Three and a Half Years

On the morning of September 24th, 2006, I woke early, around 5 am, and headed to the bathroom for my third or fourth "potty break" since hitting the sack the previous evening.  I didn't think much of it; at nine months pregnant, I was used to frequent nocturnal trips to the toilet.  But as I did my business, I realized quickly that this time was a little different.  I'll spare you the graphic details and just say this: while in the bathroom, I was given a sign that labor may (or may not) be commencing soon.  As I headed back to bed, I tried to convince myself that it was silly to get too excited.  It's probably nothing, I told myself, go back to bed, get some rest.  I climbed under the covers and closed my eyes, took some deep breaths and tried to relax.  And then it hit me -- the first contraction.  It wasn't really what I expected.  It felt somewhat like a bad menstrual cramp, but not constant, just a brief wave of pain washing over my abdomen.  The fact that it was so mild made me wonder if I was just imagining things.  But, deep down, I knew.  This was different.  This was new.  Today was the day.

That first contraction was the beginning of a 23-hour labor that resulted in the birth of my first child and only son, Evan Samuel.  The first 10 or 11 hours were relatively easy.  We hung out at home, took a brief walk around the neighborhood, finally painted the changing table for Evan's nursery, ate In 'N' Out burgers, and brushed up on our Bradley skills as if we were cramming for a big test.

The remaining 12 hours, spent primarily at the hospital, were very, very difficult.  When I first became pregnant, I knew that I wanted to give birth unmedicated.  My mother and my mother-in-law were extremely supportive and both recommended to me that I try the Bradley Method of natural childbirth.  My mom helped me find an instructor in the area, and my mother-in-law gave me the book that she used to learn the method before giving birth to her daughter in 1986.  Armed with months of preparation and lovingly supported in that hospital room by my husband and mother, I was able to achieve my goal of an unmedicated birth.  This is something I am incredibly proud of and that I consider to be one of my greatest accomplishments in life.

After 23 hours of labor, including two full hours of pushing, I finally gave birth to my son and was able to hold him in my arms.  He was purple and wet and covered in goo, his face twisted into an awful expression of discontent.  He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I was exhausted.

I was in love.

As I looked at his little face that morning, I could sense that he was sending me a message. That, through his long, arduous journey and eventual, begrudging entrance into the world, he was making a statement, and that statement was this: I'm not gonna make things easy on you, Mom, but I will be worth it.

And how.





Evan Samuel: Three and a Half Years from Alison Silack on Vimeo.

*I should note that the music during the slideshow is "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane, a song that really spoke to me during my pregnancy.  I used to listen to it over and over while getting ready for work.  I would sing along and sort of rock back and forth and I could tell that Evan liked it.  Since then, I have considered it one of "our songs."

Small Wonder

"There's a whole apple tree in there?" he asked in wide-eyed wonder, staring down at the small brown seed that sat in the palm of my hand.  It tumbled to the floor as I prepared a snack for the two of us to share: sliced apples dipped in a mix of peanut butter and honey.  This happens often when I slice apples.  The seeds fall, I bend to pick them up, toss them in the sink.  But this time Evan was there, waiting patiently for his snack as we chatted about something, most likely monster trucks, his latest obsession.  The seed fell and he picked it up quickly, inspecting it with his curious young eyes, bright blue and big as saucers.

"Did you know," I asked, taking the seed and placing it in the palm of my hand, "if we buried this seed in the ground and gave it sunshine and water and love, it would slowly but surely grow into a great big apple tree?"  To his three-year-old mind, this was absolutely amazing; how fantastic that an entire tree could be encapsulated in a tiny seed!

"Can we do it, Mom?  Right now?  In the back yard?"  His excitement was contagious and I found myself giddy at the thought of having our very own apple tree.  Then my adult mind kicked in and I told him that it probably wouldn't survive if we just stuck it in the ground in the back yard.  A squirrel may dig it up; we may forget it's exact location.  We decided instead, that we would plant the seed in a small pot and keep it in the house where we would be able to care for it and keep it safe.  Then, when it got big enough, we would move it to the backyard.

"Or," I speculated, allowing my mind to become childish once more, "we could just leave it in the house and have a great big apple tree in our living room!"

"Cool!" he exclaimed, and then became silent, the wheels in his head quite obviously turning.

"Mom, what if we planted the seed in my hand?  What would happen then?  Would a tree grow?"  I could have just laughed, called him a silly head, suggested we eat our snack.  Or, I could have explained to him exactly what a seed needs to grow into a tree and that it would be scientifically impossible to do it in the palm of his hand.  But why would I do that?  The imagination of a three-year-old child is a truly wondrous thing; far be it from me to weigh it down with reason, to dampen it with facts.  How utterly boring.  Why not embrace the moment, try to see it through his eyes?  After all, it is becoming quite clear to me that my child can teach me far more about life than I could ever teach him.

I looked at him as he stared up at me, breathed in deeply, tried to soak in even an ounce of his innocence, his childish excitement, let it fill my heart.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful?"  The words spilled from my lips, "Then you would always have juicy, delicious apples, right at your fingertips!"

"Yeah," he said dreamily, "wouldn't that be wonderful."