violet jane is three months old today and it seems like a good day to say goodbye to rainbow babies hospital.
i don’t know if it’s normal to feel warm, fuzzy feelings about the hospital where your children were born, but normal or not, every time i see that parking garage with its rainbow colored staircase i get all choked up. and since i live a block away from the hospital, this happens a lot.
i love to think of the night henry was born. i love to remember the afternoon where i labored in my apartment with my parents and joe, not knowing exactly what was happening to me. i laugh at myself when i recall the conversation i had with the midwife over the phone: at one point she told me that i didn’t have to talk during contractions if they were really intense. and i was so relieved. i love to think of our walk to the hospital across the moonlit cornell bridge. how i walked slowly and deliberately. how debbi the doula or joe held my hands during contractions. i love to remember those hours i spent in the water when everything, including my body 
and time itself, felt completely suspended. i like to remember my father’s face as he sat in a corner in a rocking chair. it’s the face i imagine god is wearing each time one of his daughter’s give birth. a face that says, you’ll be okay. even though your body is stretching and contorting and ripping apart, you’ll be okay. even though you’ve never done this and you’re afraid, you’ll be okay. even though everything you’ve ever understood about yourself and humanity and the earth and eternity will become obsolete, you’ll be okay. even though when i look at you i still see my baby, you’ll be okay.
and there are equally tender moments with violet. i love to remember how present i was during my labor. how i could laugh and chat with mom and debbi and joe between contractions. i love remembering that even though i was afraid of laboring on a bed attached to all sorts of machines 
and whatnots, i did it. and most of all i love the moment that i pulled violet jane onto my stomach. i love to remember her eyes, the way she looked at me, her look mirroring my own, i imagine. a look that said, i have no idea what’s happening but i’m here and i love you and it will be okay.
That is just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever read about dads and birth. I wish my parents could have been here when Josie was born. Like Jenny said, good thing we have Joepas and Pagas.
Amity sent me here
I thank her for that,
and for the memories
of her own birthing party,
the one that was so fun
that Marcia soon said,
“See! It’s a midwife I’ll be!”
And she was,
and she was there
to share in the
miracle of birth
for Everymom,
typical of each
who has become a mother
and shared the wonder
of creation and of birth.
Dads who are blessed
to witness the sacred moment
see the power of woman
the coming of heaven spirit
to mortal life, the fruit of labor
just barely begun to
work the work of love,
a love that grows from
the sacrifices that come
to bring forth joy.
None can know, beforehand
what life will bring
to us, to this little one.
But love assures us
It will be good!
Not just ok! but good, very good.
How wonderful that Heavenly Parents
share with us the gift of life,
and let us pass it on.
So,
Thanks–
thanks to all the moms.
We are glad that you were born
thank you for the smile.
Beautiful! You have a gift Jessie. Thank you for sharing it with us. I loved the part about your dad, he must be so proud of you!