Five years ago, I stopped being just Jennifer and became known as “Dylan’s Mommy”.

I knew I was in for a bit of trouble when the nurse handed Dylan to me and said in a chirpy voice, “Here you go Mom!”

I looked around, wondering who the heck she was talking to.  Had my Mom shown up and I didn’t know it? Oh, it appears she was talking to me, and I realized I had just assumed the role of my life and had no script. 

What had just happened? I woke up, went to hospital and in a matter of hours, I had been induced in labor, and suddenly there was a need for a C-section and the next thing I knew my husband Tim had a front-row seat to see things I never want to see myself. And now PRESTO! What have we here???

It was kind of the same feeling I had at my first baby shower.  Instead of ‘fessing up and admitting I had no idea what a crib bumper would do, I honestly asked, “Well, who knows when I will need this?”  Would I really need 10 burp cloths (YES!), and did I need little washcloths with the days of the week on them (perhaps this would help keep me on track when I didn’t know what day it was).

While in the hospital, questions were racing in my mind – How do I change a diaper and not get peed on? How did taking that class breastfeeding help me now that it was time for the real deal?

I was so confident in my pre-baby days.   I had been a good daughter, sister, wife, student, sports reporter and until a week ago had worked for my alma mater – the Missouri School of Journalism helping students find jobs and internships— and now I had worry about how to clean around a circumcision?

So now I have this precious little guy, who I admit was quite cute, but there where were the operating instructions? Is it too late to put him back? Being pregnant wasn’t all that bad…

The first few months of Dylan’s life were like a CD that was so badly scratched it just kept playing the same song over and over – nurse, burp child, change diapers, try to sleep – hardly a top 40 hit.  In trying to simply keep my son alive, I somehow never got around to filling in the baby diary I received, or using that “make your child’s handprint” kit.  And perhaps the most blasphemous thing is that I never put together his baby book – but I don’t think there is any link between hardened criminals and lack of a baby book, and if there is, I don’t want to know.

But in time, a great little guy emerged – smiling at me, laughing with me, laughing AT me, paying me a salary in hugs and kisses I would not trade for anything.