Mamma to Mamma

People have often said I look like my mom. I don't always see it. Mostly because she is mousy brown (originally :) ) and blue eyed and I am dark brown (originally) and brown eyed. But, boy do I see it here.This picture was taken about 4 hours before she helped welcome her 6th grandchild into this world. We had to move across the country for her to make it to a delivery. We called when we went into labor with Olivia and they weren't even out of the neighborhood before we called back to say, "She's here!" And she almost missed it here. Her plane was scheduled to take her home on August the 10th and Greta tarried until the 7th. Nerve racking.

If I had one thing I could go back and do differently about having my mom here, it would be to go back and pay more attention. I spent the first 7 days anxious that she was going to miss it. Then, once it started...well, labor and delivery is pretty overwhelming and all my mental energy went to that once it started. I find myself straining my memory to those 5-6 hours - waking her up to say, "let's go" - walking in circles around the hospital lobby, wondering if we came too soon (above picture) - sitting in the triage, annoyed that my contractions seemed to have slowed, listening to the woman barf in corral #2...not everything is worth straining my memory for.

There were comments and looks exchanged that I am certain I will forget over time, so I have written them in my journal (the one I have kept of my pregnancies, deliveries, and growth of the kids - remember my "issue" with journals - yes, I have one just for this). We have talked about what the experience was like for her...being there for the birth of a grandchild...watching the one you brought into the world, bring in another. But, I doubt I will ever really know what it was like for her, deep in her heart. But deep in my heart it was very special. Special to have the one who endured such pain for me (not just in child birth), hold my hand in my own pain. To have her wipe my smudged eye make-up (as only a good southern mother could) after it was all over. To have her tell me I could do it just when I was thinking trying this for a 3rd time was the dumbest decision I ever made.

Thank you for being here, Mamma. And thanks to Daddy for letting you come and stay so long. It was an experience I will never forget. And if I do, I'll just reread it in my journal.