We’re in wait mode. Waiting on the arrival of our grandson due early May, though Mom felt pangs last weekend. Gramma got caught up in the excitement, forgetting about the sneakiness of those early stirrings. Later thought to liken it (to Mom-in-waiting) to tremors before the earthquake, but thought better on that.
Of course it brings to mind my own birthing experiences. With my daughter, my first born, wanting to go to the hospital as soon as I felt the first lightest of contractions; convinced it could be any moment now, though the nurse on the phone suggested otherwise, and twenty-six hours later Christina was born. (With the ‘help’ of Pitossin!(!))
With my eldest son I was caught laughing in the hospital elevator. As fate would have it the nurse present for Christina’s birth was taking the same ride down and cautioned, “Remember what we said – if you’re laughing it’s probably not the time to be here.” Two hours later Dylan arrived.
And nearly fourteen years ago now – Sam – whose initial flutterings I awoke to at 3am; watched out the window as a great blue heron lighted by our fish pond (mystical to me; epicurean to it, no doubt); and eight hours later he was born – right after a punch line I told, thanks to uncharacteristically opting into an epidural rather than opting, as I did with my first two, to experience said ‘earthquake’ sans relief.
And so this old crone sits by waiting too, with a reminiscent nod to the new parents’ eager and restless waiting – waiting for the arrival of one who will change their lives forever – an arrival well worth the wait.