Happy Bird-Day.

I have written this story at least 7 times, I  hope to write it many many more times. Each time less bitter, more sweet. Each time less painful more pure.

My little lark was named in threes. Jazz and bird and big, strong tree. And that's how he exists today: spontaneous, sturdy, fluttering free. :)

I promise I won't make this whole post rhyme. heh.

I am remembering things. A month ago or so, Monk and I were wandering around by Zach Scott theater, taking photos. We came upon Casa De Luz, and I remembered my last dinner there. It was about 7 years ago, too. I was experiencing the beginnings of labor pains while I ate yummy food with a tableful of other single mamas. I was "coming out" as a single mother, although it would take years and years for my divorce to be finalized. My friend M was there with me. M was one of these people. I don't know if anyone else has ever had this happen, but I seem to have people that come into my life and exist there for awhile when I really need them...and then disappear. As if they never existed...but not in a bad way. I'm sure whereever M is, she is doing great. I'm also sure that if she ever decides to come back, we will get along famously again. While she was here, she was an angel of strength, a beacon of gentle guidance towards some unknown destination. She reminded me CONSTANTLY that I would be taken care of. That whatever happened, I would be ok. That I could do this. And she wasn't just talking about the birth. She was talking about the rebirth of me.

My life was changing so rapidly at that time. I was planning to quit my well-paying, but life-draining corporate job. I was losing my husband who, in spite of our tremendous difficulties, was really the only family I felt I had EVER had. I was facing the idea that Monk would view his baby brother's arrival as the event that caused his dad's departure. And, of course, I was feeling like everything was all my fault.

When people gasp in disbelief about the pain of birth, and shake their heads about homebirth and how silly it is for a woman to endure that pain unmedicated...well, I have to say they just don't get it. Medication is fine and hospitals are fine if that's what you choose. If that's what you need or even if that's what you desire. I wholeheartedly support a woman's right to choose any method of childbirth or non-childbirth. But I have to say that giving birth and experiencing that tangible pain provided me with that evidence of experience that is absent in a medicated birth, and was absent in my entire life at that point. I guess I prefer things that way.

Anyway, I am getting ahead of myself. In the months leading up to the birth, I also had the support of a wonderful, warm, kick-ass midwife named Susie Terwilliger. My appointments with her were so totally different from the appointments I had with my ob/gyn when I was pregnant with Monk. I dreaded the prenatal ob/gyn visits, where I would arrive, wait, strip in a cold and sterile appointment room, get poked, prodded, weighed. God, it was like being a fucking pregnant cow.

Susie first saw me naked the day of the birth. My visits with her were hour-long counseling sessions. She took all my vitals within 5 or 10 minutes, and we would sit and chat about my life. We concentrated on overcoming the grief I carried from my first birth and from my current life situation.  We formed a relationship. God. I still love that woman. All she did for me. God I am so lucky to have had such wonderful people in my life.

The day of cole's birth I was up early. I was feeling labor pains, but it might have been false labor. I never really felt false labor, so I wasn't sure what the difference might be. It sure felt real to me. It was a deep, intense, rolling pain deep in my uterus. The flutterings that I was accustomed to feeling from the movement of the bird weren't anything like this.

I am losing interest in the re-re-re-re-telling of this. Hahaha. I don't think anyone needs the play-by-play, and I don't need to write it. I just need to remember the strength and love that surrounded me that day. I've gone over the events of the day in many posts throughout the years, and in many forms. I took Monk to M's house and she gave me a massage in exchange for me showing her how to use photoshop. Monk played with A. M's mom was there. I drank Valerien tea to calm the cramps. We were all operating under the assumption that it was false labor, because it was not debilitating. My midwife told me that if I could talk through the pain, I was fine. I should just go about the day.

Those who know me well know that if I am comfortable enough with someone, I can talk through anything. hahaha.

I will skip the difficult and emotionally painful events of the day, because I have been reliving them in my brain all week and seeing them typed does not make them go away. Believe me when I tell you that the actual birth was not the most painful thing I experienced that day. And the pain of childbirth dissipates instantly anyway.

I remember being with friends before labor really kicked in. I remember being alone in my house when I felt the first contraction that was undeniably real. I remember leaning against my bed, naked, with my ass waving in the air as my midwife arrived.I remember a candlelit bath with C whispering words of encouragement. I remember my midwife scurrying about preparing the birthing bed while I was in the tub. I remember her telling me to breathe INTO the pain, which is something that made total sense to me then, and only makes sense to me now when I am severely distraught about something and can't find my bearings. She also taught me to breathe from deep in my lungs, rather than from the shallows, and that serves me well both when I am upset and needing to take a breather as well as when I want to emit a very heavy, mothering sigh. hahaha. I remember being on my hands and knees was the only way my body would let me position it without unbearable pain. I remember none of the pain. None. I remember suddenly there was a little person in the bed with me. I remember looking back, seeing his little weenie waving in the air, thinking "it's a boy!" and saying "I DID IT!"

I remember big brother Monk crawling into bed with us as I birthed the placenta, and reading his Thomas the Tank Engine book to his new brother.

Weeks later, my now-ex husband would tell me he knew I really wanted a little girl. I responded that, no, I think I little boy is just fine. I said "I think the universe is trying to correct something here."

Anyway. He is here, and he is wonderful. I love him. I love him. I love him more and more each year. My little lark. My sweet bird. Sensitive and emotional and empathic and dramatic. Sweet and affectionate and artistic and smart. Just yesterday, he demonstrated so clearly how special he is. He had hurt his friend in an argument. Unintentionally. But his friend was upset with him as he was leaving and was wanting to be left alone. You could see the regret in Coley's eyes over having hurt his friend, and even though he knew he had to leave, he didn't want to go with his friend upset with him. We started out the door, and the bird brightened and ran back into the room where his friend was secluding himself. There were instant peels of laughter, and coley came out all proud. "I KNEW that would cheer him up!" He said, totally pleased with himself for having corrected the problem he had caused.

My birdy just can't stand to see the people he loves feeling sad, whether he is the cause or not. I could write more and more and more about him, but I'm missing out on the zillion and one birthday hugs and kisses. I hope you have a wonderful bird-day. :) <3