The Blog of mamapolo

I am bone-tired. My blood has stopped moving through my veins.

But...smiling...my husband walked the considerable length of the rehab hospital today with his walker and then walked another half-length to the door of his room.

He told the speech therapist, (after he told her there was such a thing as too much effervescence, a valid criticism of the bubbly giggly up-beat to a fault youngster) the story of how his (our) daughter was in her tenth hour of labor and watching "Little House on the Prairie." She and her husband have a similar reaction to Little House as used to occur at - was it the Rocky Horror Picture Show? They shout out memorized passages of dialogue, mourn over Mary's blindness, worry about Laura lost on the prairie, all in high good humor. They planned to name their impending son Landon after the male lead Michael Landon. The clock was ticking quickly toward the hour and the end of the Little House episode.

Between contractions, she looked at her husband and said with mock dismay, "Oh, no! If this kid isn't born in another 5 minutes, we'll have to name him Gilligan!"

The speech therapist laughed. He grinned. I was, as I often am of late, choked with tears of gratitude.

He is a miracle, and nothing short of that.

He is MY miracle.

I'm going to bed.

(By the way, the baby came quickly and is not named Gilligan. As the therapist pointed out, "Island" would be a silly middle name.)

Mama