As I post this, the day before my eldest son's 51st birthday, I'm thinking how it was the last day of that pregnancy.
A first time mother, about to give birth in a Naval Hospital in 1964.
I had no women friends, and my mother lived 800 miles away. My grandmother was closer, but I didn't think to ask her to come help me through this. I was so sure it would be easy to do. I was so wrong.
Well, this is that good old 20-20 hindsight.
Women need other women when giving birth. I now have so many more women friends who support me whenever I need to share, emote, laugh, or just let my hair down. Why oh why did I think one man, my ever lovin' husband, would be enough for all the support I needed. It had to do with believing mainly in romance...like novels and movies, and sometimes TV shows. That of course eventually led to my wising up and getting a divorce a few years down the road.
In reality, doctors and male nurses helped deliver my son. I'm so grateful that they knew what was going on, because I sure didn't.
I was really thrilled the first time they brought him to me the next morning after his birth. The night before he'd been weighed and given a number based on who knows what (my nurse friends do)...and taken to the nursery, while I went to a room full of other new moms.
And I was taught how to breast feed, fortunately by a female nurse by now.
I'm so glad that new-born babies are given more comforting and so are mothers these days.
But the main point of my story is that he's lived over half a century now, and is doing fine. I'm so proud of him, for his accomplishments and his children. He has a wonderful sense of humor, is an imaginative and creative person, is very intellectual, is a great dad, a gentle boyfriend to his lady love, and works diligently on his newish (to him) home.