K is for Knowing

breakfast at Mama's

Unseen threads of psychic spider web link me to my children in good and terrible ways. Many choose to take a broom to those webs.  But if you are very quiet and can be very brave, if you are listening to your gut, and paying attention, you know. A mother knows.

It used to creep me out when a random thought would pop into my head and my eldest son would start asking me about it.  Something would remind me of my sister and then for some reason I would be thinking of her Teva sandals and my son would ask me if he could get new water sandals because his were too small.  Something would remind me of my family in Texas, a pickup truck or the clouds and my son would say, “I wish we had Sonic here.”  I got used to it.  The nagging pull from him is constant.

maybe just practicing?

It didn’t happen as often with my second son, but he was much more cerebral, less verbal.  He was also a sleepwalker so my mission was different.  I woke up at 2 am and immediately knew.  He was outside, in the rain, in his footed pj’s, fishing with a plush fabric pole that had Velcro at the end of the line, to pick up felt fish. Sound asleep but successfully catching felt fish. 

My daughter, is just a different animal altogether. I think her first words were: “What’s next?” She’s the one who took the broom to the webs, as she just blazes a trail to whatever it is she needs.  

Sea Ranch was on the To Do list

A very articulate communicator from the get go, she started making to do lists before she could write. She was slightly jig saw puzzle obsessed. There was no such thing as Not Finishing the Puzzle. My job has always been to create a cocoon for her to relax and not be so task oriented.  I kept her home until she was four, unlike her brothers, who would have loved preschool at 11 months, right? She was fun to hang out with, hike, go to the beach, anywhere without puzzles. She still is.  They all are really.  The mother web is intact.

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Salish

Two years ago I had the privilege of participating in my nephew’s birth. When I arrived,  I waited behind the curtain until her contraction peaked and then went in to say hello.  

"You’re a liar and I hate you," she said weakly. 

While it was best that she didn’t witness my first two deliveries, watching me sneeze out my third probably wasn’t the best preparation for this day. With my third I wised up and got the epidural.  It was a significantly more graceful process.  I napped.  I read.  I glanced over at the monitor when I felt my e-friggin’-normous stomach tighten.  “Whoo – that was a doozy!” My sister rubbed my feet and fought with my husband for the cozier recliner

I tried to explain the difference but she wasn’t buying it.  I gently suggested that she get the drugs.  You get numb for a filling, right?  There’s no shame in getting relief ; no extra credit for suffering needlessly.  Of course it was useless. In this Seattle birth center, we had a dula, a tai chi master/labyrinth facilitator/impending grandma, two expecting parent biologists, and me; there would be no drugs today.

I’d never been present for the birth of a baby, outside of my own three. I’ve been the big sweaty groaning mess who couldn’t remember how to breathe.  Playing a supporting role was a relief.  Holding her hand, lifting her knee, offering words of support and encouragement came easily.  I knew my brother in law wanted to be down at the business end where I was, to watch his son’s head crown, but my sister had him in a headlock as her contractions heated up. She wasn’t letting me relinquish my post either, with her knee and hand.

When Oliver Salish emerged, after the feeling returned to my hand, his new grandma and I shared the most biologically bizarre sensation. The unmistakable tingle and ache of letdown. We were both very physically and emotionally immersed in this birth, so this must be Nature’s way of making sure the wee one eats.  Nice to know you can be useful.

2007
Mary Allison Tierney's essay The Gingerdreadman is included in the anthology Mamas Write, available at Amazon, or your local independent bookshop.

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