We realized the other day that our kids were each born in a different season. Ani was born in the winter, Cameron came in the fall, Fritz arrived in the summer, and Adrian just barely made it in the spring. The day after he was born it became summer.
It’s hard to get a decent picture of three kids. It’s near impossible to get one of four!
The other night we went for a walk around our block. It’s always fun to watch Fritz because he just has an incredibly obvious love of being alive. He reminds you just what is important.
At the end of our block there was a townhouse with their main door open. Behind the storm door was a cute little dog barking at us. Fritz stopped at the end of their walkway and started talking to the dog in a mix of words, babbles, and “woofs.” A little bit later Fritz stooped down to talk to a little bee as it buzzed from flower to flower.
It’s the little things I’d never notice or care about if it wasn’t for the toddler pointing them out that make life really fun.
Last night I changed Adrian’s diaper and discovered that his umbilical cord stump had fallen off. He was 6 days old. None of my kids have held on to those things more than a week.
Of course we don’t know where the stump went. It was there when I changed him the previous time. He was wearing a gown so it must have fallen out of his clothes. Somewhere.
The most amazing thing looking back on Adrian’s birth is that I delivered him myself. While I was pushing him out I naturally kept my finger on his head to see where he was the whole way out. Then when his head emerged I instinctively reached down to support him and to guide out his shoulders. I pulled out the rest of his body and brought him up without thinking about it. It was just all totally naturally and so incredible now to think back on.
Doesn’t our cradle look so much better this way?
I’ve never really cared about the Mormon pioneers. I’m not descended from any. My parents are converts. I’ve never lived in Utah and so July 24th has never been a state holiday. Just like all the others who crossed the plains in wagons and pulling handcarts, what they did was admirable, but I’ve never felt like it was such the incredible thing some make it out to be.
Then I had my first homebirth almost 2 years ago. I suddenly felt a little more of a tie to those pioneer women who had babies along the way. For them, “home” was a wagon, a tent, or even just the side of the trail. I gave birth and stayed in my comfy bed in our air conditioned apartment with plenty of food. The pioneer women gave birth and often had to keep right on going on their way.
Now I’ve had a second homebirth and again I am grateful for my circumstances that allow me to recover in my comfortable bed in my air conditioned townhouse and eat whatever I want whenever I want. I really respect what those pioneer women did. I’m really glad I was not one of them. I still don’t get all into the pioneer thing like many others I know do, but at least I care about them a little more.