I wish you could have seen your mother when I arrived at the visitor center. She was wearing her park service uniform with an olive green cardigan buttoned low and tight across her swollen belly. She smiled as I walked up to hug her and I saw the excitement in her eyes. She had started feeling mild contractions just a little while before I arrived, but she wasn’t yet convinced that you were on your way.
We took our lunch out to a picnic table in the sunshine and enjoyed the unusual December warmth. A hermit thrush hopped through the underbrush near the edge of the steep slope that dropped down to the Kaweah River. Your mom lamented the fact that they only sang their beautiful song during the springtime in the forests higher up the mountain. The small contractions continued as we talked and laughed under the bright blue sky.
I ended up driving your mom home early from work, as the contractions become stronger and more frequent with each passing hour. We walked into an empty house and I admit that I felt a little scared of what was to come, but your mom was all strength and confidence. She assured me we had many hours still ahead of us and that your dad would be there soon.
One by one they all arrived. First came your mom and dad’s curious friend from down the street, whom your dad had just called with the news. She was a neonatal nurse and a mother of three, and we were grateful for her guidance. Shortly after, your dad rushed through the door from his job at the hospital and seamlessly transitioned into making preparations for your delivery. Then your grandparents and your little brother stopped by to cheer on your mom through the first part of her labor. The only person yet to arrive was the midwife and it was quickly becoming clear that she might not make it in time.
Ten minutes became five and then two as the frequency of the contractions increased and still no midwife. We sent your brother and grandparents on their way and brought your mom out into the living room to lie down on the bed we had prepared. There was no longer time for worry or apprehension. We put all our energy toward becoming a team, each assuming the role for which we hoped we were most qualified. Your dad and family friend took over the responsibilities of the midwife, which left me to comfort and support your mom.
As she entered the depths of her labor, she began calling out the sound that would carry her through to the end. "Hass, hass, hass," she repeated with changing volume and intensity as the contractions built and subsided. She gripped my hand and squeezed down tight, letting her other arm wave up and over her head in an expanding motion as she focused on allowing her body to do what it needed to do. During the short breaks between contractions, I gave her small sips of water and marveled at the fact that she was the one reassuring us throughout this process.
Your dad was so strong. He held fast to his training as a critical care nurse even as he choked back excited tears the first time he saw the top of your head. The midwife provided instructions over the phone, telling your mom that it was time to put all her effort into pushing and so she gripped both my hands tight and we pulled against each other as she gritted her teeth and pushed. Once, twice, three and four times. With each contraction a little more of your head became visible, until finally you emerged into the waiting arms of your overjoyed dad. Within a few seconds you turned bright pink and let out a strong, healthy cry. We sighed with relief as we let out shouts of joy. Your dad placed you on your mom’s chest and we covered you up with towels warm from the dryer and suddenly there were five people in the room.
Every moment that came after was filled with quiet joy. Your dad dimmed the lights and put on some classical music. Your mom cuddled with you as you nursed. The midwife finally arrived with little fanfare and assured us that all was well. We helped you and your mom into the bedroom and straightened up the living room, so that by the time your grandparents and big brother arrived you were swaddled in a blanket and both resting peacefully on the bed. While they visited with you, I made your mom scrambled eggs and toast and standing there at the stove I could not believe that such arduous and life changing circumstances could lead to this moment, which felt so utterly and completely normal. As if you had been here all along and the past few hours were only a dream.
We all took our turn that evening holding you and fawning over your tiny fingernails and pouting lips, each time returning you to your mom’s waiting arms. From across the bedroom I caught a glimpse of your parents both peering over the blanket at you as you slept. They looked at each other and exchanged a million unspoken words about all that had transpired earlier that evening and all that was still to come in the years ahead. She gave him a tired, contented smile as she nestled you into the crook of her arm and then closed her eyes to rest.
