Life Beyond Duct Tape Sneaking in a Granny Column This column, while deviating a bit from the title of “Beyond Duct Tape,” will still be about something new — at least to me. Thirty-one years ago, I gave birth to a beautiful squirming baby boy named Jeff. My little man stubbornly didn’t make his appearance until two weeks after his due date, and then it took 21 hours of labor and a Caesarean section for him to make his debut. Even with the delayed birth date, Jeff still had more developing to accomplish. He had severe heartburn (also called GERD or acid reflux). The nurses would bring him to me because he was screaming for so long he broke out in sweat. I’m pretty darn sure nobody has ever had a baby that screamed that long and that loud. Nothing appeased him; he would stop crying only to eat and then fall asleep from exhaustion. He was hurting and he knew no other way to tell us about it — for eight weeks. I referred to going back to work as “vacation time,” although by that time, he was much better. I loved my son, even during the most diffcult weeks, but I vowed to be a one-and-done mom. During our marathon mother-son rocking sessions, I began to dream of the day I could become the proud bearer of a sweet, cuddly, absolutely perfect, seldom crying grandchild. Through the years, I often spoke of this grandbaby. When Jeff was just 2½ years old, he used my grandmother passion as a bargaining chip. If I made him angry, instead of saying he didn’t love me, he said something much more powerful: “No grandbaby!” Hmmph — surely he didn’t mean that, I would think. Wait — can a toddler even understand the concept of a grandbaby? Fast-forward many years of loving everyone else’s grandchildren and I get the news that my son and his amazing wife, Kristie, will be coming through with that coveted grandbaby. The baby, Davis James Dawson (“DJ”), was to be born the first week of May. I loved him unconditionally — even before he ever took his May/June <strong>2017</strong> • 44 Thirty years of yearning to cuddle my grandbaby for the first time was about to end. first breath. On March 7, DJ decided he wanted out — a full two months before his due date. He had no intention of duplicating his father’s entry route into the world, although DJ’s birth did require an emergency Caesarean section. He was delivered bottom first, weighing a mere 4 pounds and 10 ounces. His weight dropped to just 4 pounds in a week, but then he started rebounding. When I dreamt of watching my grandchild grow, I never imagined it in ounces. There he was, my tiny grandson, lying in the NICU incubator, hooked up to far too many wires, monitors and tubes — and not crying. The prayers for his health flowed into that tiny baby from many who loved him. I watched and prayed fervently as DJ fought for independence. God answered and one by one, tubes were removed and monitors were disconnected. DJ’s parents were able to hold him for the first time, skin to skin. After a couple of weeks, he became strong enough to escape the incubator, and three weeks after he was born, he was strong enough to be held by his grandparents (I’ve been told not sharing is not an option). Through the years, experienced grands have discussed this incredible grandparenting gig, and my typical flippant response was that I already knew all about it. After all, the granny-DNA flows naturally through my veins. However, nobody could prepare me for the emotions to come. I was sitting in the NICU room when my daughter-in-law asked if I wanted to hold DJ. Thirty years of yearning to cuddle my grandbaby for the first time was about to end. The nurse picked up the tiny bundle and presented the precious gift. The instant DJ touched my arms, my heart felt as if it had ruptured into a million pieces and I dissolved into tears. I dearly love my son, but this — this is different. The difference is age and the subsequent evolution of wisdom, confidence, independence, security and comfort — traits we often lack when raising our children. I looked into DJ’s dark eyes as he struggled to stay awake in my arms and it felt like my entire life led me to this miracle God-moment. Instantly I knew it has always been my destiny to be DJ’s Mimi • Carol Dawson is a Jeffersonville resident and owner of EEO GUIDANCE, Inc. This column will reflect various products Dawson has found that may make our <strong>Southern</strong> <strong>Indiana</strong> lives a bit easier. Comments can be emailed to: Cdawson@eeoguidance.com
Special Section Home Improvement <strong>Southern</strong> <strong>Indiana</strong>’s guide to updating and renovating your home May/June <strong>2017</strong> • 45
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