Eric Holen

In my birthday card, my mom included a letter titled “The Story of Eric”. The letter touched me and I wanted to share it with you.

You were conceived in March 1969. You were the result of a very much wanted and very planned pregnancy. (Eric’s Note: Parts removed for privacy, but I was my parent’s second child; they lost the first after a very premature birth.)

You were due on December 3rd. On December 3rd, 4th, and 5th your father came home from work to find me sitting on the couch crying because I hadn’t gone into labor yet. On Saturday, December 6th I went to the hospital with contractions but was sent home with a Seconal because I wasn’t dilated far enough. I went to the kitchen and cooked scrambled eggs and while I was carrying breakfast to the dining room the sleeping pill kicked in and I collapsed to the floor spilling scrambled eggs all over the carpet. I crawled up the stairs and went to bed and slept all day.

I woke that afternoon. The contractions were stronger so we went back to the hospital. You were born at 5:57 PM. In the delivery room when I heard you cry, I broke down and sobbed “He is alive. He is really alive.”

I stayed in the hospital for 2 1/2 days. In 1969 fathers were considered “dirty” and every time they brought you to my room to nurse, he would have to leave. On Tuesday morning we were both discharged. The nursery nurse came into the room with you in your crib. When I got your “coming home” clothes out of my suitcase the nurse asked me if I wanted to dress you. I told her “No, you can do it.” Actually I was afraid to dress you because I was afraid I would break your arm putting your shirt on.

A few days after you were home one of my neighbors (a women in her 30s with 3 kids) asked me where I gave you a bath – in the kitchen or in the bathroom. When I evaded her question she realized that I hadn’t given you a bath yet so she showed me how to do it. I don’t know how you managed to survive.

Since Christmas was coming I took a “naked baby” picture of you on a blanket. I got a dozen copies of the picture so I could send it to all of the relatives in my Christmas cards. However, when I got the pictures back you were so skinny that your ribs were visible. So I never sent the pictures.

In May, when you were 5 months old, I got pregnant with Beth. In July, I stopped nursing you and put you on formula.

Your brothers and sisters owe you a debt of gratitude. You were the baby that I “practiced on”.