Labor: Some Musings

Erin’s contractions are coming faster now; the graph shows the peaks and valley of her body’s work and the baby’s heart rate pounds through them on the monitor, accelerating every once in a while as he apparently rolls around in my sister’s tummy.

Its been a slow start. She checked into the hospital last night, the night before her due date, expecting maybe to have a baby sooner rather than later. Or maybe that was just me.

I feel at a loss right now. This ability of female bodies, of my body, to create and nurture life is one that I’ve always taken for granted. Yes, I took sex ed. I watched every bloody amazing scene of The Miracle of Life. I am familiar with the basic outline of my own fertility. But as I watch Erin breathe slowly through the pain of her labor, I realize how little all of that academic knowledge means. I am one step closer to experiencing that work and those mechanics myself, and yet that last step is a huge chasm of ignorance and doubt and fear. Could I even have a baby? So many women seem to have trouble these days. You hear about it when you’re talking with your girlfriends. So and so are trying, but its been a while. So and so miscarried. So and so and so and so and you realize that this thing that you’ve always assumed your body does naturally without effort is a very effortful thing indeed.

I wonder about how having babies has changed throughout the ages. I’m sure basics are and will always be very much the same. Conceive. Gestate. Contract and relax. Broken water. Pushing, breathing, pain. But that work, I think, isn’t something that can be understood until you do it. I feel very much like an outsider watching Erin breathe through her contractions. I understand the mechanics, yes, and the reality of what those mechanics are is much more real to me now. But Mom will understand the most; and the nurse Suzy, who is so knowledgeable and kind. They are both on the other side of that chasm.

Erin’s face relaxes and she snoozes for a while, at least until another contraction takes hold of her. Right now, she is resting, gathering strength for the labor to come. Labor, I think, in the truest sense of the word.

Update: This post was written on May 1st, 2014. On May 2, after 36 hours of labor, Erin gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Hunter Luke. He is absolutely perfect!

Pittsburgh: The Dance (in moments)

On Friday night, Sara took me to the James Street Gastropub and Speakeasy for a dance. We were both excited, she because of the band, the super amazing awesome Boilermaker Jazz Band, and I because I was dancing in a new scene and that's always exciting. The evening lived up to every single expectation I had for it and then some. I was so happy I don't even remember a coherent order of events, so here's the evening as I remember it. In moments.

I'm out of breath as the first song ends. Jared leads me into a low dip and I laugh.

"Wow, that was awesome, let's do it again!" "Right now?" "Sure, why not!" And we dance another because its just that awesome.

Balboa shuffling across the floor.

Recognizing the dull, somewhat dingy whiteness of a well-loved pair of Aris Allens from across the room and knowing I'm in for a treat when the lead they belong to leads me onto the floor.

Pushing it and crossing over, because that's what Frankie would've done.

Kelvin kick-ball-changing in that oh so L.A. style and leading me into a swing out that, if people still did, could be called "California" rather than "Savoy."

In a rare moment of not dancing, I'm impressed at Johnny out-Tolkiening me with his language skillz (sic) rather than his dance ones.

Leading a newbie and hearing "You know, I think I get this now. Do you teach this?"

Realizing how fast the floor is after nearly losing it on more than one occasion.

The first hot note of the Boilermakers.

Nearly, but not actually dying dancing with Jared to "Rugcutter."

BALBOA BALBOA BALBOA. Ralph is smooth as silk the second time around and I relax into lollies and come-arounds.

Closing my eyes, thinking and then saying, "was that a triple basic? Dayum, this boy is good." And then him laughingly telling me that he had actually just messed up. Coulda fooled me.

Wishing I had brought my heels, even though I'm an amazon in them, because I would love to be digging in for some sweet Bal styling.

The smooth as butter cream swing out with John Paul (at least I think that was his name...who knows at a lindy dance?)

Funky blues dancing with John (John? I think so), even though my sexy blues face is basically a grin and I can't stop looking at my feet (eye contact during a blues dance is a dangerous thing).

Twisting my skirt back around after so many toss-outs.

Switching lead and follow with a funny kid in a red shirt...gorgeous follow, but a more improvisational lead than me. After a while, he is firmly in the driver's seat because dang, he's fun to follow.

Remembering scissor kicks and breaking them out whenever I think of it.

Asking the band for "Smooth Sailing" but sad when the Boilermakers don't know it. Oh well, the next song is just as good.

Putting my hair back up for the fiftieth time because I'm dancing so hard.

The thrill of meeting new dancers on a gorgeous (fast) floor with amazing music.

Thanks, Pittsburgh dancers! I had an amazing time and I hope I get to dance with you all again sooner rather than later!

Oh, Fickle Muse!

I meant to be writing about a dance in Pittsburgh. I will get to that, I swear, but this is what happens when you sit on the patio at Raging Sage in lovely weather.

The small patio at Raging Sage is full today. The burble of voices mixes around me and orange blossoms cover us all with sweet smells. Can you blame us all for taking this beautiful morning out in the Arizona sun? This is the land of Never-Winter, where Summer is never ever far way. While the rest of the country shivers in the dark and in the cold, we bask in warmth, and house finches and mockingbirds sing, adding their voices to our shared happiness.

Soon, of course, we won't be joyous. Sooner than we want or expect, Never-Winter will end and Summer will return, almost certainly with force. After all, he has only barely been held back this year. Even as I soak in the warmth of spring sun, I can feel him. I can feel him scaring away our deep freezes and drying out our soft winter rains. He is nudging us toward what I think will be a dictatorial season of stifling heat. There are joys there too, but they're fleeting and few: the blast of heat after spending too much time air-conditioned, the first sip of icy beverage in 100+ degrees. But too quickly Summer dries out those small joys. Or forces them out of you through your pores in sweat that evaporates so quickly you don't know it existed.

So I will enjoy this beautiful spring morning all the more knowing (though maybe not admitting to myself) that it is fleeting and will too soon be trampled under the heel of cruel Summer.