I remember vividly my first night post-delivery with Cole...Dave had gone home to get some sleep and pick up Tucker from our friends. It was the wee hours of the night and the nurses kept bringing me Cole every 90 minutes or so because he was fussing. He had jaundice so he was attached to the biliblankets making it all the more difficult to maneuver to nurse him while recovering from my C-section. I couldn't get out of bed without quite a bit of cursing and grunting and yet my calls to the nursing station went unanswered so I managed to get myself sideways on the bed holding Cole with one arm, bracing myself on the bed rails, praying I would be able to lift Cole into his bassinet so I could rest. By the time I nursed and they finally came to take him back to the nursery, 90 minutes had almost passed. It was like living in the twilight zone, my mind and body exhausted from labor and now struggling with mending from major surgery. And yet, as much as I dreaded the door opening again on the heels of just moments of sleep, I eagerly (and anxiously) anticipated Cole's return to my arms even more.
Moments of three years ago are etched in my memory. Some more faded than others. However I do vividly recall the first time I called him Pickle. That very same night, alone with him I remember looking at his wrinkled up nose, bruised noggin and puckered lips, he looked like a pickle and hence his nickname was born. I have called him that consistently ever since.
Happy Third Birthday Cole! You will ALWAYS be my little pickle!
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