teachable moments/very thanksgiving
My girl and I went to the wonderful Hand Workshop (sorry, but I can't call it anything else) Craft and Design Show this weekend. It was one of those large afternoons, full of beauty, inspiration, a dash of toxicity (old men ogling my almost-16 daughter, who had inexplicably paired a short plaid schoolgirl skirt with spike heels -- toe cleavage! -- and she's got gams, by God. I had no idea what to say, because I've said it all before, so I figured I'd be there, she'd be safe, and I'd just let her have her experience. "That was creepy," she said after one particularly odd moment. "Well. Um. Yeah." [HelLO???] I mean, what's a mama to do?). And wonder.
Afterward, on our way out, as we walked that cavernous hallway that wraps around the facility, I saw coming toward us an old friend, E, and her mother. I don't know E very well, but her sister, A, worked with me years ago at the women's prison and is one of those people who, when I see her every three or four years or so, feel like Old Home Day. I met E at my youngest's former preschool and recognized her because she looks like A. We never really connected -- we were just sort of extra-happy to see each other whenever we did. I hadn't seen E since N finished preschool, about a year-and-a-half ago.
I had heard from her, though, that summer, when she called to ask me about my midwife, Nancy, who delivered my three boys at home. E was pregnant, and unhappily so -- I think she was around 40 by then and had thought that the childbearing phase was over and done with. (Ohhh, I felt her pain.) As I always do when Nancy comes up, I sang her praises, told a bit about my experience -- how important it was to me, how empowering. I don't know what the hell I said. I tried to hear her and comfort her as best I could. I encouraged her to call Nancy -- whatever I said, its underpinning was this: One of the most important things about my experience with Nancy was how holistic it was, how she engaged so seamlessly with my whole self, because the process of pregnancy encompasses way more than the womb. I think that this issue was jumping up and down on E's head at the time, and she knew she needed to have a different kind of experience. Due in November, she was planning on working with Nancy in the hospital setting. I hadn't heard from her since.
So here she comes toward me last Sunday, her beautiful mother in tow. We greeted each other, introduced our people, and I asked her about how things had gone. Some broad strokes, "Nancy was great," yadda yadda, and then she said, "I ended up having him at home!" It had become clear to her at some point in the process that that was what she needed to do, and it was the best ... oh, I don't know what superlative she used, but she had the experience she needed to have, beyond expectations. "And you were the one who started me on my journey to my homebirth!" she said. I was very moved, very happy for her.
"And you know," she continued, "J was born with Down's Syndrome."
My heart went splash in my stomach, but she was still glowing as she said it. "Okay," I said. "How is he?"
He's wonderful, his grandmother is addicted to him, all is well. They'd had no idea that he had Down's, because there were no odd heart sounds and they hadn't done amnio. E told me a bit about the birth, how extraordinary Nancy was (of course), how "we just hung out for a couple of days and celebrated him," and then went on to the pediatrician after that. We imagined how, if she'd been in a hospital, they'd probably have wafted him away to try to fix him or something, off in some white room away from her arms. But things went exactly as they needed to, with exactly the people who needed to be there, exactly where they were.
We hugged and said goodbye. I almost cried.
Remember, my girl was there. I filled her in on a little of the background, including the part about E's early unhappiness, and she said, "Why didn't she just have an abortion?"
Gawd.
Me, I'm pro-choice in principle -- which is to say, I don't want government legislating women's choices about their bodies. But I could never abort, myself. My daughter knows we had a hard time wrapping our minds around our fourth pregnancy, and I'd told her we'd even thought about thinking about abortion -- for about one-fifth of a second -- but, and this is basically what I said to her as we walked, having had children already and knowing what you make makes it exponentially harder to consider getting rid of an unexpected, unwanted pregnancy. And she knows perfectly well that by the time he arrived -- actually, quite a while before -- he was most distinctly wanted. And she's glad he's here, in spite of herself. She sees us being completely overwhelmed with the sheer volume of drama and stuff and dirt and things and energies and extracurricular activities of four kids, and she knows, as I reiterated to her right then, that I wouldn't trade a bit of it. "Well, maybe some of it," I added, because she's not stupid.
