The birth day

Years ago, and well into my seventh month of pregnancy in New York City, it occurred to me one day that, as I would be unable to run from a fast predator, I was lucky not to run into an urban panther. These weekly blogs will consider women's lives from the perspective of one who is now older.

My grandson just had his third birthday. He’s the first of that generation, the child of my son and his partner, who was a bit past her due date three years ago. So my daughter and I went to their place in true clown-car fashion to distract them. We brought games, movies, and conversation to take their minds off what was imminent but not yet happening.

Then labor started, lightly at first, then quite heavily -- and we suddenly were there for the duration. We called the midwife, and three of them arrived, so helpful, so focused, so calming. The contractions were strong and back labor intense. My son worked through every contraction, supporting her stance, massaging her back; it was amazingly beautiful to see. I thought about all those men over the years who were shut out of the labor room and forced to pace the floor by themselves. It seems to me that this is what they should have been doing, should have been allowed to do.

When transition started, it was long and hard. My daughter and I were on the floor below, sending Reiki to the work happening above us. Pushing the baby out took some time, and I heard the laboring mother’s voice, pained, frightened. Sitting on the landing below, concentrating on Reiki, I flashed on Isis -- goddess of motherhood, magic, fertility -- and asked for her help. I felt her arrival.

We knew the moment he was born, because his mother’s voice, which had been distressed, became ecstatic, welcoming him. The midwife said we could come upstairs, and I walked into one of the most wondrous sights I’ve ever seen. On the bed were the three of them: the baby stretched out on his mother’s belly, she leaning against my son, he leaning against the headboard. The room was filled with sweetness.

Once he nursed, I got to hold that sleeping baby as his parents slept, too. This is the start of us, I told him, of our grand relationship -- grandson, grandmother -- nothing like the cliches, the ones about grandparents enjoying the grandchildren and then giving them back to the parents when the fun stops.

This is a profound stage of life. It seems to me that, as grandparents are freed from the responsibilities of parenting and providing a home, we can concentrate on protecting a grandchild’s spirit, nurturing his soul, helping him grow.

Love makes it grand.