It was a wild ride, that weekend 11 years ago, and the universe is playing it back for us this weekend, to remember, so we are reading his birth-story, in parts, over the course of the weekend, and I am prone to repeating some bits:
4am: My first contraction, and a light snow falling
11am: crocuses opening in the spring sunshine, robins and woodpeckers returned; our water broke
And a long long day of labour, held close by my husband, mother, and brother, as my Pappa drove through a snowstorm to join us, in the night. I should have been pushing for hours, already, but he wasn't dropping down, and I was singing my fears and pains and exhaustion away.
All babies are born, saying God's name~Sinead O'Connor
Over and over all born, singing God's name
All babies are flown from the Universe
From there they're lifted by the hands of angels
God gives them the stars to use as ladders
She hears their calls
She is mother and father
All babies are born out of great pain
Over and over all born, into great pain
All babies are crying
For no one remembers God's name
There's only love; there's only love;
there's only love in this world!
1?am: his heart stopping, we made the decision to have an emergency c-section, and my own Pappa arrived.
1:44am: he was pulled from my open womb, the cord untangled from his strong neck, "It's a boy!", his little bum quickly held over my blue screen for proof, and (after an agonizing time of waiting, while they assessed him) placed in my arms.
That day the rest of my family came to visit, including little Hannah, her face smeared with her own 5-year birthday cake. Yes, the first two cousins in the family, and they had the same birthday!
It was a late waning moon, and a long exhausting haul over those few days in the hospital, me waiting for permission to sit up, and eventually to walk; Markus tending to our every need through 40 hours with 0 sleep, until he was wavering like a swordfern in the breeze and I was afraid he'd fall over with the baby. My Mum came to relieve him, and spent the night looking after us; loving us, reassuring me that a c-section is not a failure, and helping us all move into the present beautiful moment. And after a night on Bowen Markus returned, and spent the last of the hospital nights with me, there. That was the night the nurse stole my baby.
She wanted to give him formula, and I had refused. So had my midwife. She and the midwife had argued about it in the hallway, that afternoon. So she came back at 3am when I was crying, trying to feed him pumped milk from a cup (?!) as instructed, and told me I was too tired to be a good mother. She dumped formula down his screaming little throat, put him in a little plastic bassinet and wheeled him away. "I'll keep him for 4 hours, and if he wakes up I'll feed him more formula."
In all my life, before or since, I have never felt so angry, so terrified, and so desperate. I think I was on the verge of nervous breakdown, and I stood there in that suddenly-empty hospital room, sobbing uncontrollably: "My baby! She stole my baby! She can't take him! He doesn't even have a name!!!" Until, within a minute or two of failing to calm me, Markus left to go find our baby.
10 minutes later, Markus returned with our son, and collapsed ontop of me, sobbing, himself. I said how could I even scream for him if he didn't have a name? And Markus caught his breath up: "Taliesin". And so he was. Markus told me that by the time he got out there, they had already given him more formula, and wouldn't let him take the baby back. So he said he would just sit there with his son and protect him, until they let him take him away. And he did. And eventually the nurse got tired and let them go.
We took our little Taliesin home, to a warm and cozy house, dinner cooking for us in the oven, and welcomed him to his grandparents, his dog, his cats, and his own, safe home, where no nasty nurses come in the night to take us away! It was a dark moon, and a quiet night, and our little family was born.
And today my growing boy woke up, got dressed, and picked up a hairbrush. I think he decided that 11 might be a good age to start some personal grooming. He's very serious about these things. Both the lack of necessity and the necessity, when the mood strikes him! He had a bowl of muesli and a smoothie made with the end of last year's frozen strawberries and apples. Food from our own garden never fails to delight us!! He called his uncle Keith and his cousin Hannah, who both share his birthday, and had (with his cousin) what I think must be a typically awkward 11-year-old boy conversation: "Uh. So happy birthday. Yeah. Thanks. Um. What did you do today? Oh. Um. Um. Oh I had breakfast, and, um. Went to the beach with friends. Yeah. So what are you going to do later? Oh. Oh. Yeah." My now-16-year-old niece was patient and gracious, and it was lovely they could share a few moments, together. Tal is now out watching his friends perform their musical, and then he'll come home to a little surprise birthday cake.
|Rhiannon watering her beloved bulbs.|
And I will leave the last words to her: