When I was eighteen years old I went to a book signing with my close friend Sam. We stood in line for what seemed like forever to have Anne Rice scribble on our tattered soft cover books and we squealed like stereotypical school girls after Ms. Rice displayed a modicum of interest in the two of us asking about our lives and inquiring about our dreams for the future.

After that brief moment of time when the air crackled with excitement for Sam and myself, the two of us walked out of the trendy small book store, arm and arm and wandered into a nearby coffee shop so we could dissect our experience and relive each moment over and over again through our conversation.

Samantha, very much a poet, looked straight into my eyes and told me, “That was an electric moment in my life. A slice of life so vivid and outstanding I will cherish it until the day I die.”

Her words echoed in my head and long after Samantha died and Anne Rice stopped writing about vampires, the phrase ‘electric moment’ lives on.

Wednesday morning, I relived that bookstore signing over and over in my head. I thought about all the electric moments I have had in my life and wondered, no, worried, that meeting my new son wouldn’t be one of them.

What if he didn’t like us? What if we didn’t like him? What if he smelled?

I was bouncing around with nervous energy, trapped in a small vehicle hurling down a high way, annoying my darling husband with every worried glance I shot at him. The two hour car trip to meet our son seemed to take forever.

Even live tweeting didn’t make the time go any faster.

Who may have forgotten to fill up her gas tank so that her husband is very annoyed with her? Oh ya. Me.

(It was an honest oversight. I swear I just forgot and didn’t drive past the gas station the night before thinking I was too tired to bother and my husband could do it the next day. Really. Scouts honour.)

Who is fighting with her husband over what type of music to listen to? Oh ya, Me. I want Bach he wants something annoying.

(How can a man listen to brash rock and roll when his life is on the brink of a reality-changing precipice? Seriously dude. I don’t get you.)

Have found a way to distract my grumpy nervous husband. I have him counting cows. If he finds 200 he gets a treat.

(Funny, Boo was unamused by this offer and my tweet. Hmmm.)

My husband is now telling me I am not allowed to listen to Dr. Horrible’s Singalong blog. Fucking fuddy duddy.

(I’m about to be a new mommy. There should be a law stating it’s mandatory to sing with Captain Hammer.)

Who should not be allowed to twitter while bouncing around in a small vehicle? Hubs is ready to kill me.

(It was getting hard to twitter with his fingers wrapped around my neck. Road trips with me are FUN. I swear.)

Minutes away from meeting my kid for the first time. Nervous? Check. Excited? Check. Fucking lost in weird city? Check.

(I don’t care what you say dear hubs. If you don’t know where you are or how to get where you need to be you are lost. Not directionally challenged. Full fledged LOST.)

Ever hear the saying “Don’t poke the bear?” My husband is the bear and I am the sharp pointy stick. It’s getting ugly over here.

(When one is ten minutes late to meet one’s new son and emotionally charged, one should not politely insist freak out demanding one pull over to ask for directions. Unless one would like one’s head bitten off by an annoyed spouse. Just so y’all know.)

Thankfully Boo and I finally got to be where we were suppose to be.

There are no adequate words to explain how one feels knowing her son is just on the other side of the door.

I can’t even begin to explain how my heart burst into a million tiny pieces when my son was wheeled out to greet his father and I, smiling from ear to ear and asking for his first high-five.

Or how the ocean of grief I have been treading time in for the past three years suddenly parted like the Red Sea when my new son laughed so hard with me he all but wiggled out of his wheel chair and peed through his pants.

That morning was filled with one electric moment after another.

There will always be a cloud in my skies, a scar on my heart and a tear on my cheek for the little boy I loved and lost. But life hasn’t seemed this vibrant for all of us in a very long time.

I’ve never been more delighted to squint at the blinding brightness of happiness.

Thanks for sharing this long road with my family and myself. If you hadn’t been here to hold my hand along the way I can’t guarantee I’d be wearing this silly mommy grin and wondering if it’s wrong to use my son as a lint collector as he crawls on the floor.

It’s with great pleasure I introduce you to my son. (Feel free to leave a blog pseudonym suggestion in the comment box. I’m stumped.)

One of our very first cuddles. He is fascinated with the size of my nose. Apparently, it’s highly honkable.

My boy has tight fists. He’s going to be a great boxer.

I could pose for pictures with him all day long. My son, however, has other ideas and is bored of this game.

Getting ready for his first sleep in his brand new forever bed. The puppy was eager to join him.

And finally, I’d like to thank Kristen, Catherine and Katie for throwing together a Redneck Shower for the kid and I. There are no adequate words to express our gratitude and affection for all of you.

Plus, I’m dying laughing at the prizes available and I can’t wait to read how I’m not the only redneck mommy in the world. I can’t be the only gal who has accidentally spray painted her son’s penis with bright red paint. Can I?