Waiting waiting waiting

One of my coven sisters is due to have her first baby any time now. Two weeks ago we had a mother blessing and baby shower for her here at the loft, and last week her parents arrived from what we, on this side of the country, call ``back east.''

She's planning to deliver at home with a midwife and a doula, and has been working hard to get her body and spirit ready for this big adventure. She went home from the shower heavily laden with all sorts of baby things, many with flowers or in pink, since the baby--presently known as Ms. Ziggy (a nickname she's had ever since  we knew we had a zygote among us)--is a girl.  Here the mom-to-be  is in her waiting waiting waiting configuration.

I  have to confess to grievous impracticality that no doubt betrayed some of my feminist principles, since the baby gift I gave her was the tiniest possible pair of pink kid Capezio Teknik ballet shoes, a pink leotard and tights, and a tiny tutu skirt.  The mom is a dancer, so it's not totally out of line. But to compensate, I also bought a pair of Oshkosh overalls and a t-shirt with a woman-power symbol.  Can you tell how badly I want a granddaughter? I do have a quite extraordinary grandson--pictured below at bat--but I also long so much for a granddaughter.

Over the last week, I've watched a number of home childbirth videos posted on  the Internet. My babies were all C-sections, so I'd never really had the experience of seeing ``normal'' birth. Oh my goodness, it's a wonder that any babies make it into the world alive! And that moms survive the process. This moving a baby from inside the mother's body to the outside world is certainly normal, natural, and, after all, women have been doing this forever. Still, it's a very complex process, certainly very hard work for the mom.

So I've been thinking about my eldest daughter who turned 40 yesterday. Yes, I really do have a 40-year-old daughter. She's in the height of her beauty, physical strength and professional competence, so I know she won't fear her 40th birthday the way women of my generation sometimes did, and the way my mother's generation certainly did.

I remember so well the day she was born. Like my coven sister, I was waiting waiting waiting. And I had a lengthy trial of labor with her before we went ahead with the C-section. I remember that unlike my other babies, she was born with dark hair that curled, even when she first appeared. Her cheeks were so chubby and pink, and of all the children, she had the strongest cry.

She was born on a day when the pink flowering cherry trees in the University of Washington Arboretum were in full bloom, and the tulips in my garden were knee high. I remember giving her 18-month-old big brother a little ride on the back of  my bike that morning, and also taking a leap across the flower bed, just because I was so excited that this was the day a baby was coming. We took the long way in to the hospital so I could see all the pink trees in bloom in the arboretum, and to this day, whenever I see a flowering tree in the springtime, I always think of my daughter. Here I am on my bike that morning. My blond little David Bjarne Flor is sitting on the bike behind me.

Kristin is now my eldest surviving child.  (David was killed in a mountaineering accident when he was 23). Our relationship is often difficult and strained, and I don't have the chance to see her very often. But even so, I know we have a deep  and abiding connection  that nothing will ever really sunder.   Of all of my kids, I think she's the one who most strongly inherited the intensity and energy I bring to work and everyday life. Here's a photo of her holding the grandson when he was a baby. I'm the grandma in the Norwegian sweather, and the other two folks are also my kids, my 38-year old son, and my 37-year-old daughter. Given that I'm six feet tall, you can see I've spawned a race of giants.

So I'm still waiting for an email or a phone call that Ms. Ziggy has arrived. Like everyone else in the coven, I'm trying hard not to bug the mom-to-be. I know there's nothing more annoying than being hugely pregnant and facing constant inquiries about just when that baby is going to get here.
pregnancy childbirth baby family birthday grandchildren coven