It's a beautiful mother's day in Indiana, after all the rain we had in March and April. I've seen bluebirds, goldfinches and a great blue heron today. What a tall bird the last one is - standing on the dock, the shy bird seems to be as tall as a human.
What an honor it is to be a mother. And a joy, and a worry, and a marathon. But today, the memories are pleasant ones - thinking about what it was like when the little ones came into the picture.
When my son was born, I remember how beautiful I thought he was, even the smashed face from his moving through the birth canal. The thick head of dark hair, so unlike mine. The instant bond of love. I wanted to hold him close, and I didn't want him spending the night in the nursery without me - I kept him in the bassinet next to my bed in the room while I slept.
I remember his startle reflex - sometimes when dreaming, or if something wakes them up, or they are moved when sleeping, etc., newborns will throw their little arms over their heads, shaking their hands, reaching out, just for a second - it is so cute. Swaddled, tight, they feel secure. It was just one of the many things I learned as a new mother.
I never felt so alive as giving birth, so re-energized - and also never closer to death. I don't know if other new mothers feel this way, but there were times during the pain and trauma of birth I felt that death could be a real possibility. Then it's over, and the body actually did what it was supposed to do. Another day, another miracle.
My older daughter, so pretty, so perfect - a woman to follow me and my line into this world. Her eyes, almond shaped, more exotic than mine - so lovely. Her alabaster skin.
My second daughter - we were slower getting to the hospital before this one was born. We were driving to Lutheran Hospital on the south side of Fort Wayne in the night when my husband missed the interstate exit. The baby was coming quickly, and the next exit was many miles away. My husband made a decision to cross the interstate medium to turn around and get me to the hospital before the baby came out. Luckily we managed to accomplish this without eliciting a police escort. This baby came, no medication on my part. Probably the most intense birth from that standpoint, but somehow also very rewarding. This baby had so much phlegm, the nurses stuck a long tube down her throat and suctioned a bunch of the mucus out - the whole thing was somewhat alarming as I lay there watching, but the nurses worked as if it was par for the course, all in a day's work, which I'm sure it was for them. And then that was that, and I held her, and she cried more forcefully. In with the good air, out with the bad.
I don't know what it's like to be a father, and watch helplessly as the life you've made grows and comes hurtling out of the woman you love - that sounds somehow terrifying to me as well. I can't imagine how that would feel. But I'm thankful to be a mother. I'm sorry for the women who would like this privilege and aren't able to experience it. I love the little gifts for Mother's Day, and most of all I love the gifts walking around in front of me who allowed me to experience this part of life.
I don't miss being nine months pregnant and feeling like I'm walking around in a full body cast stuck on me. I don't miss driving and being so immobilized I can't really turn my head around to see what cars might be behind me. I don't miss the loose skin and other changes you really don't want to hear me elaborate about. But God bless our mothers, our mother earth, and all of us. I can remember my own mother rocking me on her lap. I wonder what memories my children will have of me. I hope there will be some fun ones mixed in there with the hugs and discipline and nurturing.
What an honor it is to be a mother. And a joy, and a worry, and a marathon. But today, the memories are pleasant ones - thinking about what it was like when the little ones came into the picture.
When my son was born, I remember how beautiful I thought he was, even the smashed face from his moving through the birth canal. The thick head of dark hair, so unlike mine. The instant bond of love. I wanted to hold him close, and I didn't want him spending the night in the nursery without me - I kept him in the bassinet next to my bed in the room while I slept.
I remember his startle reflex - sometimes when dreaming, or if something wakes them up, or they are moved when sleeping, etc., newborns will throw their little arms over their heads, shaking their hands, reaching out, just for a second - it is so cute. Swaddled, tight, they feel secure. It was just one of the many things I learned as a new mother.
I never felt so alive as giving birth, so re-energized - and also never closer to death. I don't know if other new mothers feel this way, but there were times during the pain and trauma of birth I felt that death could be a real possibility. Then it's over, and the body actually did what it was supposed to do. Another day, another miracle.
My older daughter, so pretty, so perfect - a woman to follow me and my line into this world. Her eyes, almond shaped, more exotic than mine - so lovely. Her alabaster skin.
My second daughter - we were slower getting to the hospital before this one was born. We were driving to Lutheran Hospital on the south side of Fort Wayne in the night when my husband missed the interstate exit. The baby was coming quickly, and the next exit was many miles away. My husband made a decision to cross the interstate medium to turn around and get me to the hospital before the baby came out. Luckily we managed to accomplish this without eliciting a police escort. This baby came, no medication on my part. Probably the most intense birth from that standpoint, but somehow also very rewarding. This baby had so much phlegm, the nurses stuck a long tube down her throat and suctioned a bunch of the mucus out - the whole thing was somewhat alarming as I lay there watching, but the nurses worked as if it was par for the course, all in a day's work, which I'm sure it was for them. And then that was that, and I held her, and she cried more forcefully. In with the good air, out with the bad.
I don't know what it's like to be a father, and watch helplessly as the life you've made grows and comes hurtling out of the woman you love - that sounds somehow terrifying to me as well. I can't imagine how that would feel. But I'm thankful to be a mother. I'm sorry for the women who would like this privilege and aren't able to experience it. I love the little gifts for Mother's Day, and most of all I love the gifts walking around in front of me who allowed me to experience this part of life.
I don't miss being nine months pregnant and feeling like I'm walking around in a full body cast stuck on me. I don't miss driving and being so immobilized I can't really turn my head around to see what cars might be behind me. I don't miss the loose skin and other changes you really don't want to hear me elaborate about. But God bless our mothers, our mother earth, and all of us. I can remember my own mother rocking me on her lap. I wonder what memories my children will have of me. I hope there will be some fun ones mixed in there with the hugs and discipline and nurturing.
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