Squid’s Word

“….your pain is mine, my blood is yours. Can you hear me? I’m calling you….”

“Power over me” Mr. Mister (go on… @1987)

It’s about to happen again. 60 days to go. Here it  comes! No place to hide.

How do you stand against the waves? Big or small, fast or slow they always wash over you and leave their mark on the beach of your life. You are left with the effects of their power and influence. Scanning the beach, you search for any semblance of what was there a short time ago….

…nope, all gone.

It’s happened before. The first time it was a surprise. The second time was sooner than expected. The third time, planned for and knew it was coming. The fourth time…well the fourth time didn’t happen.

“….this is the power over me. I’m rendered helpless. You’ve got me on my knees….”

The wave is about to crest. Wet, blue, undulating curve and white foam. I know what’s coming next: I end up soaked and toes over nose. No choice but to go with it. Even if I were to somehow figure out a way to resist, It would still knock me over.

Doesn’t hurt though. Never has. After scooping me up, there’s this sweet floating sensation, almost like a cradle or hammock. Then, I’m gently laid out on the beach as the wave subsides.

And when it’s over, I start breathing again; there’s this burst of joy. I sob like a baby. I cry until I can’t cry anymore.

“…I sit and watch you sleep, as you dream your dangerous dreams. I feel the healing heat, as the inner voices scream….”

It’s a little girl. And she’s due November 30th. I haven’t met her yet. But I’m drawn to her and can’t look away. And it was this way with the other three too. 

 I think it goes without saying that having children means changes. But watching your wife give birth, to me that’s profound.

From the moment she says:”…I think that was a contraction…” through the check-in at the hospital, the ice chips and the IV’s, the ever increasing intensity of labor, the sweat, pain and tears,

…to the the moment you see your baby for the first time…

I remember the moment each one of my children first drew breath. I was there. I saw it happen.

CRASH!!

The wave hits me. I’m toes over nose. Soaked in the moment, holding my breath…

…breathe baby girl…

…breathe Squid….

…breathe baby girl….

…breathe Squid….

….breathe baby boy…

….breathe Squid….

Everything’s fine. APGAR score is normal; they’re pink and warm. OK, the wave has subsided, now I can breathe.

One note here for female readers: I don’t pretend to equate what happens in me through this process with what you go through.

As emotionally intense as watching my wife give birth is for me, my moments for release have always come after.  My personality has always made me good in emergency and intense situations. I can usually process through the event(s) after the fact. I think I get that from my mother.

When I know things are OK with Gem and the baby, that’s my moment.

Wave’s gone now, beach is somehow different. It looks cleaner and messier at the same time. The sun is shining and the breeze is beginning to dry me off….

…and I can’t stop crying…

Next time, I want a surfboard!

Squid