The Practice Kid

    Today's post is a stringing together of anecdotes my Mom used to tell about being pregnant with me. I am Jim and Mary's firstborn child. I am their Practice Kid. You know, like when you bake a batch of cookies, and the first tray goes into the oven, but the cookies might not turn out quite right – the cookies may be over- or under-cooked, or some ingredient is missing – and you compensate with the next tray of cookies in the oven, and the next batch comes out okay? That first batch might even get thrown in the garbage; or you might serve those cookies to guests with the disclaimer that they are the practice cookies. And so it is with the Practice Kid – the first child is maybe not quite right.
    Whenever I complained about being referred to as the Practice Kid, Mom or Dad would say, “Hey, we could have thrown you in the garbage!”

    (You might think my parents would have said they got better with practice and hence my brothers who came after me were all right – but the Folks couldn't resist taking the joke one step further - Mom used to say that when the second child and then the third child turned out to be practice kids too, she and Dad decided to stop practicing!)

    Mom was working the whole time she was pregnant with me. Every weekday morning she and Dad would drive from their house in the small town of North Boston, New York to Mom's parents' home in South Buffalo – my grandparents lived in the upper level of a duplex at 51 Dash Street. From there Dad would continue to his job in Cheektowaga while Mom walked to a bus stop and caught the bus to downtown Buffalo – to the Ellicott Square building where she worked as a legal secretary for patent attorneys.

     She was tired at work, and so Mom would sneak her sandwich at her desk around 11 o'clock every morning, and then at the regular lunch hour, noon, she would go to the ladies room where there was a chair, and Mom would sleep through the entire hour! (And now the mystique of the lounges in the ladies rooms everywhere has finally been exposed! – but really, it was merely a bare wooden chair that happened to be there – and Mom managed to catch a nap on it.)

     Mom did not have an obstetrician, but rather went to see the regular general practitioner that she and Dad had. He was in South Buffalo, and Mom went for pre-natal visits. At one point, the doctor said, “Mary, you have gained 20 pounds! That is too much! You will be so upset with yourself if you have to lose weight along with taking care of a newborn baby!” So he put Mom on a diet while she was pregnant!

     I think that every woman who has been pregnant in Buffalo during the month of July will swear that the July of her own pregnancy was the hottest in Buffalo history! And so it was the summer that Mom was pregnant with me! Picture now, if you will, what that July must have been like – Mom was seven months pregnant with her first child – commuting to work every day – exhausted, dieting, and dying from the insufferable heat!

     Well I was due on September 22^nd. And my folks were eager for me to get born on that exact date. In fact, they were kind of hoping I would be twins! You see there was a washer/dryer manufacturer having a special promotion that year to celebrate its anniversary – any couple giving birth to twins on September 22^nd would receive a free washer and dryer! Mom and Dad could have really used a washer and dryer! Alas, the day came and went, and I neither made my arrival nor was I twins. That was the first time I disappointed my parents, and I was not even born yet. And the washer and dryer had to wait for a few more years.

     Mom continued going to work past her due date. Seven days later, Dad dropped her off at 51 Dash Street and left for Cheektowaga. As Mom went into the house, she thought she might be in labor. My grandmother suggested Mom call the doctor and tell him what was going on. And the doctor said she should go to the hospital. So Mom had to call the place where Dad worked and have them look for Dad in the plant to give him the message that his wife needed to go to the hospital. Dad finally got back to Dash Street and went into the house to get Mom. My Grandmother followed them down the stairs and out to the driveway – she was almost as excited as they were – after all, her first grandchild was about to be born!

     When my grandmother got to the driveway, she noticed that one of the neighbors was spying on them, wondering what was going on. Granny turned to the neighbor and waved her arm toward Mom and Dad – Granny said, “The kids are off on their honeymoon!”

     Yes, this was the family I was getting born into!

     Once at the hospital, Dad was ushered to the waiting room around noon, and he was not communicated with again until after I was born.

     The doctor checked Mom and said that the labor was proceeding very slowly. He told the nurse to give an injection to speed things along. The nurse took issue with him - “if we give her a shot now, you will be coming back at midnight to deliver the baby; but if we wait until morning to give her the injection, you can come back tomorrow during the day.”

     “I am here for my patient, not for my convenience!” the doctor scolded the nurse (can you imagine all this going on in front of a 20 year old first-time mother in the midst of labor?), and the injection was administered. At 12:13am on September 30^th, I was born. Neither of my parents had ever held a baby in their arms before, neither had ever even babysat!  – but in spite of their lack of experience, I was put into their arms anyway. And I was even allowed to go home with them 8 days later which was the staying time for moms and newborns in the hospital back in those days.

A cherished 4-generation picture

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