Just before 8:00 a.m. on a September morning 32 years removed from this one, a second son was delivered to me. In that moment everything in the world was right. I was a very young mother with 1 son already and that day at 21 years old with these 2 small boys, there were really no other concerns in my life. The whole big vast world was narrowed down for me to that here and now, those boys and me, our family.
I had determined to have a natural childbirth, and by that I mean no drugs, and I decided I would breastfeed. Bearing in mind it was the 70's and "modern" childbirth techniques typically used drugs to aid in the "comfort" of the mother-to-be during the birth process, which involved a labor room from which when dilated to 10 centimeters, quite ready to "deliver", the laboring woman would first have to get on a gurney to be wheeled to the sterile delivery room where a move to yet another bed equipped with cold steel stirrups and bright overhead lighting awaited to assist the team of professionals required to make this thing happen. Episiotomies were automatically performed since it was easiest for a doctor to stitch a clean intended cut than an unintended messy tear, of course that added an extremely unpleasant element to recovery!
As soon as they baby was born he was whisked away to the nursery where he was cleaned up, measured and weighed, eye dropped, foot printed, poked and prodded, and about the same time mom was wheeled into yet another room, this the one she'd stay in for 3 days, the little bundle would be brought to her and for the first time, about 2 hours after delivery, they'd finally "meet". There were schedules to be kept in a well run maternity ward, so baby visited mom between meals and after the Doctor checks, returning to the nursery for the night so mom could get as much sleep as possible before going home to the real world and her new expanded role in it.
It was customary to complain about hospital food but I relished my 3 days of meals prepared for me and served to me in bed! Physical discomfort seemed to increase before it improved; still that 3 day hospital stay was the closest I'd ever get to being taken care of so well.
Baby care just automatically included bottle feeding which I intended to opt out of, choosing instead to rely on God’s design as the superior choice, and while disposable diapers were available, they were not nearly as dependable as today's Cadillac models! Those early versions leaked over the top and out the sides, often only to puddle on the lap of the baby holder, not good! These things meant to simplify the life of the modern mother proved to be pretty cumbersome and inadequate, so my Mom provided me with a diaper service that delivered fresh diapers and picked up the not so fresh, right at my door. I found cloth diapers multifunctional, making good cloths for burping and dusting in addition to their original intended purpose. Thinking on the subject of baby delivery and care began ever so slowly trending back toward the natural God intended methods and means.

A friend gave me a book that was a collection of birth stories written about the experiences of women and their babies who were part of a commune where she lived for a time. Remember it was the 70's, the decade following the 60's, flower power, make love not war, and all that stuff. I loved that book and shared it with pregnant friends, unfortunately somewhere along the way it was never returned to me. As one might imagine the lifestyles of the people were pretty unconventional, I was too, and the stories recounted on its pages encouraged me, I was definitely making the right choice for my baby and me. Babies born there were delivered by mid-wives right in the familiarity and comfort of their homes, or buses, or whatever their dwellings, with family and friends present, going about business as usual as much as possible up until delivery. No meds., no unnatural interference with what the human body was perfectly suited to do on its own, resulting in mothers and babies experiencing optimum health and quicker recovery. Each story was the account of a birth from start to finish sharing the various techniques tried and proven to assist in the event, and for appreciation of life, seeing the beauty in letting happen naturally what did for all the mothers of history, and in other cultures before modern medicine interfered. There were a couple stories that did not end well, either stillbirth, or birth defect, which likely would not have ended differently were they in a hospital.
While I was caught up in the idea of all natural I wanted fully educated doctors available to me and my baby, along with the facilities and equipment that could be needed in case of emergency. I only wanted to avoid some of what seemed unnecessary, unhelpful and unhealthiest for us both. I was convinced that the way God intended it to be was surely better than what modern medicine had decided to turn it into.
It proved to be a good choice, I was able to enjoy the miracle of it all and recount each detail to anyone who cared to hear. It was an experience that was empowering; I witnessed my own strength, determination, and ability to make a wise decision regardless of the mainstream. We fumbled through the first few weeks together, learning what worked and what didn't. It was sometimes clumsy and unattractive, but I didn't care because I was forging new territory for me, and I liked the acquisition of new knowledge and new experience.
Weeks turned to months that offered all the usual firsts of a baby’s life. When he started talking I was convinced his vocabulary was exceptionally advanced. He told grandma the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd made him was "delicious" before he was even 2 years old. He would keep an ice cube in his mouth until it melted. More than once I found him in the closet rubbing the hem of my long satiny nightgowns, sucking his thumb, an activity that must have brought back fond memories! He got "lost" in the field of high grasses and weeds next to our house when he and big brother were outside playing one fall day, "saved" by his red coat in the sight of my taller eyes. His new shoes helped him run so fast that he tripped and busted his lip through with a front tooth. Uncle Dave helped him learn to ride his 1st 2 wheeler. He liked his matchbox cars, underoos, and cowboy boots! He paid attention to detail and details easily attracted his attention. He got lost at the mall when I turned into a store and he failed to follow, he just stood outside the door way walking in circles, crying not knowing where I was. He would have walked off the edge of Swan Lake had I not stopped him, for fixing his gaze in the opposite direction of his step, he was a day dreamer. In school, what was happening outside the window was better than what was happening inside, though he liked school and did really well. He was meticulous in his assignments, sometimes to a fault as it prevented completion. He is still like that! He always had a best buddy even though the best buddy changed as he grew or we relocated. He liked science and thought he'd become a paleontologist, he pursued a graphic arts major, and became a balloon artist, his attention to detail still dominant in his character. He was a band geek and a vintage Volkswagen connoisseur, he doesn't touch the saxophone anymore but he still loves the VW's. He was always a bit of a bike aficionado and that lingers still, as a side business and as he contemplates and plans a bike trip around the country.
He likes to hang out with me from time to time. We go to Disney World or thrift stores, or get a meal together. He's my friend. I like him, usually! I've always loved him, but it's a wonderful thing to like him. I'm so very thankful for him. He is not a perfect person, which coincidentally neither am I, but he has a generous heart concerned for the well being of others. There is a genuine compassion for the burdened plight of so many people, he sees their need and responds with help, to fix a tire even it’s a man who can probably fix it himself, to chase down the thief of a stolen purse or bike, to seek help on another’s behalf, he's never met a stranger.
My wish for him and all my children is that they will find their place in this world and in so doing find fulfillment of purpose for being.
32 years of Jam's has been integral to my fulfillment of purpose, he helped me find my place in this world, and because his place has been with mine, it's a good place, a very very good place!