Bringing Up Mommy: Only a mother can do this -- on giving birth Sept 28, 1988

An excerpt from my collection of 
newspaper columns, Bringing Up Mommy,

written 23 years ago, posted now in honor of the birth day of 

Christopher Harkness Hook 23 years ago, Sept. 28, 1988.

                                                                                    ---Photo by Ginger Pinson
 

During her pregnancy, a woman reads a lot of books and talks to a lot of mothers as she searches for answers: How will I know when it's time for the baby to come? What will I feel? Will it hurt? Can I do this? She clings go mothers who had good experiences, hoping for the same.

And yet, as author and childbirth educator Fritzi Kallop says in her "Birth Book":
"As inconvenient as it is to have labor begin spontaneously, it seems fitting to have inexplicable forces controlling one of the most important events in life. Scientists may marvel as they observe the wonders of our farflung universe; it is equally miraculous to contemplate the birth of a child. Not one is ever routine."

At some point, then, the mommy hopeful realizes there aren't any answers. Her experience is hers, alone, to endure.

I began feeling the intensity of this predicament two weeks before my baby was due. Big and tired, I had decided to take maternity leave from my job as a newspaper reporter to rest up for the days and weeks ahead. I thought I might enjoy this respite, sitting at home with my feet up, daydreaming about holding my baby for the first time. This was so very much not true, as it turns out. At least at work, I could try to be like everybody else. At home, I was isolated, trapped by Oprah, Beaver and a phone that rang incessantly. "Anything yet?" callers demanded, as if this baby was theirs, not mine.

Finally, on the morning of Sept. 28, while I toddled alone about the confines of my house, I felt the telltale trickle of water. The nurse at the OB's office confirmed what I knew to be true. "Your water has broken."

I must say I was excited as I arrived at the hospital. My husband and I settled into one of those Home and Garden delivery rooms that make you think you're going to have a cocktail party instead of a baby. Time settled into a warp as we lounged toe-to-toe on a mauve sofa under dim lights. We chatted intimately as contraction after contraction passed without a grimace. Perfect. We could have been in a movie for Lamaze.

But, oh, lest a laboring woman get too comfortable, the transition stage of labor, when the cervix opens that last little bit, was only gaining steam. Some women told me they moved up to this "real work" of labor gradually. For me, transition came fast. Nothing in the pregnancy books could have prepared me for the intensity -- or the aloneness I felt.

I remember thinking I was the only one who could do this. I remember wishing I hadn't said I didn't want an epidural. I remember getting up on all fours because the baby wasn't getting enough oxygen. I remember feeling scared. I remember forceps.

I especially remember my husband dropping his head to my shoulder and whispering, "Thank God" when we were told, "You have a healthy son."

Then he was gone. Because the cord had been around his chest, they whisked my baby into the nursery before I could look into his eyes, count his toes, feed him.

I didn't get to "bond." Steve didn't get to cut the cord. I didn't feel any of those miraculous feelings.

The experience I had anticipated for months was over, my baby was gone and so was my husband, who went to stand by the nursery window. And I was left alone with the clean-up crew who mopped up my body and wheeled me into a room where I choked down half a dry turkey sandwich and made a few phone calls. My husband came in and out of the room. He said I still looked pregnant.

Time settled into a warp again until sometime after dark, when Steve poked his head inside the door and said I had a visitor.

I grimaced then, wondering who would be coming to see us now.

Steve opened the door wide. A nurse came in, pulling a tiny cart behind her.

I cried out loud as my baby was laid in my arms while his father looked on.

There had been nothing in the books to prepare me for the feelings I had then, either.

I was not alone anymore.

~

And you? What will you do for Mother's Day?

Yesterday was Everything Mother.

Child 1 graduated from college.

I threw a party for him.



















Child 2 went to prom activities at the high school. After the party,
I went to the prom and shot pictures
of the Homecoming Court and friends
for the local newspaper.














About midnight, having been up and mobile for about 17 hours
without sitting down, except when I sat and cried at college
graduation, I climbed into bed with my laptop and pictures
to edit, but not before seeing Child 3 return home, his having
been gone to a three-day choir competition in a neighboring state.

This morning: I think there are about 10 teenagers with Child 2 in the
basement, preparing to go home to their mothers.
Child 1 is helping one of his professors move this morning.

But after that, they're all here, like my own Mother's Day court, ready to do my beck and call. Still not sure what we'll do today. Don't really care, just so long as we're together. Maybe a walk in the beautiful spring sunshine. Maybe after that, nothing.The best part of my children being with me on

Mother's Day is that I know they are resting.
They -- we all -- go so hard and so fast. It comforts me when they are still.

And you? What about you? Who will be with you today, and what will you do? Strawberries and cream in bed? Homemade cards? Or just lots of hugs and good wishes? I hope if you don't see all your children today, you at least hear from them, and that they are kind and thoughtful and remembering that this is your day...Don't forget to call your own mother, if she is here on Earth with you. No matter your differences or past grievances. Today is a new day. Today is Mother's Day...

Every day is Mother's Day

"

My husband's father used to tease him when he would ask how come there's no Children's Day. "Every day is Children's Day,"  he'd say.

I wonder what he would say if he knew that I believe every day is Mother's Day.

~

This is not just because I have three wondrous children who lay out life's rich pageant for me every day.

~  

It is because of what and who motherhood has made me. It is because of the lessons in selflessness, tolerance, patience and boundless love that motherhood has taught me. It is because, in learning to interact with the people I cherish most in the world, I have become a better person in every area of my life, every day of my life. Through them and with them, on the pottery wheel of motherhood, my misshapen soul  has been molded into an expression of life I might otherwise not have known.

Happy Mother's Day to me. And Happy Children's Day to Chris, Emily and Benjie. 

It is, after all, their day, too. ~

All I want for Mother's Day

One more day in NOLA town
and then I hit the ground running:

Wednesday is radio with Regina Brett Wed, 7-8 p.m..

(I am honored to be on this show, talking about the status of motherhood with Cleveland Plain Dealer columnist, Regina Brett http://www.reginabrett.com/; historian and author Regina Jo Plant http://www.amazon.com/Mom-Transformation-Motherhood-Modern-America/dp/0226670201; also motherhood blogger, Tesa Nicolant http://www.2wired2tired.com/. Please tune into WKSU 89.7 http://www.wksu.org/listen/on your dial. Thank you for asking me on your show, Regina!)
 

Thursday and Friday, I will prepare for Saturday, for my firstborn child's graduation, for a party with his friends and the adult friends, neighbors and teachers who have supported him for 22 years. This is a big day. This is my child, of whom I am proud.
I adore this person with all my heart.

Then, well, then it's a day for me, as Sunday is Mother's Day.

I make no bones about the value of this day for me: If my children are the sun and I am their moon, then we must indeed hold in reverence at least one day celebrating that relationship.

My children know by now what I want on this day -- which is not to be taken to lunch and showered with gifts.         
  
                                                                                                            ~~~

They do give me flowers. My husband always finds something for the garden to give to me.

But it is the homemade cards that I cherish and adore, that my children still make for me, even though they are now 22, 18, 14.

It is their sentiment I crave.

And their time.


I no longer have to ask.

Sometimes we garden. One year we painted lawn furniture.

 Doesn't really matter though.

On Mother's Day, we are, all of us, together.

All day long.

~~~