The Day Dad Wore His Shirt Wrong Side Out

This story is an old one.  It happened years ago and you may have heard it before.  It's about Dad but not really about the way he dressed then or now, and actually not really about Dad.  But he did actually wear his shirt wrong side out.

The real story is about why he wore his shirt wrong side out.

It started on a Saturday night.  A friend and her husband came over to share a lovely dinner of steaks, greens, baked potatoes and salads.  What a fun evening.  We ate a lot, laughed a lot, and told a lot of stories.  Plus, we were both a lot pregnant.  Whether it was the delicious heavy meal or just my time, my body decided to go into labor during the middle of that night--or so I thought.  Butterfly McQueen and I had a lot in common, "I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies."  This was our first time, too.

After calling the doctor, we made our way to the hospital only to be told we needed to walk around.  It wasn't exactly time yet, they implied, but they didn't send us home either.  So we walked the floors in my beautiful hospital gown or I should say--gowns.  You know, one for the front and one for the back.

We walked slowly up and down, up and down, the silent halls of the hospital for what seemed to be hours.  Occasionally we would hear a bell calling for a nurse, or static from the nurses' station or nurses hurriedly walking to a patient's room. But on we walked, stopping only when contractions took over.  Let me just say, having contractions standing up was not discussed in our in Lamaze classes, I am positive.

Finally, they let us have a room and then the fun really began.  Contractions picked up; nurses came in and out; a doctor would appear and disappear.  It was like Grand Central.  If I ever had modesty, it certainly was all gone after that night.  Plus, I began thinking and probably saying, "This is NOT fun.  I will NOT ever do this again."  (By the way, it only took 2 years to abandon that declaration!)

After a night of labor, this baby came into this world. Our little baby came out to meet us at 8:00 on a Sunday morning and was a "she."  We were thrilled even though I thought in my grand knowledge of the future that the baby would be a boy.  Well, not happening--not then; not later.  We discovered we were destined for girls and started the tradition with that precious baby girl.

(Man, have things changed--back then you wouldn't know the sex of the baby nor when the exact day he or she would be born.  You would be given a "due date" which was an approximation by the doctor.  Actually, it only meant that the baby might come two weeks before or after that given date.  Now those babies often come out on the date chosen by the mother with names chosen by both parents, with big bows in their hair and their monograms already engraved on everything but the baby.)

Our precious first born decided herself when to come.  It was a beautiful Sunday morning on May 22, 1977 (much like this morning--May 21, 2017).  We did have a name picked out and a baby bed in the simple and bare (compared to today's standards) nursery.  Nevertheless, she made me a mother and what a thrill it was to become a mother, to become her mother.  Surprisingly, she didn't even complain about the nursery being so lightly furnished and decorated.

She was perfect--8 pounds of perfection in fact--the sweetest little face with reddish/blonde hair, sweetheart-shaped lips; 10 perfect little fingers and 10 perfect little toes.  Having her was everything I ever thought becoming a mother would be.  I still remember when bringing her home to our very first house how I hoped I would remember every little thing she did.  I didn't want to forget a thing.  It was all so sweet.

Of course I did forget many of the cute things she did--that's what happens.  I remember telling my sister how I wanted to remember everything and please, tell me how to do that.  She responded encouragingly but honestly--"You don't, but you do remember the love and joy that abounds." And she was right.  Those were indeed joyful days with a happy little baby.

One thing that does stand out during those first few hours and days after our little baby joined our family is her father's reaction to being a new dad.  I must say that the labor and delivery was tough and evidently not just on me.  Like I said, we had gone through the Lamaze method of training for labor and even though they skipped some steps (like how to stand up and have contractions), compared to other women's stories of their labors, ours wasn't too bad.

So, yes, birthing a baby is hard on mom and dad; in fact, that whole first day was exhausting.  We were excited and proud but having been without much sleep going on for 2 days now was beginning to show.  (Little did we know that the feeling of exhaustion would not end in a day or two.  In fact, as I recall it lasted for several years!)

