Birth Day

Eight years ago today, I gave birth to my little boy.

When my water broke at 5 am on Friday morning, I was worried a bit about the timing. My BFF, Shannon, was arriving on Saturday morning from the other side of the country to help out and be with me. I was single, and she was going to be my labour support and take care of me and the new babe for a couple of weeks. I knew I would manage if the baby came before she did, but I wanted her there, and she wanted to be there, too.

True to form, being tardy and into dilly-dallying, I didn’t go into labour until after she arrived, 31 hours later. Fortunately my mid-wife was calm and experienced and was prepared to wait for me to get on with things in my own sweet time, so I did not need any medical intervention.

Once it got started, shortly after Shannon’s arrival, labour was fairly rapid. I was thankful to have both Shannon and Erik as my labour supporters, since they were able to assess how labour was progressing, be in contact with the mid-wife to keep her posted on my contractions, run interference with the phone and visitors. It was they who recognized me move into active labour/transition and called the mid-wife; by the time she arrived a very few minutes later, I was ready to push.

In fact, I was so ready to have the baby, that the midwife sent Erik to her van to get supplies while she called the back-up midwife (Come now!), her husband (I’ll be late for supper) and the hospital (they have to be notified so as to be on stand-by), and to continue to monitor me. As it turned out, I was a fast labourer, but a slow pusher- it took me 1.5 hours to work Sam around those bones...

Sam was born at 18:06, Saturday September 30th, 2000, needing a little whiff of oxygen to pink him up before settling in to nurse and snuggle. He weighed 3350g (3.35 kg or 7lbs 6oz, if memory serves). He was a bonny baby, who has been easy to raise and continues to be a real charmer, inside and out.

Happy birthday, Sam!

Painful

I went to a Gathering in memory of Bruce today. I cried. 

I know Diane's pain, and today I felt it a little, too. It has been 6 weeks or so since Bruce died, and 2 years since Willis left us. Today both losses felt raw. 

Some of the folks at the Gathering knew Willis. Some of the folks, like Diane and her son, understood my pain. 

Diane did well today- brave and tearless. But the look in her eyes... the ineffable pain, the awful truth and depth of loss and bewilderment and agony. I had to look away. I wonder whether other people see what her eyes say. I wonder whether they can stand to look into the depths of that pain.

Diane had brought Willis's memorial bench to the Gathering, for extra seating and to have him close. It felt very right to sit on that bench, with my kids. I think my old neighbours, who loved Willis too, had been sitting on it when we arrived. 

Life and death. Pain and joy. Love and loss. Each is meaningless without the other, I think.

Time

I have tried in recent weeks to operate from a position that time and time-keeping are an arbitrary human/western concoction, and that I am actually in tune with universal rhythms and that it is okay to be that way. Unfortunately, my attitude is not making me on time, nor is it currently helping me to be okay with being late. Problem is, I’m up against a pretty big societal more, and I need to meet some minimum requirements for timeliness, or deal with the consequences of tardiness. I guess that’s my goal: to be on time, when I need to be, or be okay with being late, and accept the consequences of a society that says it is not okay to be late. 

There are two circumstances where I have particular trouble with being okay with being late. These are Sam’s school drop-off and Sydney’s daycare pick-up. The rest, I am either okay with the consequences of being late, or I will deal with those situations later.

I hope that exploring the history, emotionality and psychology around my tardiness, in story form, may get me to some peace and possibly changed action behaviour, as well as changed thinking/feeling behaviour. Ready?

There is a girl-child in a meadow, exploring. She is perfectly content. Time is immaterial, because she is busy with the world around her. Birds and butterflies dance in the sunshine, flowers buzz and wave, the trees are telling stories. The colours are vibrant and welcoming. The meadow is warm and safe. All the animals passing by are friends, and many of them choose to stay and rest in her lap, or at her feet. This is a happy place and a happy time.

There are no interruptions or demands here. Hunger seldom intrudes, and tiredness is resolved by napping peacefully. Boredom is a long way off. Loneliness is an occasional visitor, and may signal a time to leave the meadow for a bit.

