Ode to my daughter

We grew up together, she and I. I was nothing more than a clueless, scared teenager when she was born and I really had no business becoming a mother. Throughout the pregnancy I lived in a sort of fog of denial. Of course the burgeoning belly and the constant nausea were a little difficult to ignore, so there were moments of lucidity.

She had a mommy and she had a daddy and she had a pug nosed pekingese named Toby awaiting her arrival. She had a room with a hand-me-down baby bed and a closet with a collection of pretty pink things courtesy of her grandma.

It was 1977 and I was a guinea pig, or as I prefer to think of it, a pioneer. I was one of the first in our small town to have a sonogram and that was only because there was a salesman in town with a prototype trying to get the hospital to buy one and I volunteered to be used as an example. My OB/GYN had been to a seminar recently and had learned how to do epidural catheters. I think back now and thank god I didn't know how long the needle was and how one slip between my vertebrae by an inexperienced person could have caused irreversible damage. All I knew was he said, "hey, there's this new thing that will make it so you won't feel a damn thing during the birthing process." I didn't, either. I also didn't feel my legs again until the wee hours of the morning following the birth.

She was born on a Friday at 7:26 p.m. The labor went much more quickly than they expected. I blinked my eyes and we were in the delivery room with the doctor donned in scrubs and mask and singing Red-Neck Mother.(It was funny at the time but looking back I wondered if he was making some sort of statement)Push push push, episiotomy,
cold room, legs shaking in stirrups in spite of the fact they were paralyzed, wild-eyed, startled, long-haired, man-child husband at my side and a beautiful 8 pound 6 ounce baby girl entered the world to change my life forever and for the better.

Except for the years between ages 14 and 20. Lord, lord, those teenage years when I couldn't do anything right. It's okay now. Hindsight lets me know those turbulent years were normal. I didn't have the foresight at the time to realize she had to assert her independence and snip those apron strings. I can say, and she might even admit now that she has her own children, every decision I made was to protect her, not to persecute her. (I'm not certain she's forgiven me yet for not allowing her to go on the unsupervised senior trip to Mexico, but oh well.)

She's been both my joy and heart ache, because we never cease worrying about our children. She's a comfort and salve to my soul. Sadly and unfairly, there have been times when the roles have reversed and she has mothered me. She carries my heart, and I hope it's not a burden. She's given me the precious gift of grandchildren and she's a better mother than I ever thought about being. I did something right. I am so lucky.