The fall day was warm in Wisconsin. My husband was mowing the lawn. My daughter, age two, was next door with a neighbor. Her husband was following me around the house timing contractions. It was the day my son would be born.
After his birth my son was quickly taken to the warmer. His parents were only given a look at their new family member. We went back to the room and waited and waited and waited. The evening meal came, and I waited some more. Each time the nurse came into the room I asked for my baby I'd yet to touch. I was told he was fine and sleeping. Maybe I would get him later. I stayed awake all night waiting to meet my son. He wasn't brought to me until morning.
Times have changed. Dad's were just beginning to be allowed into the delivery room. Birth without meds was new. Heck, paper diapers were new!
I don't know what it was that held up this first visit with my son. My first born came to me not long after her birth. I'm thinking perhaps the nurses all fell in love with this baby and didn't want to part with him.
Time has gone quickly....those thirty-seven years. We mothers never forget those moments when our children are born. When they are first placed in our arms. We check out every bit of this child who had shared our bodies those nine months. I remember looking at him thinking, "So this is you." We find new parts of ourselves in the new life. A new love takes hold and doesn't let go.
In a hospital in Appleton, Wisconsin, a mother and son reunion began. Happy Birthday, James.