Flaming Biscuits

For the "Pretty Little Christmas" post, we were supposed to post about something that makes our heart sing. I'm not a great photographer and my decor pictures turned out less than great, so I decided to post about something different.



Christmas Eve, 1983 my son born. He was my first and he was overdue. My doctor had examined me two days earlier and reported that I would be going into labor very soon, and he was leaving on vacation that afternoon. His partner would be delivering my baby. I came unglued. I had been driving over 90 miles roundtrip to Century City just so I could have this particular doctor and deliver at Cedars Sinai in Beverly Hills, because my parents wanted me to have "the best care." It wasn't so great. I had wildly uneven care. The resident on my case was sweet, a couple of my nurses were very rough, my doctor was overworked (8 other of his patients were also in labor) and I was very, very scared because my labor went on and on and on . . . until it was Christmas Eve. After a "Code Blue" was called on me at one point, after the baby's head "got stuck," after a C-section done with my epidural wearing off - after it all - I had Chris.



He was sort of worried looking, maybe a little mad about his head being a little swollen. I couldn't stop gazing at him. I wanted him in my bed with me at all times, which annoyed my nurses. He was a birthday present to my Mom, who was also born on Christmas Eve. She was thrilled to share her birthday with her first grandchild. But for me, he was my favorite Christmas present EVER.



I get teary every Christmas Eve thinking back to that long night. I can't imagine what that other mother, riding a donkey through the dark, looking for a place to rest, must have been feeling.



Peace on Earth and Merry Christmas to all of you!