“Honey, I think there is a message for you in the bathroom.”

(courtesy of finger paints for the bath tub)

Eh-hem.

(exacerbated):
“Sammy you are driving me to drink.”

Hmmm, wonder where she heard that!

A few weeks ago I picked Sophia up from my Aunt’s (where Sophia spends her days) and my Aunt greeted me with a grin.  She said, “Oh, wait until you see this one.”

Apparently the day’s art activity was the creation of a little book called “Family Story”.  My Aunt told the kids to draw the members of their family.  She then had them dictate to her who they drew.  Sophia got to work and diligently drew three pictures.  This is the conversation that followed:

Aunt Nancy:  “Sophia who is this picture of?”

Sophia:  “Daddy”

Aunt Nancy (pointing to the second picture):  “Who is this?”

Sophia:  “Sammy

Aunt Nancy (pointing to the third picture):  “And is this Mommy?”

Sopha: “Noooo.  It’s dog hair.”

Yes, my friends.  My daughter thinks her family consists of the following three people:  Daddy, Sammy, and Dog Hair.

Frankly, if you visit my house and see the amount of dog hair we have hanging around you may be inclined to agree.

I am not well schooled in the nuances of grammar or spelling departments.  Unusual for someone who reads so much, but true all the same.  I find inspiration and joy in writing for the pure utility of it as well as the art and creative nature of words strung together.  You will find typos here, you will find sentence structures that may make you cringe.  You will also find genuine love of the written word and a mind that wishes grammar and spelling perfection could be obtained.  However, I have accepted that my mind does not work that way and at this point in my life I do not have the time or inclination to study up.  I need to accept that it does not mean that I am less intelligent or that what I have to say is less valuable.  I am not going to let the lack of skill in this arena be a barrier to hanging out here and doing my thing.    I hope you won’t either!

I moved through that summer with deliberation.  Darien and McIntosh County were, at that time, one of the poorest counties in Georgia.  It was also a bit of a nowhere land.  It is said that there are three seasons in Darien all dictated by the prominent biting insect that hits the airwaves.  My least favorite was horsefly season.  They are bastards.

I spent my weekdays either on the river in a boat, talking with local folks about their experiences on the river, or driving through the back country roads.   I spent my weekends at St. Simon’s beach with my much beloved ocean.  This part of Georgia is very Southern.  It is almost as if time has frozen there.  Both the physical and social environment was well preserved.  The stories were unbelievable, the accents were crazy and the food, oy the food was to die for.

One of the popular events was a Low-Country Boil.  There is quite a bit of shrimping in this part of the country and I quickly learned that there is no better way to feature fresh shrimp than a low-country boil.  My inagural experience was a feast of epic proportions.  Multiple steaming pots of corn, potatoes, huge shrimp, sausage and mystery ingredients.  Not being a shrimp eater I could never have imagined what I was missing.  I was a good sport and tried the shrimp.  You should have heard the old folks roar with laughter as I asked what the heck to do with the shrimp tails.  Up until that point I had only had shrimp from the grocery store, frozen and pre cooked – they did not wear their tails!  These babies were huge, straight from the ocean only miles from us.  Fresh and nothing like the grocery store frozen fellers.

Thus began my conscious love affair with food.  I was taken by the intersection of food and culture.  The smell, the visual impact of people and place, and the process of putting the meal together.  I say a “conscious love affair” because I later realized that it began much earlier with my grandmother’s love affair with food, only I did not know it was there.

My hosts in Georgia, Doug and Michelle, were self proclaimed food snobs of the best variety.  Michelle was an amateur chef, self taught with skills honed in a restaurant in West Palm Beach Florida.  She had a cookbook collection that I have yet to see surpassed.  Our arrangement was that, in lieu of rent I would hold their newborn and very fussy baby while they cooked our evening meal.  These evenings started as soon as Doug and I stepped in the house after work and did not end until the sun went down.  Michelle used ingredients that I had never even heard of – some simple grains and vegetables, others exotic spices.  The meals were fanfreakingtastic and I realized how easy it was to be deliberate about food, what you ate and how it felt to cut, dice, and saute your way to memory and love.  Full evening affairs of laughter and talk.

I left that summer with a whole new skill set and outlook about my meals and community.  I spent the next few years working out those skills, testing new flavors and reading about food.  My daughter Sophia’s arrival marked the end of my time in the kitchen.  Well, it marked the end of my fun time in the kitchen.  I still enjoy cooking but I veer towards the quick, easy, nutritious genre.  Complex feasts are no longer in my repertoire.  But I do still love reading about food!

Here are a few of my favorite books:

Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl – This book made me realize that people like Michelle, my grandmother, and I were not the anomalies I though we were.

