On this day eighteen years ago, Adam came to live with us.
From the moment of conception until the day he was born, the wee little parasite wrecked havoc on me. Early in the pregnancy I spent weeks flat on my back. Motion made me vomit. The smell or sight of food made me vomit. The telephone made me vomit. Near the end of the pregnancy I was on bed rest.
It didn't matter.
I was so in love with our baby. I dreamt of him and wondered who he would be. I hoped I would be enough for him.
Shortly after making his first ever ambulance sale in Cokato, Minnesota, Joe registered me at Unity Hospital in Fridley. We were a little concerned because I should not have been having contractions yet; the baby wasn't due until December 5.
We waited in a room with a baby monitor while the doctors and nurses ran tests to see how well the baby's lungs had developed.
I'm not sure what Dr L actually said when he came in the room with the news that we could have our baby; I saw in his face that all was well and turned my attention inward.
Dr L broke the membranes and things started happening fast. And then, suddenly, things stopped happening. When the doctor came to recommend pitocin, I recalled the childbirth instructor's comment, "Often once there is one medical intervention, others follow." Crap. I wasn't doing labor right.
Things happened even faster. Nearly thirty hours after arriving at the hospital, the contractions were ninety seconds long with fifteen or twenty second pauses.
Joe doesn't like hospitals or doctors or blood. He gets faint.
In the last days of our pregnancy, he was my Knight in Shining Armor.
He stayed with me for the duration. He watched the monitor. When he saw a contraction starting, he held my face in his hands and said, "Okay, Kari. Breathe." He washed my face with warm washclothes. When the nurse said it might help, he rubbed the small of my back. He helped me take a shower to help me find rest. He fed me M & M's and gave me sips of water. He encouraged me to sleep in the seconds between contractions.
And, when the doctor came to recommend a surgical delivery, he said, "Do what you think is best. She can't do this anymore."
I let myself rest in the circle of his arms, knowing he would keep me safe. After all these years, I'm not sure I could feel safe without Joe.
It seemed like hours later they were doing all the prep for the surgery. Joe left me to do his own prep. The next time I saw him, he looked like he belonged to the hospital rather than to me. Joe stood by my head with his hands on my shoulders and watched for his first glimspe of our baby.
I watched his face.
I felt some pressure and then a huge release as they lifted our baby from and held him over the sheet. His little scrunched body was dark skinned and beautiful. Even his wee face was scrunched too. He was trying to open his eyes -- much like he does to this day -- to see his brand new world.
And on Joe's face, I saw wonder and awe, two magnificent gifts of the Spirit. I watched Joe fall in love with our son. He whispered, "It really is a baby."
He looked a little surprised when I answered "Adam Joseph" to the nurse requesting the baby's name. It wasn't what we'd chosen. Every year when I told Adam the story of his beginning, I always told him God whispered in my ear.
In the mad rush of love Adam brought us on November 13, 1991, I forgot the long months of pregnancy and the intensely difficult hours of labor.
Suffering disappears in the enveloping folds of love; even when love causes the suffering.
To the woman he said: "I will intensify the pangs of your childbearing; in pain shall you bring forth children. Yet your urge shall be for your husband, and he shall be your master."
Genesis 3:3
Happy Birthday, Adam. We are so proud of the boy you were and the man you are becoming. It's not going to be easy to make your way in the world, but you have the tools you need for the job. We like to think you'll take on every challenge the way you take on offensive players on the soccer field: head-on and with no quarter! And in life -- just like on the field -- when you do fall, get up, dust off your knees, and take the next step. Keep your faith, honor, and courage, and rest in the circle of your family and friends.
And, Adam, thank you for the Grace you brought to our lives.
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