But we were too excited to realize how tired we both were--well, especially me!   (After all, I did all the work, and he just did the coaching, "Breathe, Breathe.  Find your focus point.  Breathe!" Honestly, I may have responded with, "SHUT UP" at choice times, not sure! )

Putting up with all that would definitely be difficult especially if one has no sleep. 

Her grandparents did have sleep; we didn't call and wake them when we headed to the hospital.  They came immediately, though, upon receiving the phone call announcing her birth.  Of course, they oohed and aahed over her.  On my side of the family she was the 8th grandchild to join the party.  On other other side she was the first.  Needless to say, all four grandparents were thrilled.

Now I know exactly how they felt about becoming a grandparent or becoming one again.  Each child, each grandchild is such a blessing and a special miracle; who could not love and cherish, ooh and aah, over such a blessing.  And so it was with this one.

After birthing her, the day was spent in getting to see her and learning about what to do with her!  Taking care of her is different after birth than before, right.  We got all the instructions that first morning--how to hold her; how to nurse her, how to change her diapers, and then how to let her go back to the hospital nursery.  (Those were the days long before the baby stayed in the room with you.)

There was a lot to absorb with a sleepless brain and evidently Dad's brain was still asleep when he went to work the next day.

Here's what happened.  On Monday, leaving the new mom and new baby in the hands of the hospital staff, the new dad went to work--probably a little late considering what all the weekend had entailed.  Nevertheless, he did make it to work.  He got off the elevator all happy and proud, but dragging a little, I'm sure. 

Then he either looked down at himself or some helpful friends pointed out to him that he had his shirt on wrong-side out!  Everyone laughed as they knew why and knew what new babies can honestly cause you do.  But, hey, he had a shirt on, right?

I think that was the only time he did dress in such an unusual way--at least to go to work, but plenty of other things in our same-o, same-o life was now totally new and unusual.  Adding the dogs to our family a few years before was interesting and challenging, but nothing quite like adding a third real live little human being.

Everything was now centered on that little thing that weighed about as much as a sack of potatoes but was a lot wigglier, interesting, and smart.  As a matter of fact, she was probably the smartest baby ever born before that day.  She was so attentive, watched us as we talked to her, engaged in our conversations with plenty of coos and gurgles, and did almost everything on schedule if not early.  She was simply brilliant. (We, as first time parents, believed that whether it was true or not then; but, you know what?  She actually still is!)

When she was turning one, we would ask her, "How old are you?"  She would proudly put out one finger and say, "One," with a big grin.   Even before that age, she would listen to me and help me find things that I had lost or put away in a strange place.  (True sign of brilliance, right?!!?)

She loved books (and still does).  Being read to was a favorite thing for her.  I can't tell you how many books we read per day.  She would love to bring me books and I would love to read them to her.  In fact, when she was about 2 years old, she brought a Clifford book to her uncle and opened it and read, "Hi!  I'm Emily Elizabeth."

If you've ever read the original Clifford book, you know that is exactly how it starts.  My brother who has three older daughters of his own couldn't help but laugh and be impressed.  Of course, she memorized books because we read them so much, but still...isn't that brilliant!  :)

She was a National Merit Semi-Finalist in high school; she went to England to study through a program at Hendrix.  She graduated from Hendrix.  She can discuss anything with anybody because she knows so much.  She reads constantly; she writes daily.  She is creative and artistic.  She can sew; she can make quilts and baby toys; she can draw.  She is wonderful.

This baby who was just born a minute ago is now 40 years old.  Isn't that hard to believe?  She has added so much to our lives and we all love her so much.  Her dad only occasionally gets his shirt on wrong side out now (and just at home I might add).

I've learned a lot from her and I hope she feels and knows the pride her dad and I have in her.  I love her; we love her; and I love being her momma!  Always have.  Always will.

Thank you, God, for sending her to us exactly 40 years ago.  Happy birthday, sweet girl, our Holly Cherice Jones.