Star Light, Star Bright

On my birthday, I was already halfway through an eighteen hour labor with you. Contractions were two minutes apart and the doctor kept saying he could give me something, but this young hippie mama declined. I did thirty-six hours with nothing but some pretty fancy curse words with your brother and felt I owed you the same! Besides, Dr. Eaton promised me after Kameron's long labor that the next one would be half that and he was correct, right down to the hour. Eighteen hours? Piece of cake! When we arrived at the new hospital in Mammoth, which was only about a football field length away form our home, and had only been up and running for a few weeks, we found "no room at the inn'. (I wonder if that had something to do with your collection of nativities later in life?) It was packed full of drunken locals who had gotten into a bar fight and skiers who had been injured so no rooms nor beds were available. We were taken into the "cast" room amid the remains of recent cast applications splattered about the floor and walls and on the gurney itself! Your dad helped me stay on that narrow, hard, slippery gurney for the next eighteen hours with patience, ice chips, back rubs, and bribes. He was a great coach! Ironically, the only way I could lay was on my left side and on the wall was a poster of Wiley E. Coyote, falling off a cliff, with that resigned look on his face facing the camera and saying, "Ever have one of those days?" He became my instant favorite cartoon character! Although I would have liked to share a birthday with you, I never fancied the idea of children having to share their special day with anyone or any holiday. Apparently, you felt the same, so your first act in this world was to hold out for your own day. Not long after midnight of my hours-old 28th birthday, you joined us. You came out sucking your thumb and when you let out a little sweet cry, I knew you were a girl before your dad even told me. (We never wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl with any of you but for some reason, your dad knew every time. I, of course, wanted you to be a girl so you could have a big brother to watch your back like mine did, and still does.)
The nurse wasn't able to clean us up because they had run out of hot water and clean linens. I, to use Grandma Rake's term, "spit cleaned" you as best as possible. The only picture I have of us in the hospital is with me, with my disastrous hair color (another story to be told!), holding you with your blood-covered little head.
When everything quieted down, your dad left to go tell Kameron and call our family. I lay on that cold gurney with you in my arms, just marveling at how you slept with your hands tucked near your face so sweetly and femininely, just the opposite of Kameron who always lay on his back, his hands thrown up and open over his head, all boy! I was in awe at what a completely secure and captivating little creature you were.
A large, bright star broke through the dark night and twinkled over us and I felt a peace only a mother can know. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight." kept running through my head. In the soft light of that star, amidst the plaster cast off, and under the watchful eye of Wiley, I wrote a poem for you on some rose printed stationary I had thrown into my bag. It seemed the perfect paper on which to pen my thoughts because you had these sweet little rosebud lips.
"My Rosebud Baby". I remember it word for word. I haven't been able to bring myself to read it or recite it since you left us because it underscores how naive I was, how I failed to keep the promise I made to you on that beautiful, silent, snowy night so full of the promise of possibilities. I remember kissing you and telling you that you were the best birthday present I would ever receive. That much remains true.
When your father and your big brother arrived after the sun came up, Ken was carrying a small vase in one hand and holding Kameron's gloved hand in his other. Kameron was all bundled up in his blue and yellow jacket and his eyes were as big as his smile. He kissed your "owie" when he saw the tiny strawberry birthmark between your eyebrows. Your father didn't know about our talk or my poem. But in that vase was one beautiful pink rose and one tiny pink rosebud. I was speechless but not surprised.

The next morning, Cheryl came to see us and was told she couldn't because they were trying to get us into a room and clean us up. Well, you know Cheryl and she doesn't like being told what she can or can not do. So, she trudged through the snow along the side of the building, banged on the window and told me to go open the back doors to the emergency entrance. 

She had brought you a beautiful little white outfit covered in rosebuds with lace around the edges of the feet. Again, speechless but not surprised.

So, that's how you came to our little family, alert, wide eyed, ready to fight for your own place in this world, and I was the happiest mother on the planet. Happy birthday, me! Happy birthday, you! You were the tiny rosebud who would blossom into the most beautiful girl in the world with the rosebud lips. You were my shining star. You are still.