It’s Derry’s birthday!!
(well in the US still an hour to go, but it's the 9th in Scotland so on a technicality we should be lighting the candles and letting the merriment begin)
His birth was fairly uninteresting I suppose but for me, the best day of my life, and for him, fairly important too! He started life as he meant to continue … late. I was about 2 and a half weeks overdue but had been having contractions for days. I had showed up at Torphins Maternity Hospital (not much of a hospital it only had 2 maternity beds) at 3am several nights in a row trying to convince them I was about to have my baby.
“Nope, you are not in labor.”
“Yes I bloody am.”
“Go home Mrs. Paterson, you are not in labor and I am a busy woman.”
“Oh yeah? Busy? Doing a little broomstick repair? Stewing up a little eye of newt?”
Finally, after a few days, I got the call to come in; the baby had to be born one way or another. They gave me an injection and still nothing. Later that night the midwives gave up and sent me off to Aberdeen in an ambulance with Callum chasing behind in an illegal car and a suspended driving license. Yeah baby, we were badasses!
In Aberdeen they pulled out the big guns (and the big stick) and broke my waters. 6 hours later after nothing very impressive pain-wise they told me to push. Well I didn’t get that ‘push thing’ and even after they showed me what forceps looked like I still didn’t get it. In minutes the room was full of doctors, midwives, a teeny tiny Asian lady brandishing the aforementioned instruments of torture, and some mystery onlookers.
A few minutes later Derry was extracted. I asked if it was a boy or girl. “Oh most definitely a boy, take a look at THIS”! I should never have told Derry the doctor’s first observations of him. It seems to have gone to his head.
He was beautiful, bruised from the forceps and very yellow. I had him for only a minute before he was whisked away and thrown under a sunlamp to treat the jaundice.
Poor Callum was a wreck; he disappeared for a smoke and a bit of a sly big-girls-blouse cry. I was left with a mammoth plate of toast, a nice cup of tea and a telephone. It was about 3am and I remember calling Mum to let her know she was a nana.
“It’s a boy Mum!!”
“Oh dear, I am so sorry”
Yes that is really what she said. LOL.
“Do you have a name yet?”
“Yup, his name is Derry.”
“His name is WHAT?????”
I still think it is a great name. It is Gaelic and means red warrior. There are many places in Scotland and Ireland named Derry although it has proved to be a pain in the arse in the USA. The accent means it is pronounced ‘dairy’ over here. GRRR. His middle name is Mclaren which is his clan name, his roots, and of which he rightfully has much pride.

Happy 14th sweetiepie and lang may yer lum reek!!
Isnt he a cutie! ...