When I was just three months pregnant Eric and I went out to see a Rosanne Cash concert. I remember feeling so giddy about the whole event because it was the baby's first show, albeit, with some sound barriers. We absolutely loved the show, but one song in particular struck a chord in my heart: September When It Comes. Weston was due September 14th, so the lyrics just rang out to me, "So when the shadows lengthen into an evening sun, well first there's summer, then I'll let you in, September when it comes." I started to cry when I heard those lines and thought about how my child would be coming home to us in September; I started to truly comprehend why my parents gave me the middle name of March, September sounded so romantic and glorious, there was never a more beautiful month spoken of.

If you've been following our journey at all this past year, you'd know that Weston didn't actually come in September at all. On the night of August 25th, I had a serious hankering for a cup of hot tea, despite the fact that it was wickedly hot and humid outside. I seem to recollect that I brewed the tea in a pot, and took it upstairs with my nightly gestational diabetes pill and snack of rice crackers and cheese. That night, I was more uncomfortable than normal, so Eric decided to give me some space and sleep on the couch. I remember I fell asleep splayed across the bed, and woke up hazy at around 4am. I got out of bed and wham, bam, thank you...my water broke! I was in some serious denial, so I texted my mother, who happened to be up, and didn't wake up Eric. After he heard me on the phone with my mom, he came upstairs, and though I was floating up that river in Egypt, he finished packing the bag and packing the car. 

The drive to the hospital was the most exciting and nerve wracking event of my life! I just remember thinking how we were leaving the house as two people and would be coming home as three. We listened to The Kruger Brothers, and barely spoke. Long Island is steamy and exotic at night, and I couldn't help but think about how many times I had driven these roads, from the time I was born (at the same hospital), to now, at this turning point in my life. 

About 15 hours, and one magical epidural later, a little tiny, almost six pound boy was placed on my chest. I wasn't as emotional as I thought I would be; he was just, there. He smiled up at me, his gigantic guitar playing hands on my chest. We just hung out together as the doctors finished up. My mother, who had been getting coffee and didn't know why we weren't texting back (she had been there the whole time, and kept coming in to check on me...once I was fully ready to go, we went fast!), came up to the delivery ward and heard Weston's cry before she saw him. I will never forget her coming into the room, stopping herself to wipe her tears, and then reaching out for him. Jenny, who had been camping in Vermont, drove all night to get to us! It was very Kardashian of her.

I was deathly afraid of giving birth, but I had a truly good experience with it! I was up and around the next day; the nurses called me feisty. I refused to sit. I held court in the hospital room and downed tons of Au Bon Pain (which was in the hospital), and Chinese food my dad brought in. It felt like Weston had always been there; in a way, he was. 

The next few days were such a blur. Since he was born at the end of summer, it all felt, in an odd way, like a vacation. Jenny brought over muffins and iced coffee every morning; we ran out for special treats; we napped; we hung out in pajamas; Eric grew a beard. It was so relaxed, precious, and blissful. Don't get me wrong, sometimes it was stressful, like figuring out how to feed him, or my incredibly swollen legs and feet, but...those days were unlike any other, and out of normal place and time. 

I was unsure of having a son when we found out he was a boy; I didn't know how I would relate to him. However, this past year has taught me that my son is so much a part of me, and so much himself. He's my constant companion, and my best bud. He's my audience for my one woman rendition of Fiddler on the Roof, and my watermelon eating buddy. He's quite simply the best person I know, and I am still shocked that we created him. 

And, he's truly my inspiration. Without Weston, I never would have lived out my dream of being a writer. He's my guide, my muse, and my joy. 

This past year hasn't been easy, but it's been truly miraculous. Watching someone, who you first met as a bean on a screen, start to walk, sing, clap, and hug...there's nothing like it. My son is my proudest achievement, my best piece of work, and my constant reminder that dreams can come true, and life never ceases to amaze. 


  1. Love! Ugh, especially that first picture, those little leeps and cheeks are begging for a kiss! So sweet Liv.