Huh.  I looked back through the archives and I don't think I have told this story. I would tell you to stop me if I have, but you sorta can't, can you?  It's a funny one.  In retrospect anyway, where things tend to be funnier. <g>  

In early 2002 I was expecting a very nice Valentine, my seventh baby – a boy.  We were living in Virginia in base housing and had been visiting the midwives at the base hospital preparing for his arrival. I was relieved to have access to a team of midwives since our previous birth, our first midwife attended birth, was so different from all the others. I knew what I wanted and what to expect.  By number seven you think you have things pretty well figured out.  (We will call this mistake number one. )

My general plan of attack for laboring was to soak in the tub during early stages then head over to the hospital when it started getting unpleasant.  Rule of thumb was to transport while I could still walk and talk.  At least mostly.  

A little background here.  I have a lot of contractions while pregnant.  That sentence alone does not do justice to the situation. Phenomenal number of contractions – frequent, sometimes quite rhythmic,  and often painful.  They have to be exceptionally all of those things in order for us to sit up and take notice.  Therefore when I woke up at 1am on Feb. 7th with a whopper I didn't think too much about it.  When I had another on my way to the bathroom I didn't think a lot about it.   When I had another on the way to the kitchen to start brewing raspberry tea to make things more comfortable I was not registering that this could possibly be labor.  Real labor does not start with contractions three minutes apart.  People KNOW these things.  It was Braxton Hicks and goll darn it they hurt.  Make some tea. That was the plan. 

I made the tea noting how fast the contractions were coming but still not completely sure this was 'it'.  After all we had a false alarm the week before that wound down eventually.  I was pretty sure this would too.  However at 2am I was starting to wonder – and worry.  If this WAS real labor it was not resembling any recent births and I was already really uncomfortable.  I decided to wake Allen up for moral support.  

We decided to try the tub for a bit and see if that slowed things down.  You would have to have seen this tub to appreciate what was necessary to make that happen.  The vintage 60's tub had an overflow drain no more than a handful of inches from tub bottom.  You know your husband loves you when he is duct taping overflow drains at 2am.  So fine, tub was taped up and I slipped in.  (we will call this mistake number two)

Allen was off to pack bags.  Guess that would be mistake number three.  I am not sure when exactly I had been planning to pack that bag.  But, since I had not and it was looking like we were gonna need it, he packed.  While he was packing I was clinging to the bottom of the shallow tub, my neck crinked into an impossible position.  It was there that I recognized that telltale sign.  No denying it.  My water broke.  That was bad.  Way bad.  My labors have all taken variable amounts of time from beginning to that point, however none of them had gone more than 45 minutes AFTER that event.  At that moment, the clock starting ticking.  I knew this.  I knew I had to get out and move quickly.

Moving quickly is not something a waterlogged pregnant women does especially well.  They say you are virtually weightless in the water but I don't think that applies to pregnant women. In pregnancy the water has a nearly magnetic pull which defies all normal laws of gravity.  Then there were the contractions.  I stood up and had a contraction.  Grabbed a towel and had a contraction.  And so it went.  Which is why it took me some time to get back to the bedroom where I met a dumbfounded husband.  "I thought you were soaking in the tub?"   I broke the news to him after which he could only say, "PLEASE get dressed!"  Looking a bit nauseous himself he grabbed the bag and began to warm up his small truck.  I worked on dressing, which was a lot easier said than done. 

He returned and announced cheerfully that the truck was started! That was very reassuring to the man. It meant I would soon be in it and on my way.  On my way out of the house and into the hospital.  He still looked fairly certain it could be done.  

I waddled out to the driveway where he ushered me to the truck door.  Almost there.  I could see the promise of relief coming to his face.  It was riiiight there.  Home stretch. Until I sized up the truck angles and compared them to my own and told him no can do.  Undaunted he said, "No problem!  I get that!  We can take the Suburban. There is MUCH more room in there!"  I stood and worked on breathing while he shuffled around the vehicles in the single car driveway.  He reappeared by the door, opened it, and waited expectantly for me to embark.  I considered that option.  I really did.  At that moment, it no longer seemed possible.  Not even a little bit.  Poor guy.  His face fell.  "What do you mean you can't get in the car? SURE you can get in the car! You get in the car all the time."  True that.  But not this night.  What exactly did I have in mind he asked?  I didn't.  Clear thought was completely escaping me.  He wondered should he call an ambulance?  Noooo I said.  I just needed a minute to sit down.  In my room.  I would be right back.  

He knew. He called.  Now we had logged a lot of hours of Rescue 911 episodes in the nineties. We knew exactly what happens.  A nice dispatcher answers, they open their flip chart and tell you exactly what to do while the paramedics speed through town to save the day.  I mean EVERYONE knows this right?  So he called. He called and got……. put on hold.  Hello?? Was he seriously on hold?  Yes.  Never mind the fire station was two blocks away.  No, it would be better to send the county crew over.  So hold please.  

Meanwhile I had wandered back to our room. I was truly on autopilot by then.  It became suddenly really clear that the reason I could not sit was that there was a baby being born.  That minute.  I yelled for Allen who threw the phone-on-hold to teenaged son and came in time to catch the baby.  We looked at each other stunned.  It was 3am.  Two hours after I woke up uncomfortable. We had a baby.  He cried, he sucked his thumb. He was beautiful.  Paramedics were still figuring out what to do on their end. 

Fifteen minutes after the birth the county crew arrived.  Not a one of them had ever had a baby much less delivered one. They were visibly relieved it was already over and wrapped us both up to show the baby to the children now awake and puzzled. We transferred to the hospital. 

A few days later the base newspaper sent a reporter and put our story on the front page.  That would be our five minutes of fame. : )   Kieran has been a delight since day one.  Still full of surprises too. 

Whenever I think I have things all figured out I remember this night.  We make plans and God laughs. 

That was then:

Poor Allen still looks stunned in that picture.   And I look…. fully dressed.  What a night. 

And this is now:

Hope you had a Happy Birthday, dear boy! (And yes, his mother should have noticed her clippers missed those stray hairs. Ah well.  He is still darn cute.) 

We all have them.  Moments which find us at less than our finest. Pent up frustration demands release. All too often it is found through hurtful words, uttered too quickly, too loudly, to harshly.  I know this.  I regret this.  So I stand in the kitchen, broom poised for action in one hand, directing clean-up and feeling that tension.  I am determined not to vent it here in front of many sets of eyes learning how to be family.  Barbara Patterson counsels wisely:

  " Everything we do in the presence of the child goes in deeply." 

Then I remember to sing.  Singing is praying twice and we could use twice as many prayers this day.  I remember the Waldorf and Montessori transition verses and how melody eases us back into form, calls us down from the frantic pitch that threatens to overtake us.  And so it does.  

"Do you know the song I learned in children's choir?" asks Kieran

"No, but you could sing it for us and then we will know," I say.

He sings.  I smile.  

"Do you know this hymn?" I ask one and all.  They don't.  So I sing, poorly but sincerely.  I feel my heart settling into a steadier rhythm.  The floor clears.  My head clears.  

I wish I had remembered earlier.  I wish I had checked those words that came too soon, too raw to one I love, much older but no less dear, and no less in need of loving kindness from me.  Next time…  Thank you God for next times. Forgive me for presuming there will always be more.  Next time I hope to remember sooner.  

For now, we sing.  

"…singing and making melody with your heart to the Lord;  always giving thanks for all things…." Eph 5: 19-20