The world outside this meadow is not at all pretty. It is, in fact, downright ugly. There is anger and violence and noise and chaos. There is no time for exploring or questions or safety. Everything is rushed and threatening or indifferent. There is no room for caring; there is too much judgement and not enough compassion. Why would she ever want to leave the meadow and be in the noisy, dirty, gray place?

Clearly, she would not choose to leave the meadow very often. The sad reality is that children are not allowed to make all their own choices all the time; sometimes, choices are made for them. Sometimes, when the choices are made with compassion and grace and gentleness and presented without rancour and stridency, other people’s choices are not so bad, and leaving the meadow is ok. Especially if the meadow remains to visit another time.

Problem is, often, choices are made for children, for girl-child in particular, and these choices are not made gently and are not presented with compassion. Sometimes, girl-child is wrenched from the meadow, not by force, but with violence none-the-less. Sometimes, the consequences of refusing to leave the meadow, in a timely manner, under duress, are shattering.

It takes a lot of uninterrupted meadow time to make up from being wrenched from the meadow without permission, at someone else’s beck and call, without recognition that the meadow exists and is important.

The meadow is a special place, and girl-child has the right to be there. She needs to be there to refresh, grow, re-energize. Without the meadow, girl-child may die. Perhaps girl-child does die a little inside every time she leaves the meadow, without knowing whether she can come back, without knowing whether the meadow will even exist when she does come back.

The meadow is special; girl-child is special. Meadow time is special and necessary, and girl-child’s time there should be honoured. Not everyone is invited to have a meadow, and those that do should be honoured, not ridiculed, for having a meadow.

Girl-child should not be made to leave the meadow with the threat of violence, nor without permission or acknowledgement that she has been in the meadow and may need time to say good-bye to the meadow.

“I need you to finish up what you’re doing (even if it appears to be nothing), because I need us to leave/go somewhere/change activities in 5 minutes. I will not stand over you during that 5 minutes to insist that you stop your activity in my way. I will not hurt you if you do stop, nor will I hurt you if you don’t stop. I will try very hard to come to your level if you have not finished your activity in 5 minutes, and I will lower, not raise my voice, to help you change activities. If you need more than 5 minutes, I will try to be patient, and remember that I do not have all the answers and that my agenda is not the only one of importance in our relationship.”

Girl-child has the right to be. Girl-child is. I choose to honour girl-child for having a meadow. I will do my utmost to remember to leave the meadow gently, and to ask girl-child and her cohorts (offspring?) to leave the meadow gently. I will spend time in the meadow wisely. I will acknowledge to myself when I am in the meadow and I will feel the joy and the peace of the meadow. I will avoid living in a perpetual state of fighting to stay in the meadow without appreciating what it offers. When I do not remember to appreciate the meadow, and get lost in nothingness which is not refreshing, I will be gentle with myself. When I let myself BE, truly BE in the meadow, I will feel calm and refreshed afterwards. I will enjoy my time in the meadow. I will choose to spend time in the meadow. I will protect my time in the meadow, and I will remind myself not to squander time in the meadow. I will let writing and exercise stand for time in the meadow. I will come back to the meadow soon.

(YOU GO GIRL!)

Kids 'n' Critters, from home and away

• It's gooood to be home. 
  
• Rob and I have seen a counsellor to help us normalize life in a blended family.
  
• Even work is okay.
  
• I haven't actually talked to my mother since being home.
  
• The kids are getting along beautifully these days.
  
• We are over-run with eight-legged brethren.
  
• Back to school is good; morning "rush" hour, not so much.
  
• Life is good.
  

Rob and Oliver on the shore of Lake Ontario

Linus and a good-looking sandwich in Ottawa

Oliver and Sam at the War Museum in Hamilton

Sam and his cousin applying mud "masques" at the cottage

Sydney, thrilled beyond words with a pony ride at the "Ex"

It rained so much in the month before our arrival 

that my swimming hole was a rushing torrent

Loving her first roller coaster at the CNE

Egyptian artefact at the ROM

Pentax chillin' to tunes at home

Date night at the Lagoon- heron and geese

Not sure I love ALL creatures- 

this one is now safely outside instead of in the kids' bathroom sink

(several of his cousins have been rehomed, too)