Posted by: jruthkelly | September 14, 2009

Happy Birthday Evan . . .

8 years ago today, in the early morning hours, sunlight poured into a large birthing room. I had chosen to do this birth with only the midwife, nurse and my husband. In the past, there had been quite the party atmosphere with family, sisters, my mom all around me. But this time I needed to assert my place in life apart from the clan. Evan was a big (10lbs 1oz!) part of that revolution. And that morning was beautiful beyond belief. Mystical vibes jiving throughout the process, a highly charged painful reality.

They were in a hurry with my labor. I’d had the gush of rivers over 24 hours previously with the abrupt and beautiful breaking of the amniotic sac. Talk about ride the wave…

But by the morning of the 14th, 3 days after the tragic 9/11, the docs were ready to induce. It’s not like I wasn’t in labor! But they were in a hurry. Pitocin stinks. I cannot say anything else about it. It is not natural. Modern-day form of torture. Then came the epidural. No less than 30 seconds after the line is in place the bowling ball has completely settled into place and I’m fully dialated. I hadn’t even gotten fully off the edge of the bed. I tried pretending. Scooted over on my side but I couldn’t rest one leg on the other without yeah…no.

I looked at the nurse who was chatting cheerfully with the spouse. And I said, “It’s time.” “What?! No…” She had not had children. This I could tell. I wanted to hand her a towel to dry behind her ears when she first walked into the room. Everything about her screamed: FRESH FROM THE BOOKS! Okay, that’s not nice. She had experience. Cough.

“Please don’t push….” I looked intently at her, the contraction was at full grip. I bore down with a very obvious push face. “NO! Don’t push!” Ha. I kept on. I push when contractions start. I know my body. I sense danger. I knew it was ok. The contraction ended. I quit pushing, turned to her and said “Go. Now. Hurry. Get the midwife. I will push when the next contraction comes.” She ran. The anesthesiologist came bolting back into the room when the crew came rushing into my room, sure his patient was in some horrible situation. No one dialates that fast. He must’ve screwed up the epidural, why else would they be rushing into the room? Ha.

Within moments this huge redheaded child came out of me. I’d like to say he was an infant but he was enormous. It’s easier to push an enormous child through the birth canal. You can feel it very clearly!

Two months young...

Two months young...

And such is Evan. He is clear. Nothing wavers in him. Nothing is amorphous or flakey or uncertain. He is passion and intelligence and challenge supreme. He articulates soul with the ease of the ancient right before running outside to ride his scooter.

And he’s the one who birthed me out of any lingering illusions into humility. Here’s to 8 years of amazing growth…

The Redheaded Sage

The Redheaded Sage

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