As I write this, forty one years ago, almost to the very minute, I gave birth to my one and only child. As birth stories go, the actual labour was pretty good, about 3 and a half hours. Felt like more than that, but, really, it was only the last hour that was super painful. As I reflect back today, I think it's funny that the person being born is the one who is feted. But the one who gave birth, well, she’s left to her own thoughts and memories. And yet, the person who gave birth is the one who got the greatest gift of all.
Forty one years ago. I was living in a room in Teddington, England. The landlady was very kind, took me in when I really didn't have any other place to go. The woman I’d been sharing a flat with had said categorically that she didn’t want a baby in the flat and, actually, didn’t really want a pregnant roommate either. Although she did give me a very nice gift after Laurie was born so perhaps it was all too overwhelming for her. One thing I learned during my pregnancy and in the years that followed, judging others for their reaction to you as an unwed mother is pointless. Better to be accommodating and understanding. They usually come around, like my father and sister did. Which is not today's story.
Back to October 5th. The doctor had originally said the due date would be somewhere in early to mid September. It was only in July, when I didn’t seem to be that large, that she ordered an ultrasound. Ultrasounds were pretty rare in England back then. The results came back that either I was having a really small baby or the due date was more toward the end of September. When I shared that tidbit of information at work, someone commented—everyone at work was not only very supportive but also very interested—that I was having an elephant, I’d been pregnant that long. Thanks Matt.
September 30th came and went. I’d had to work from home since beginning September—working from home was another novel idea, but one that my super supportive workplace came up with when they found that I couldn’t come to work on doctor’s orders but I also hadn’t earned enough unemployment points to qualify for any money. They had given me projects and there was a big one due October 5th. I had actually finished it the morning of October 4th. I was planning to go into work on October 5th to drop it off and have lunch with my buddies. The night of October 4th I traveled into London—an hour’s train ride from Richmond plus a bus ride—to attend a management class I had enrolled in. I felt very tired as I rode home that night and when I emerged from the train station and saw my bus rolling away, I ran for it. Not very graceful when you are 10 months pregnant. And I still missed it. I cried a bit as I waited 20 minutes for the next one. I was so desperately tired.
I woke up in the middle of the night with cramps. “Great,” I thought, “Not only am I still pregnant but now I have the flu.” Well, once the sleep cleared my befuddled brain it dawned on me that it might not be the flu. And it wasn’t. After a day at home with cramps that came and went, by 5:00 the pains had settled into the routine I was expecting from reading pregnancy books. A good friend, Audrey, who was the single parent who had coached me during my pregnancy on the road ahead, came over and together we went to the hospital. By ambulance because neither of us had a car and riding the bus didn’t seem like a good idea. No money for a taxi either. Oh, forgot to mention that I still got my work project submitted. I called into work and my 16 year old clerk, Andy, rode over on his motorbike to pick it up. He was exceedingly nervous when he arrived, worried no doubt that he’d be called on to assist at a delivery. I assured him that riding pillion on his motorbike to the hospital wasn't part of my plans either.
I arrived at the hospital at 6:00 p.m. and, sparing my readers the gory details, Laurie Anne (not David) was born at 9:30 p.m. I had been so sure that I was having a boy that, when she was delivered and the midwife said I had a girl, I asked her if she were sure. “Check for yourself,” she said, handing Laurie up to me on my stomach. And, for the first time in 10 months, my daughter stared into my eyes and I into hers.
For me, it was love at first sight. A special night, October 5th 1979.
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