Mom's Guest Post

This year Mom and Dad decided to write short essays about their first experiences as parents when I was born. This is Mom's essay. Dad's contribution will be published in a couple of days.

A person’s very first birthday is a momentous occasion.

A person’s very first baby is a momentous occasion.

These two grand occasions converged in my life and my daughter’s life a few decades ago.

I was a pretty serious young woman. I wanted to do everything in the best possible way. So I spent my first pregnancy reading thousands of pages about nutrition, pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, child development, and educating children. My due date was June 2, and my husband, Jim, and I agreed to play music for a friend’s wedding in May.

In May Jim and I went to the wedding rehearsal. He played guitar, I played flute, and I’m not sure how I had the lung capacity to play flute when I was 9 months pregnant, but I did. We then went to the rehearsal dinner. I didn’t have much of an appetite that evening, and I felt uncomfortable sitting in a chair for the long dinner. But otherwise, I felt fine. I remember Jim kept asking me how I was feeling, and I kept telling him I was fine, and he kept looking at me like he didn’t believe me. To this day I don’t know what he saw or sensed that caused him to ask those questions, but I really did not notice anything different in myself. I’m pretty good at denial …

That night we got home and I had some contractions as we were going to bed. Jim wanted to call the midwife, but I was sure it was nothing. After a strong contraction woke me up at about 2 am, Jim called the midwife. She told us to keep resting, keep track of the contractions, and call her when they got closer together. So I slept for most of the night, waking up with contractions every hour or so.

In the morning they were closer, so we notified the midwife, even though I thought it was nothing and we shouldn’t bother her just yet. Like I said, I have a strong sense of denial.  She came out to the house in the mid-morning, spent the day with us, and soon after 7 pm our little girl Lydia Mae was born. We also had some friends there, and my friend cried when Lydia was born. I remember thinking how odd it was that she was crying, but I was not. I was focused on getting this baby born, and didn’t have time for crying right then. I was so absolutely practical about everything.

The midwife helped clean up, and after an hour or so when she was sure the baby and I were ok, she went home. Our friends also went home. It was Jim, me, and our new baby – all alone only hours after her birth. This never bothered me, although looking back I wonder why not. Most new parents are nervous. I was confident beyond explanation and I don’t know why.  I guess confidence is better than panic attacks! Jim was emotionally exhausted and slept all night.  I slept at 2 hour intervals, waking up to change Lydia’s diaper and nurse her whenever she stirred. I didn’t even feel that tired. I was so energized by all the excitement. Lydia and I slept together on the couch that first night, because I didn’t feel like going up and down the steps from bedroom to bathroom right away. After that first night, I was back to climbing stairs as usual.

We had not told my parents that I was in labor, because we didn’t want them to worry. They were already worried enough that we were planning a home birth. My mom had her 25^th class reunion the evening of Lydia’s birth, so she did not find out until after her big party. She came over the next day and spent a lot of time helping out with things around the house. She was the one who gave Lydia her first bath. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but now I think what an honor (and perhaps what a stress?) that must have been for her. She was doing what is usually done by a nurse in a hospital. Although I would have been happy to do it all myself, she insisted on helping, and I loved having her there. In retrospect it was good that I rested a little. Although I never rested a lot. It’s just not in my nature.

I remember that May --- that year was a clear, sunny day, not too hot and not too cold. It was one of those spring days that are few and far between in Ohio, where it goes from damp and cold winter to hot and humid summer in less than a week. I don’t remember when or how we told our friends that we would not be playing in their wedding. I also don’t remember who took our place to provide them with music. I do remember that when they asked us to play their wedding music, I said that it might not work out because that was a short time before my due date. The bride replied that it would all be fine, and I wouldn’t deliver my baby that day. But I did. 

I remember that we had a neighbor who attended my mom’s church, and who had known me from when I was a little child. Later she told me that when she saw the car with the Indiana license plates in our drive, and it stayed there all day, she knew that it was probably the midwife’s care and that I was in labor. She said that she was praying for me the whole day.

I remember a few months later, taking a picture of the 5 generations in our family. They consisted of my great grandma Emma Roth, my grandma Ilva Stuckey, my mom Sharon, me, and my daughter. I remember thinking to myself that I was the only person in that picture who was born in a hospital.

 I remember Emma holding Lydia, and really enjoying her. All of these women love babies, and were excited whenever a new one joined the family. By the time that Lydia was 8 or 9 years old, both Emma and Ilva were deceased. We were so lucky to have those 5 generations of women together for the brief time that we did.

And that is the story of Lydia’s very first birthday, from her mother’s perspective.

Now to hear comments from her father. I’m sure that his memory and interpretation of these events is very different!