I had just turned 23 years old when I realized that I was pregnant with my fourth and last child. Seeing as I am being as honest I can be, I have to tell you I was not thrilled at that moment. I already had 3 children, the youngest being 5 months old and I was raising 3 step daughters, and of course I was 23 years old. The other really strange thing was that I thought I couldn't have been pregnant. By that time I definately knew what caused pregnancy. When I brought this to my Doctors attention he said a few things like "being a sound sleeper" which I wasn't and still am not, although I sleep much sounder now than I did when I had a 5 month colicky baby boy right beside me. However, I was pregnant and when my Doctor told me that there was a good chance I would not carry this child and if I did this would be the last child I could ever have, my attitude changed dramatically. I went right from "Oh Shit, I can't be pregnant again" to "What do you mean I may not carry this baby and I can never have another, I am only 23 years old". Suddenly this unborn child became the most important thing in my world. As it turned out I had uneventful pregnancy and a very easy delivery.
On September 5th, 1961, a Tuesday morning, my second born child, first daughter, started school. And I was in labour. I decided that I wasn't going to hospital until I put her on the school bus for her first day of school. While I brushed her hair, dressed her in her new outfit and talked her through her first day nervousness, I was doubling in half with labour pains. Finally the bus arrived, I kissed her goodbye and she got on the bus. By this time the pains were about 5 minutes apart. My husband shoved me into the car, I think he was more frightened than I was, and we drove to the hospital. I arrived at the hospital at about 8:50a.m. I tried to tell the admitting nurses or clerks that I was minutes away from delivering, but anyone of you who has ever delivered a baby knows that these people are in no hurry, and anyway they know MUCH more than you...................finally at 8:57a.m. I was admitted as a patient and at 9:03a.m. Tami Iola MacCharles was born.
This was the pink and white baby girl that I had been waiting for all of my life. She was perfect, not a blemish anywhere. I enjoyed every minute of her infancy. She was such a good, happy baby. I remember thinking this is the last time I will ever have an 8 day old baby, a 9 day day old baby, etc etc. I did something with this baby that I had never done with my others. When she was put in my arms, while she was attached to my body, I welcomed her to the world. Many years later I would find out that this was an important rite of being born. You should welcome your child to the world, especially to your world. I told her how glad I was that she was born and that she was here. How I had a place ready for her, not only a physical place but an emotional place in my heart and in my soul. I had this talk with her while she was still physically attached to me, before the cord was cut. I knew she was the last baby to come from my body and I honoured her, however she got there. She was here now and she has been my joy ever since. Thank You Tami; for being born and being born to me.
Sunday, January 23rd, 2011...............11:33p.m.
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