... was born on a really cold day in January, sort of like right now! I think the cold got well below freezing last night, down into the low 20's, which is pretty unusual for middle Georgia. Even though the state's peach farmers are dependent on enough cold weather for a productive crop, being miserably cold is no good for my personal comfort. Not a fan of below freezing temperatures for weeks on end, I cannot imagine living someplace like Michigan, or Alaska or the north pole.
Her dad loved to tell the story of the night she was born.. Never tiring of retelling about how inconvenienced he was by the weather, without the first syllable about the person who did all the work by forcing a brand new human being out of her body. We had been to some classes that were supposed to make me better prepared for the event.Which is absolutely ridiculous as you are never ever ready for the trauma of such an occasion. Even though, it is something you brain soon forgets when it is over and you are given the new person, cleaned up and swaddled with a wee cap on top.
The weather report was predicting severe overnight ice, wind, freezing temp., and that day thirty six years ago was remarkably cold. With the days before Jan. 21 being chilly with steadily lowering temperatures.I should have been more aware that the dad was a chronic worrier: a person who would relish fretting over things he could not control. Perhaps due to DNA, as I recall his mother being a person who could devote inordinate amounts of time fretting about everything in the world. Or possibly the fact that he had been in the insurance business for many years:advising people about protecting property, preparing for disasters, both personal and financial.
He was so industriously fretting about the possibility of icy roads, causing driving problems, he was insistent we should get our XXL bountifully pregnant self to the hospital long before it was really necessary. Looking back, I assume due to the possibility that he might have to become personally involved in the delivery. He was willing to be a witness, an onlooker to the process, but not a participant. I must have been close enough to 'ripe' for the ER to admit me. I am well past the age of fertility, but still recall how much I did not want to give birth in public: have assorted complete strangers wandering about, only marginally interested, observing the process.
The version of the story the other parent has told repeatedly: It was so cold in the early morning hours when he finally left the Medical Center to go home,he had to heat up his car key with his cigarette lighter to melt the ice on the door lock, to get in his cold car. And when he got home, there was no electricity, power out due to limbs breaking and pulling down lines, meaning the house was cold and dark. He came back to the room I was sleeping in, pulled two chairs together and went to 'bed.' Where there were generators to keep the building lit, warm, humming with power.
Eventually power was restored, the mother and new person were discharged, we all went home. Here we are thirty six years later. My, how time flies!
No comments:
Post a Comment