My Life in France by Julia Child – I was never really in to watching Julia Child and therefore my interest in her was muted.  This book changed that.  She was my kind of woman and it great fun to get a glimpse in to a portion of her life.  She also had a late introduction to the kitchen, what an inspiration!

Heat by Bill Buford – The descriptions here will leave you starving for food of the saucy variety.  My favorite kind.  Oh, to take a year and dedicate it to learning a passion.  Reading this is almost like doing that.

The Gastronomical Me by MFK Fisher – My first introduction to MFK Fisher courtesy of my friend Amy, a fellow foodie.  This book is timeless, the stories told of the early half of the century are rich and filled with humor.

A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenburg – I am reading this now and it is what sparked my memory of my time in Georgia and its story of food.  I was not a reader of Molly’s blog so these stories are all new to me.  They feel geniune and the place of food in her life is much as it has been in my adult world.

If you’re interested in the Coast of Georgia and the history of Darien there is an interesting book that talks about this place and how it has been frozen in time (for better or worse).  Praying for Sheetrock by Melissa Fay Greene.  I met some of the people talked about in this book and, as incredible as it is, this place really does exist.  I also spent a lovely afternoon searching for mussels on the River with Janisse Ray.  Her book, Ecology of a Cracker Childhood is also a perfect glimpse in to the time and place of south Georgia.

Today I mourn the loss of a great friend’s husband.  Kay (of Mason-Dixon Knitting) has lost her husband Peter.  Please take some time today to send some prayers, love, and light to Kay and her family.

I went to work that day, dragged through really.  Went home and laid on the couch for the evening surfing the internet, and went to bed much too late.  I figured that my body was just telling me to slow down and enjoy the last waning days of life with one child and her relatively new independence that afforded me a change to even THINK about lying down on the couch (if only for 15 minutes).  I did take note of the instinct to hibernate for a bit and thought back to the day before I went in to labor with Sophia.  I did not notice any marked change during that time directly before her however, at the time, I wasn’t looking for it or aware that it could even be there.

Soon after I feel asleep at twenty minutes after midnight I awoke to water.  A lot of water.  I thought about it and realized that I was not in control of it and guessed that it must have been my water breaking.  Just like in the movies, in bed, the mattress!  At least it was not the grocery store.  So.  What do we do here?  Contractions?  Nope.  Nothing.  Hmmm, I knew I had at least 24 hour before a medical intervention would be argued (due to an increased risk of infection as nothing is protecting the baby).  I called my midwife.  I went and told Rob (“What?!  What does that mean?  What do we do?)  who clearly forgot how this kind of thing usually goes.   My midwife, being a wise and wonderful woman, told me to get some rest (yah, right), take a shower (perfect idea), and come in when I was ready to be in the hospital.

I striped the bed and hopped in the shower.  By the time I was out of the shower contractions had started in earnest.  Hmmm, okay… let’s pack up the rest of our stuff.   As Rob rushed around I started timing contractions – close together and pretty long, in clusters.  Hmmm, not as painful as they were with Sophia (I had back labor with her, she was sunny side up.  Good Lord, I wouldn’t wish that pain on my enemy!) but still not comfortable.  We hear a cry over the monitor (it’s about 1:30am at this point) and Sophia is awake.  Crappity Crap.  Rob goes in to rock her, I go down to wake up my sister (she lives with us).  Margaret (my sister) times a few contractions and I realize that we need to leave for the hospital – like soon.  The sweet sister packs up the car and takes care of me as I run (?!) to the bathroom multiple times.  Over the next hour I find myself in more and more pain and hoping Sophia falls back to sleep soon.  I am standing downstairs with my coat on, the car is running in the driveway and Rob finally strolls out without knowing how far along we are.  What a strange experience that must have been with him.

We arrived at the hospital at 2:55am.  I know because the car clock was my focal point as we drove to the hospital.  I wasn’t able to really walk but somehow made it into the emergency waiting room and a nice security guard sat me down and wheeled us up to the triage in the maternity ward.  (Incidently – this is almost exactly what happened with Sophia.  Except with her it was 8am, we were in the hospital next to where I worked, my coworkers were strolling through the lobby on their way to their offices, and I was pushed SCREAMING through the VERY large lobby as Rob fumbled with our car (this was in Boston).)

~3am – Once in the triage I wasn’t leaving.  I was stubborn and in pain and not wanting to move.  My midwife calmed me down, got me to focus my breathing and convinced me to get undressed so she could check my progress.

