A friend has posted an update to her blog; the birth story of her youngest son. My first thought was that the tale was unextraordinary. My peers and I are in throes of child bearing right now, and it may be that I have become a bit blasé about things like contractions and missed epidurals. I read it anyway, in support of a fellow mother and her brave efforts to be heard.
Her story isn't uncommon; she tells of early labor that lasted for days, the poignancy of leaving her first born when the time came to deliver his brother, and the sublime joy of introducing them to eachother a few days later. I've heard it before, and, in my own way, experienced it myself. Yet, somehow, I seemed to have forgotten that this most basic and ancient of human traditions is the core of human magic and mystery.
I began reading out of a sense of sisterly duty, but soon my eyes pricked with emotion, and my breath caught in my lungs. How foolish I'd been. Birth stories may be as old and plentiful as the human race, but they are also each unique, and full of mystery. In recording the story of the birth of her second son, and publishing it in her blog, my friend, Mrs. S, has offered her readers a glimpse of something beautiful and miraculous.
In short: thank you, Mrs. S, for your life-affirming account of the miraculous birth of your second son, and for inspiring me to record how each of my children entered the world. These are stories that matter.
Click here to read the original story.
Or, copy and paste the address: http://www.chasingparker.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-birth-story-of-connor-james.html?m=1
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