David Scott AKA Firstborn AKA the Refiner’s Fire

By: Dawn Anderson (View Profile)

I feel kinda bad for the firstborn. I was a firstborn. There is pressure on the firstborn that is non-existent on every child born after that. I was nearly twenty-one years old when I had David Scott—so I was still a selfish person back then. And inexperienced. Those two words, selfish and inexperienced, are horrible combinations.

The birth was a long one. It was a natural birth, and though it was obviously the hardest thing I had ever done, it was empowering at the same time. I amazed myself at what was accomplished when all was said and done and the most beautiful baby that EVER existed was laying in my arms. I found new strength within that was incomparable to anything previous or since. I became a Mother.

Before I gave birth, I thought I was ready. I was naive. I thought by reading all I could, going to my puff-puff-blow-he-he-ha-ha-hoooo Lamaze classes, looking way cute in my stylin’ maternity clothes, taking prenatal vitamins the size of hot dog buns, and spending every extra dime I had on baby clothes, baby accessories, making baby clothes with matching bibs, and you name it, that those things prepared me for motherhood. Oh, I wish.

Sleep. I remember it. I do. It’s a vague memory. I haven’t slept in since 1983. Nineteen Eighty Three. Even writing it differently, still seems a long time ago. No wonder I have a set of three-piece luggage under my eyes.

When we brought that beautiful sleeping child home from the birth center, twenty-four hours later, I thought, “Wow, I need some rest after having this child. Just a couple of days’ rest and I will be ready to go.” WHY didn’t someone warn me in no uncertain terms—that that was NOT going to happen? Why were the moms around me smiling those vague, half-cooked smiles and slowly shaking their heads?

The sleeping angel that we brought home became a devilish screaming Mimi! He had enough lungs for two babies! He ate every hour to hour and a half. For twenty years. Nah, but seriously, I wanted to breastfeed—I think it is written somewhere that if you decide to have a natural birth, you will be breastfeeding that child. So I gave it a go. I do have to say, my husband at the time, was highly encouraging of this ... and kinda pushy.

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