Things just began to settle down a bit after Noah's birth when we had computer problems to deal with, but it's now a quiet Sunday afternoon and the computers are back in busisness, so I'll try to catch up.
For the full story of Noah's birth, read Heather's post entitled Noah's Birth Story. I'll add some grandmotherly commentary.Once again our family participated in the game of predicting date and time of birth, along with sex, weight, and length. I succeeded in getting the sex wrong for the third time in a row, as well as being wrong on everything else. Heather was the winner, being closest on the date and weight, and tying with Jon, Porter, and BL. for length. ABL, PL, SL, BL, TL, CD, DL and Jon guessed the sex correctly. I claim victory for the time, being off by only seven minutes, but there are purists who say the time doesn't count if you don't get the date right as well.
And there are others who claim parents, especially mothers, should not be allowed to participate, or at least not counted in the standings. Below is one particularly convincing (or at least amusing) protest:
[Moms] have too much control—I am sure Heather could have gone into labor but waited until she could win. Based on non-moms, I am claiming victory as having the closest date, the right sex, and I want to check the date of the guesses just to make sure Jon didn't "Price Is Right" me to get the height and weight since he was only one ounce and half an inch over me. I made my guesses not knowing everyone else's....I think if you averaged all categories, with some sort of scoring for how far off you were in each category, but most of the weight on having the date right, excluded Mom, and made a few other adjustments, it could happen that I would win and collect the big prize.
I'm beginning to understand why one would want to be a midwife. (There must be powerful incentives that make them to be willing to endure the difficulties and even persecutions that come with the job.) Being present at an all-natural, healthy birth is one of the highest privileges I can think of; being able to help make such a birth possible must be even higher.
When it's your own grandchild being born, the anxieties and the joys go off the scale. This time the only worrisome moment—when Noah's head was completely out (Heather looked like some strange being, with a head at each end) and the midwife was working to deliver his huge shoulders—was so intense there was no time to be aware of any fear.
Experiencing Jonathan's birth was one of the high points of my life so far, and I feel incomparably blessed to be present at Noah's as well. This time I was prepared not to witness the moment of birth, because my primary role was to be Jonathan's special friend, to be with him at the birth or not, according to his desires. But—blessing on blessing—Dad-o and Grammy were able to be there as well, so Jonathan could alternate being in with us and playing outside of the room with them.
I thought my own births were "natural," and they certainly were, if compared with why my mother went through, and with what most women are offered today. "Natural" in my day meant avoiding delivery rooms, the dreaded shaving, stirrups, and above all drugs. I still had to deal with episiotomies, a hospital setting, not being allowed to eat or drink during labor, and having my baby taken from me for unnecessary procedures.
Noah's birth was what childbirth should be. Surrounded by family, in a quiet place, eating and drinking at will, free to walk around, rest in a tub of warm water, and labor in virtually any position. Gently attended throughout by an experienced midwife who knows how to guide the process, and how to ease the delivery of a huge pair of shoulders. No episiotomy, no drugs, no wristband ID's, no eye drops, no shots, no circumcision. Dad cutting the cord. Immediate and uninterrupted bonding. Going home no sooner and no later than you want to. Okay, I'll stop now. But it was so lovely!
One thing that was totally amazing and awesome to watch was how quickly an unearthly looking, squashed, purple mass became a filled-out, pink, clearly defined head. That view was from my privileged position alone, because by the time Noah was in Heather's arms (only a few seconds later), most of the change had already taken place. I guess she'll have to wait for her own grandchildren to see that.
I'll admit I'm pretty tired. Jonathan can exhaust me all by himself. But Noah has been doing very well, and friends have been bringing dinners, so I don't think I'm any worse off than I was a week ago. :)
Speaking of exhaustion, this post has taken all day to write, so I'm just going to stop for now and go to bed.
