Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Funny how time slips away...

That song came to mind when I checked on my last entry. That’s a thing about blogging. Hard to keep at it, especially when it’s more of a personal journal, than anything else.

But time does slip away until you realize it’s gone. Thirty one years ago this weekend the eldest of our children was born, at home in our log cabin in these Tennessee hills. Back in those days we were still fresh from the city, enamored with a lifestyle that was more like camping than anything we’d experienced.

By the time our son arrived we had electricity in the house, a bulb and an outlet in each of the four rooms. We still drew our water from a well with an old windlass and bucket. And the boy, like all of our children, was delivered by a midwife. My wife’s decision, home birth,

The birth of any child is a magical moment, one of life’s simple and essential miracles. The first time you experience it completely overwhelms you with emotion and appreciation of the ones you love.

It was a cool night in May, much like we’re having now. My wife was overdue. The daughter of the neighbor up the road had delivered her baby a day earlier. They shared with my wife a bit of their womanly wisdom: if the baby’s ready, a little castor oil will bring it on.

At 9 my wife took a tablespoon or two then lay down.‘ Around midnight her water broke, and then began our wonderful ordeal. She suffering the pain leading to the miracle event, helped by her mother, sister and our midwife. I was more or less the amazed bystander. At 3:15 our son officially arrived.

I came away convinced that if it were up to men to have babies there wouldn’t be any. There’s nothing in our life histories to prepare us for that kind of pain.

But what a reward motherhood must be.

I can still hear the first scream of our newborn son at this world. And I can still see the shriveled old man in the new born babe fresh from the womb, a life of possibilities.

We had five more children, all at home. Four of those six were born here in our log cabin in the woods.

31 years later the youngest is just about to enter eighth grade, his nearest brother graduating high school Friday night.

31 years raising children. It makes a house a home.

And it’s funny how the time slips away.....