take me to the delivery room. As we passed by Doc busily washing his hands, he promised to be right there. He arrived just in time. I heard a hearty cry. Doc smiled and declared, “It’s a boy!” The fireworks were over. I smiled and looked at the clock. 6:41 a.m.

July 5, 2008. I'm very proud of my little firecracker. He's grown into a fine man with a son of his own. My only question is, how did he get so old when I'm still so young?

Happy 40th Birthday Brian!