Fletch

Not Chevy Chase. My Fletch. Well, my Issac Fletcher that is. (Should have named him Fletcher Issac...didn't realize back in 2001 how cool my Issac would turn out and that he could easily pull off the first name of Fletcher).

It was a Monday morning, a light dusting of snow was on the ground, when Allan and I left the house at around 5am to head the hospital for the scheduled C-section. He was my easiest delivery. They took me in for surgery at 730am (exactly as scheduled) and at 8am on the dot, Issac arrived, weighing in at 7 lbs 14 ozs and 20.5 inches long . He was my lightest baby. (I had gestational diabetes during the pregnancy and the point of the specialized diet and insulin was to keep him under 8lbs. Good job, doc!) In recovery, I was feeling great...drugs are a wonderful thing. The recovery room was filled with lots of family, including my grandfather (Papa) who was super excited to meet his second great grandchild. (Issac is named after my Bubby who passed away a few months earlier) Everyone is passing Issac around like a sack of potatoes and snapping pictures and I'm in lala land. What could be better? Well, by now, you should know that with my family, hospitals are never a good thing, even when one has a baby.  My papa had been holding Issac when Allan decided to take him back. I thought it was a bit abrupt but I didn't say anything. The next thing we know, my papa hits the floor like a ton of bricks and the nurses are yelling "CODE BLUE" over the intercom system.  Good times.  At the same time, another woman, who just delivered twins, has been wheeled into the recovery room with me so you can imagine just how crowded this room got. These poor people are trying to call their family and share their good news and we have a bad episode of ER going on here. Before I go further and scare anyone, my papa was just fine! As it turned out, we never did get an answer as to why he passed out and had no pulse. The guess (and yes, it was a guess. No test ever showed anything or gave us a specific answer. Does this sound familiar to anyone?) was that he hadn't eaten breakfast, HAD taken his morning meds, and was just overly excited at the hospital.  So....back to the recovery room. They whisk him away. Allan had to go with Issac for some more tests and what not. (routine after baby is born stuff...I am not sure what it is...I'm always way to hopped up on drugs after I deliver babies to know what the hell is going on) My mom is just standing there and isn't sure if she should leave me alone (with the unhappy twin parents..we've rained on their parade) or go with my papa. I tell her to go. I feel great. (Morphine drips rock)

Fast forward several years. My Issac is a true comedian. The boy makes me laugh every single day. Even when he makes me angry. He'll be on SNL one day. Just wait. But, while he is super funny, he is also super frustrating, probably because he is so smart. He does not like to do any unnecessary work. (very much like his late father) A prime example: Back in January when Steve and I were on our cruise, my parents and my sister, Tessi, watched the boys. I had told my mom that the big boys knew how to do their own laundry, and she should have them do it. So, my mom tells Issac to get the laundry out of the dryer. He does, brings it to her, and drops it on the floor. She questions him as to WTF he is doing. His response: you didn't tell me what to do with it. Mhmmmmmm. True Issac in true Issac fashion.

He is wise beyond his years and truly is a gentlemen. He has wonderful manners and can carry on conversations with anyone and everyone. I'd like to take credit for all of this. But. I cannot. Fletchy is just a true gem. And, I am a very lucky mama. XOXO