It's Official (and Tritan's birth story)

We have a bona fide teenager in the house!

Tritan turned 13 on Aug. 19. I think he might have grown 2 inches that day, too.

January 1996 I decided it was time to have a kid. We'd been married for a couple of years and I was graduating in a year. I parked next to the old BSU gym for one of my night classes, and I could see toddlers jumping and balancing on gymnastic equipment in the big picture windows, and suddenly I wanted a tumbling toddler of my own so badly I couldn't breathe. So I went off the pill, and Brian and I got busy trying to make a baby.

We were pretty busy but 6 months went by without breaking open a pregnancy test. Brian trotted off to Brazil for a student exchange in June, and I went with him for two weeks. It was an awesome two weeks--we toured every inch of Curitiba, one of Brazil's most fascinating cities--the zoo, the botanical gardens, the shops; we rode a train through the mountains; we took a side trip to Iguassu Falls on the Brazil/Argentina border and explored Argentina as well. We dined on Nescafe and sweet breads for breakfast; we had little buns stuffed with meat for lunch; and we ate incredible barbecued meats at churrascarias. But I had a hard time not being distracted with the possibility that there wouldn't be more than just Brian and I in our family. Wasn't 6 months a long time? Should we see a fertility doctor yet? Each month the disappointment was more bitter and the desire for a baby more passionate.

It didn't help matters that Brian stayed in Brazil for 6 more weeks after I flew back to the states and started working. By October, I had made an appointment with a fertility doctor for the following month. I was graduating in Dec. and Brian had already been accepted to grad school in Phoenix. I could hardly be excited about either prospect: I was pretty obsessive over wanting a baby. I cringed every time someone in our student ward asked when we were going to start trying, and there seemed to be newborns everywhere I looked. Friends complained about swollen ankles and morning sickness and I longed to be sick and fat. I made a promise to never complain about being pregnant if I was ever blessed enough to be with child.

Of course, that month, probably around Halloween, I got pregnant. Just before Thanksgiving I was eating a turkey sandwich at work and suddenly couldn't stomach the thought of poultry. I thought it was just lunch meat gone wrong. But by the first of December I was brave enough to take a pregnancy test (I'd had several months of being late and still not pregnant, so I was afraid of another disappointment) and this time it was positive.

We told our parents on Christmas day. Throwing up Christmas dinner might have given it away, too. The sad part was, we were leaving for Arizona by the first of the year and suddenly I was terrified of going through pregnancy so far away from my mom and my friends. In fact it took a couple of weeks of living off credit cards before I pulled myself together and got a job through a temp agency.

I have to admit pregnancy was not all I dreamed it would be. I felt sick most of the time. I felt fat. I waddled. I was exhausted all the time. I broke my promise and complained plenty. But I was ecstatic that our baby boy was doing so well.

After starting off with an OK doctor, I switched to a dr. I loved and he suggested inducing me when my due date rolled around. I was a little hesitant since in my perfect birth plan (yes, I read all the books) I was going to go all natural. And also, as uncomfortable as it was to be pregnant, giving birth scared me to death--I wanted to put it off as long as possible.

My mom came in a couple of days before my scheduled inducement. She cleaned, and cooked, and got everything ready. Which was good, because I never "nested" with any of my kids.

They induced me early in the morning. My contractions started soon after. I walked and walked the halls of the maternity ward because it seemed to help the pain and it was supposed to hurry the process along. Brian and my mom took turns walking with me, rubbing my back, holding my hand. To be honest, I remember my mom more than Brian (sorry, honey). She walked with me the most, and when I lay in the bed trying to breathe through the pain, she would pretend to be doing needle work, but really she was trying not to show how much she wished she could take away my pain.

When the contractions got really painful, and the doctor said I was only dilated to a 5, I had to scale back my expectations, and gave in to an epidural. It worked great. Of course, as soon as the pain went away, I was sure I could have hung in there a little longer. But after I got it, I dilated quickly and before I knew it, Brian was cutting the cord, and I had my first squealing child in my arms.

We named him Tritan because it was the only name we could agree on. I wanted something traditional and Brian wanted something unique. We changed the spelling from Triton to Tritan so it would be more like Brian--plus we had no idea we had a line of gods and goddess waiting to come down. I didn't have any number of kids in mind; all I knew was that I had one perfect child, and for that moment, I had all that my heart desired.