July is one of my favorite months

July is one of my favorite months, competing only with October because of Halloween. Not only does it represent summertime, but it’s the time of year the DeMarcos have a couple of good reasons to whoop it up.

Joey and I got engaged on July 4th at EPCOT Center 29 years ago, and 21 years ago, our younger daughter Makenzie Rae was born on the third. Every year, we turn those two days into weeks of celebrating. Although my baby girl wasn’t due for over a week, we joked that she came out like a firecracker early so she wouldn’t miss the fireworks. She pushed her way into the world in less than an hour and a half of labor, weighing just under 10 pounds. Even my Midwife concluded our calculations had to be a bit off.

I’ll never forget it. I was in my 8-month of pregnancy and went into my older daughter’s bedroom. She was five at the time, and I was immediately taken back by what appeared to be thick black lines etched on her wall. It looked like she had used a flat tip black marker and followed the concrete brick lines that made up her wall. However, when I got closer to take a better look, I realized it was not drawn on at all. It was the brick cracking and separating just enough to let the sun shine through. 

“Oh my goodness,” I thought. 

After our insurance agent, several surveyors and engineers checked it out. We were informed that our “first home” was on a sinkhole. Then, it took a couple of weeks with workmen drilling in our yard, along with several Mack trucks transferring humongous pipes and just as many dump trucks filled with over $40,000 worth of “concrete-like” material to readjust the foundation of our home. Luckily, our insurance covered all the construction, and they managed to complete it before my little rascal came out. 

However, the room we planned on making her nursery was not up to par, and I refused to settle for anything less than my original intentions. Joey walked patiently with me through the hardware store, buying everything on my list. Unfortunately, it felt like about 110 degrees inside with the air conditioning. I was sporting an extra 52 pounds more than usual, wobbling around on my little chicken legs. Not to mention, according to my Midwife at my weekly appointment that morning, I was already shifting into play mode. Still, even she didn’t expect my delivery to come later that day.

Struggling to shuffle around the store, I had to get my specific light fixtures and borders, which I had already picked out weeks ago. Plus, I needed three different colors of paint I had the cards for. Joe and I did not find out ahead of time what our children were going to be, so I wanted everything to be neutral and appealing regardless of gender. I could not control anything in my life during the last eight months, so I was more than insistent on at least having my way when it came to my newborn’s nursery.

We planned for some friends to come by and “help” us get it done quickly before time ran out. Joey constantly reminds me, “The baby doesn’t care if the room is not accessorized. You know it’s going to end up sleeping in our room in the bassinet anyway, right?” 

However, I was determined to accomplish my task. 

Or so I thought. Less than an hour later, Joe was hauling me off to the hospital with labor pains coming every 15 minutes or so. Very different from my first child, who, though she did come quickly, was almost two weeks past due. I would have never considered the pains I was feeling as labor pains. Although they were consistent and excruciating, I couldn’t imagine the baby coming so soon. 

Again, or so I thought! Because SHE did. With her glowing rays of sunshine, my new bouncing baby girl decided to skip all the normal, natural stages of birth and just jump right out. Record timing for such a big baby, I was told. “You’d make a good nursing cow,” my one farmer friend from the Diner used to say. “It doesn’t matter if mama is scrawny if she breeds fat calves.” 

Although she was full of meconium from her abrupt exit, everyone in the maternity ward was amazed at how healthy and alert she was after sliding through so much crap. Still, the midwives loved her because she was a chunky, bald, and bubbly baby from the second she landed in her daddy’s hand. 

The next day, after we were released from the hospital, I came home to a fabulous surprise. While I  produced the newest addition to the DeMarco family, my besties, Tara and Dougie Fuchs, transformed the room for me. Our creative buddies gathered all the materials we dumped near our front door – when we went into panic mode the day before, and they turned it into a picture-perfect nursery. They designed the most comfortably inviting space any child would have loved to call their own without any instructions or directions.

To top it off, because their older daughter and my older daughter were BFFs, we were privileged to come home with Makenzie Rae, our new bundle of joy, to see what they created. At the same time, our big girl got to enjoy all the festivities she was used to indulging in before her baby sister showed up. It was a win-win for all the DeMarcos and the end of the world as we knew it. 

Poor Joey would remain the only male in the household, with the girls up now three to one – not counting my mother and sisters, who were always around. It’s a good thing that back then, at least our dog was male. Too bad even though Spencer loved me most.

Like my old friend used to tell Joey, “When you marry a girl with sistas, you get what you deserve. But, once you have a daughter, all bets are off.”

Luckily, Joey learned to thrive in it!

Laugh on. Peace out!

Lisa DeMarco is a columnist for Villages-News.com