This third #fathersdaymonth post is a lovely meditation on childbirth and fatherhood. There’s also even time for a humorous reflection on the curious and beautiful oddities that we spawn.
This post comes courtesy of Shawn Brown whose lovely blogs and beautiful poetry can be found on his blog page Circumstantially Wonderful – http://sextonsongs.wordpress.com/ – go check it out.
I hope you enjoy this post – please do feel free to leave comments and feedback
As I was tucking in the Easy Bee (3yrs old – our 2nd of 3);
making absolutely certain that no rough part of the blanket
was touching her face in any way, at all, she says:
“Dad, your hands are cold… and they’re warm”
My First Born (6yrs) feeling it necessary to contend this paradox
interjects with a voice muffled by her deep nest of covers:
“…that doesn’t make any sense”
“weellll…” EZB continues in a single breath: “they’re middle… they’re medi… uhhh… meti…
meady…ummmmmmmm… meaty… meat. We eat meat. We eat fish. Mosquitoes itch us. Right Dad?”
My strange and beautiful children.
Where did you come from?
Oh right, I remember …
(eyes glaze dreamily, hand strokes scruffy chin):
… the muscles of my wife’s lower back rippled
(i didn’t even know we had muscles like that there)
she was turning a deep red with the effort
and still the midwife was demanding: push!
I thought: NO! she’ll burst! no one can do this. STOP!
I was called around to the front
and there was the top of our little one’s head
I teared up and I repeated: push.
In a moment the child rushed out into my hands
and I picked her up and put her on her mother’s chest.
Our daughter. Born under the water of an inflatable kiddie pool in my kitchen…where you would sit, in fact, if you came for dinner.
I was no stoic hero (in this case or the subsequent two births)
I was trying to maintain focus on my wife
Trying to take care of the little logistical problems of having a swimming pool in the kitchen
(in which a baby is about to be born)
Trying to be as helpful as a man can be (when he’s long ago completed his required contribution for this somatic/biological process)
Trying to get the back rubs and breathing and moral support just right
Trying to be completely present in this horribly beautiful adventure
But also, I was trying to keep how terrified I was from showing
and adding drama where extra drama was definitely not needed –
hoping I wouldn’t freak out and run screaming from the room
with my arms flailing above my head.
Inside I felt like one of those tiny excitable dogs
dancing around pointlessly with their little nails
clicking on the linoleum floor;
all nerves – no steel.
My wife? Well, she was amazing, powerful…
at one point amidst the pain
she looked up at me clear-eyed and said quietly:
“this hurts more than I thought it would.”
I knew she was strong, but I was in awe.
The first birth was swaddled in novelty:
attending the birthing classes with all of their predictable hilarity
acquiring all the specialized terminology; the jargon of birth
Learning that an umbilical cord is gigantic!
(worth going to class for that information alone – I was pretty ignorant).
Entering into the culture and convictions attendant to home birth
(I felt like a spy from normal-land infiltrating a strange realm
where people very seriously consider consuming parts of their own body)
The whole time I’m thinking: well, sure, but this is just one day –
then what do we do?!
Well, no one can really answer that question.
And this one day?
Nothing could have prepared me for this reality of flesh and bone…
our lives are normally so sheltered, avoiding pain wherever possible,
but this was raw – visceral – utterly exposed
and no matter how hard I tried or what I did
I couldn’t save her from that
– nor would she want me to-
and I was afraid.
the most dramatic culmination of our being one
and we would be so dramatically separate.
Together, intimate but deep within ourselves; our experiences so different.
I was there for support, a hand holding hers, a body to lean against
but ultimately all I could do was stand by and watch her bear it;
which she did with determination and grace
and it was hard and it was raw and it was miraculous.
And then I fell in love.
I was overjoyed with all my tiny new babies,
they were unspeakably beautiful to me
And I swear I didn’t mean to think this:
but, wow, they were also funny looking.
being born is hard work and it showed…
The first debuted like a cross between Yoda and Gollum
I just kept thinking: which of those parts came from me?
EZB (our 2nd) was a little garden gnome;
bright red and fuzzy – a little girl version of the biblical Esau.
and the boy (8 months now), poor kid,
he looked like Roger Ebert after his jaw was removed
(I thought of even worse stuff but my wife said not to write it here.)
But then their tough elastic little bodies
recover from the pressures and trauma of the birth
and they slowly unfold into all of their exquisite oddness;
The wondrous strange combination of things which they inherit from us
and are stuck with for the duration of their lives
(whether they like it or not)
And the things that are their own:
the unique otherness which they begin to foster and protect
whether we like it or not.
from the beginning until now and on till then
they are all so very beautiful.
And as I knelt beside my wife and this other brand new person
my heart still dancing its irregular jig
I choked out: is she breathing?
that child picked her head up off her Mama’s chest
opened her eyes wide and looked directly at me –
calm down, Dad.