~3:10am – I was 5cm.  5cm in 2.5 hours.  Yah, you can imagine how good THAT felt.  And so it went.  She encourage my progress, reminded me of my birth plan intentions (intentions are all they can be as you never know how it will go until you are there) and told me we needed to move from the bathroom – where I was – to a labor and delivery room.  I told her that I did not care about my intentions, that I wanted drugs and I wanted them soon – because I wasn’t going to be able to take another 6, 12, whatever hours of these schenanigans.  She listens and tells me that I can have an epidural only if I’m in a labor and delivery room and only after I have an IV.  Sneaky midwife.

~3:20am – Rob somehow gets me back in to the wheel chair and I am brought in to a labor and delivery room.  With my focused breathing I am much better off, the pain becomes a bit more manageable.   In the security of the room, in a bed, I am much better off.   I meet our incredible labor and delivery nurse, she starts asking me silly, ridiculous questions (for the paperwork as I hadn’t gone through admissions when I first got there) and another nurse starts an IV.  I begin to think that maybe, just maybe I can do this on my own.  Just as I planned, just as I wanted – then another contraction hits.

Here’s where the time goes all fuzzy.

~3:25ish – My midwife lets me know that she has to leave to go check on another patient.   She says a bit over the shoulder “If you feel like pushing you should push”.   (This is rare for my midwifery practice.  If they have more than one laboring woman they rarely are on the same trajectory.  With Sophia’s birth I had my midwife with me the ENTIRE time I was at the hospital, about 6 hours.  You could tell that my midwife wasn’t feeling great about having to leave.)    Just about 4 minutes after she walks out the door my labor changes.  I realize that I feel like pushing that something is happening.  It was the strangest feeling I have ever had, Sophia was delivered after I had an epidural (much to my disappointment I was NOT strong enough to handle the back labor).   I tell my nurse that I need to push and she casually says, “go ahead start pushing”.  So I do… and they run to get the midwife.  The world is a bit wobbly now.  My midwife checks my progress again.  I am 10cm, and the baby is right there at the cervix.  Let’s do the math here again – I dilated 5cm in, roughly, 15-20min.  And so, I push and push and push.  I want it to be over, I want to pain to stop.  And it does.  And there he is, sweet baby boy.  Bruised in the mouth and nose from his rapid entry in to the world.  Quiet, alert, and PEEING ON ME!  Born at 3:43 am.

Wow.  Everyone was a bit freaked out.  My midwife kept saying, “I did not anticipate this, you were awesome.”

He is weighed, I am cleaned up and stitched.  We are left alone to meet him and learn about what it is to be parents again.  I am powerful, I feel incredibly proud of myself and marvel in the beauty of it all.  This is not what it was like with Sophia – none of the this.  It was not peaceful, we were not left with her.  She was born via vacuum with 2 ob-gyn’s in the room, 3 pediatricians, 2 nurses, and my midwife (she was in distress).  She was taken up to the NICU, I was left without her not even have held her for 45 minutes.  I was happy that she was here safely.  I knew no other way.  This baby boy healed that experience for me and gave me the confidence and knowledge that I can do the impossible.  I can bring a human in to this world as millions of women have done before me.

Now, I am not a natural child-birth militant.  I believe that each of us must choose the path that is right for ourselves and our family.  I believe that there is no way to know how events will work their way to a baby’s arrival and we make the best decisions that we can.  I do know that had my labor with Samuel progressed longer I would have had an epidural and I would still have a sweet baby boy to love and I would have not beat myself up over it all.

BUT I am so glad that I did not have one.  I am so glad that he rushed in to this world.  Because now I know what I am truly capable of doing, that I CAN do on my own.  I know what it physically feels like to give birth, and while it may be generic to say this, it is all I can say:  Knowing that physical power is one of the most amazing things I have ever felt.  Knowing what it feels like to push a child to this world is crazy, beautiful and fan-freaking-tastic.  Knowing that I have two beautiful children that I created, while terrifying, is incredibly fulfilling.  Now, if I can just get them to adulthood…

Samuel Vincent

Born:  March 12, 2009 at 3:43 am (2 1/2 weeks early after less than three hours of labor and just about 40 minutes after we arrived in the hospital)

Weight:  6 lbs 13 oz

Length:  19 in

Healthy and Perfect.

Sophia is a great big sister.  She really has shocked us with her level of excitement and maturity in both language and action surrounding all things “baby brother” or “baby boy”.  When we ask her what his name is she says, “Boy”.   He was finally given his name yesterday after a few days of trying on different ones for size.

Here is a video of Sophia meeting him for the first time.

Sophia meet Baby Brother. from Bookish Wendy on Vimeo.

I will write soon about our amazing birth adventure.  Man, you all weren’t kidding when you said the second one would be totally different.