I wonder what she took away from that. I'm glad she was there when I ran into E, because it was magic and made me glad to be alive.
That evening, my girl got down to work on a mandala she had to make for her English class. She put her heart and soul into it -- it was to include quotes about what matters to her, which includes trees and music and being imaginative and ... I don't know. But she did say, "Yeah, I felt all inspired after going to that show."
Afterward, on our way out, as we walked that cavernous hallway that wraps around the facility, I saw coming toward us an old friend, E, and her mother. I don't know E very well, but her sister, A, worked with me years ago at the women's prison and is one of those people who, when I see her every three or four years or so, feel like Old Home Day. I met E at my youngest's former preschool and recognized her because she looks like A. We never really connected -- we were just sort of extra-happy to see each other whenever we did. I hadn't seen E since N finished preschool, about a year-and-a-half ago.
I had heard from her, though, that summer, when she called to ask me about my midwife, Nancy, who delivered my three boys at home. E was pregnant, and unhappily so -- I think she was around 40 by then and had thought that the childbearing phase was over and done with. (Ohhh, I felt her pain.) As I always do when Nancy comes up, I sang her praises, told a bit about my experience -- how important it was to me, how empowering. I don't know what the hell I said. I tried to hear her and comfort her as best I could. I encouraged her to call Nancy -- whatever I said, its underpinning was this: One of the most important things about my experience with Nancy was how holistic it was, how she engaged so seamlessly with my whole self, because the process of pregnancy encompasses way more than the womb. I think that this issue was jumping up and down on E's head at the time, and she knew she needed to have a different kind of experience. Due in November, she was planning on working with Nancy in the hospital setting. I hadn't heard from her since.
So here she comes toward me last Sunday, her beautiful mother in tow. We greeted each other, introduced our people, and I asked her about how things had gone. Some broad strokes, "Nancy was great," yadda yadda, and then she said, "I ended up having him at home!" It had become clear to her at some point in the process that that was what she needed to do, and it was the best ... oh, I don't know what superlative she used, but she had the experience she needed to have, beyond expectations. "And you were the one who started me on my journey to my homebirth!" she said. I was very moved, very happy for her.
"And you know," she continued, "J was born with Down's Syndrome."
My heart went splash in my stomach, but she was still glowing as she said it. "Okay," I said. "How is he?"
He's wonderful, his grandmother is addicted to him, all is well. They'd had no idea that he had Down's, because there were no odd heart sounds and they hadn't done amnio. E told me a bit about the birth, how extraordinary Nancy was (of course), how "we just hung out for a couple of days and celebrated him," and then went on to the pediatrician after that. We imagined how, if she'd been in a hospital, they'd probably have wafted him away to try to fix him or something, off in some white room away from her arms. But things went exactly as they needed to, with exactly the people who needed to be there, exactly where they were.
We hugged and said goodbye. I almost cried.
Remember, my girl was there. I filled her in on a little of the background, including the part about E's early unhappiness, and she said, "Why didn't she just have an abortion?"
Gawd.
Me, I'm pro-choice in principle -- which is to say, I don't want government legislating women's choices about their bodies. But I could never abort, myself. My daughter knows we had a hard time wrapping our minds around our fourth pregnancy, and I'd told her we'd even thought about thinking about abortion -- for about one-fifth of a second -- but, and this is basically what I said to her as we walked, having had children already and knowing what you make makes it exponentially harder to consider getting rid of an unexpected, unwanted pregnancy. And she knows perfectly well that by the time he arrived -- actually, quite a while before -- he was most distinctly wanted. And she's glad he's here, in spite of herself. She sees us being completely overwhelmed with the sheer volume of drama and stuff and dirt and things and energies and extracurricular activities of four kids, and she knows, as I reiterated to her right then, that I wouldn't trade a bit of it. "Well, maybe some of it," I added, because she's not stupid.
I wonder what she took away from that. I'm glad she was there when I ran into E, because it was magic and made me glad to be alive.
That evening, my girl got down to work on a mandala she had to make for her English class. She put her heart and soul into it -- it was to include quotes about what matters to her, which includes trees and music and being imaginative and ... I don't know. But she did say, "Yeah, I felt all inspired after going to that show."
posted by Tina at 7:14 AM
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