Tunesday : Father and Daughter

Father and Daughter

Written and Performed by Paul Simon

If you leap awake in the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second you can't remember where you are
Just open your window and follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain where we counted every falling star

I believe a light that shines on you will shine on you forever
And though I can't guarantee there's nothing scary hiding under your bed
I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave 'til I leave you with a sweet dream in your head

[Chorus:]
I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you

Trust your intuition
It's just like goin' fishin'
You cast your line and hope you get a bite
But you don't need to waste your time
Worryin' about the market place
Try to help the human race
Struggling to survive its harshest night

[Chorus 2x]

I remember hearing this song for the first time when Dave and I took the girls to see The Wild Thornberries - and in addition to it bringing tears to my eyes, I thought to myself, "This is the perfect song to play for a Father of the Bride Dance at a wedding; at one of these girls' weddings"; because while it might sound like it's aiming to choose a favourite between them, it's nevertheless true that no father ever loved a daughter as much as Dave loves both of his girls. This week, I finally get to the event that made us a real family: Kennedy's birth.

As I've said before, we planned to start our family as soon as I was graduated from college, so I spent my last semester of school pregnant (and didn't mind all the extra attention that got me). Delight was the first person I told - as we were getting ready to go out for New Year's Eve - and I mainly told her first because I was frustrated that Dave wasn't constantly monitoring my status: are we or aren't we? With my very light drinking that night - which I told myself was fine because my baby was still only a handful of cells at the time; one can convince oneself of whatever one wants to believe - the cat was soon out of the bag and we had plenty to celebrate that night. I convinced Dave to go buy a pregnancy test the next day, all was confirmed, and despite being only a few weeks pregnant, we made the phone calls that made all the family happy: this was to be the first grandchild on either side and plans were quickly in motion for people to come out and visit this most wanted of children. I soon called an OB-GYN at random in the phone book, was checked out, and was given a due date of the 8th of August. Perfect.

Meanwhile, as I've written before, Dave was laid off from his job as a property manager, but soon got a job with my Uncle Mike's friend Mike as a carpet cleaner (with a plan to eventually bring Dave into a partnership with this Mike). It was incredible how much it rained in Edmonton that summer, and with basements flooding and sewers backing up, Dave was rarely home (which I was actually kind of pissy about: of course his instinct was to work as much and as hard as possible with a baby on the way, but I was wanting attention, too.) Mike's company also did janitorial work, and in order to spend some time together, Dave thought it would be appropriate to ask me - after I had already received my diploma with Kennedy charmingly ballooning out the front of my graduation gown - to come along as he cleaned office buildings (with me vacuuming, begrudgingly lugging the heavy machine up stairs and through hallways) as he emptied bathroom garbages with his bare hands (to save Mike the expense of new garbage bags every week?). Dave also got side work pulling out old carpets in apartment buildings that Mike's company was renovating, and Dave thought it was natural to expect me to haul disgustingly filthy rolls of carpet out to the Dumpster. As I wasn't working, and as this really was the only time we spent together that summer, I understood why Dave would ask me to help him get these jobs done - but they were hard and gross and I didn't like it; especially the bigger I got. The upside: We often stopped for Subway sandwiches at some point, and veggie subs - every vegetable with cheese and no sauces - would be incredibly satisfying: if I had anything like a pregnancy craving, this was it.

My mother came out at the beginning of August - in case Kennedy came early - and she bought us a few things, but we were pretty much prepared; I remember she insisted on getting a juicer that Dave used more than I did. My due date came and went, and with a plan to induce a week later if there was no movement naturally, all we could do was walk around the mall, go to the movies and out for dinner; wait for Dave to come home. The night before the scheduled inducement, we saw the movie Babe (which we all found totally charming) and had dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory (when I took Kennedy back to Edmonton for Delight's birthday last year, we had a dinner at a different Spaghetti Factory to honour that history). Despite some weak contractions that evening, we arrived at the Royal Alexandra Hospital the next morning for a pitocin drip. We joked at the time, but it was nonetheless true, that after forty days and forty nights of Biblical-level city-crippling rains, August the 15th dawned clear and bright; Kennedy's arrival would bring back the sun.

I felt bad that Ma got to Edmonton so early - she had wanted to guarantee she spent as much time with the baby as possible - but she was the only one who got to wait outside the delivery room door. She said good luck and gave me a thumbs up as they brought me in, and I teased her later that the last thing I heard her say was, "See you, I wouldn't want to be you."

It is a blessing that the pains of labour don't really linger in the memory, but I do remember some things that annoyed me. Dave had made a mixed tape of songs for the delivery, and I gritted my teeth that I wasn't given any input - I know these were supposed to be "our favourite songs" and that the intention was sweet, by why couldn't I have chosen my favourite songs to soothe me during my efforts? - and I was irked as every new song began (also every time he played that tape in the car ever afterwards). Also, we had bought a massaging thingy on the advice of the prenatal class instructor, but when Dave tried to use it on my aching lower back, I really didn't want to be touched at all (poor Dave). And, I had chosen my OB-GYN because she was a woman (Dr. Gail Black), but she had another patient go into labour earlier that morning, so her husband (Dr. Robert Black) had to step in with me - there was nothing unusual about my situation that required the specialty of one doctor over another, but I had been happy to have a woman doctor. Minor annoyances.

If I remember right, the pit drip started around eight in the morning, but real labour didn't begin until after noon; I think it lasted a couple of hours. I'm sure the contractions were strong, but I wasn't forced to scream; more like helpless whimpering. I know they explained to me early on that if I was considering an epidural, it would have to be right away, but I waved that off; I can't really explain why. I know that my mother told me before that she had been gassed to unconsciousness - more or less against her will - when she was giving birth; that she had been desperate to feel the pangs of childbirth but that was denied her by the medical establishment of her day. Was I trying to feel the true pain that my mother had sought? I honestly don't know - and if one of my daughters was to have a baby, I'd tell her there's no reason to embrace the pain; that's what medicine is for.

Like I said, I really don't remember the pain of contractions leading up to the birth, but once Kennedy began to come out, I felt like a bursting dam; like there was a build up of pressure that was threatening to cleave me in half; to wash me away. When Kennedy's head was clear and the doctor told me to stop pushing as he positioned her shoulder (or whatever was happening in that paused moment) I felt like time was stopped; that I was a being of pure pain and the wild-eyed anticipation of much worse caused me to whimper and pant like an animal. When he said to push again, I shuddered from head to foot - felt like I had been torn in half - but Kennedy came out fast. Nine pounds, thirteen ounces; a heavyweight bruiser of pure joy.

The doctor handed Dave the scissors to cut the umbilical cord as the nurse wrapped Kennedy in a blanket. Dave was handed the baby first, and then she was given to me, and then when the nurse took her again to clean her up, Dave ran to the door to get my mother, shouting happily, "It's a girl! It's a girl!" Ma burst in saying, "I know! I heard!" and when the nurse then handed Kennedy to my mother, a misbegotten family legend began: My mother has ever after said that she got to hold Kennedy before either me or Dave did. Uh uh. And that hurts Dave's feelings a lot: he held her first; I know, I was there, and I've told Kennedy the way it really went down (but I don't really mind the old lady having her fantasy).

Soon, Ma and Dave were shooed out as the doctor stitched me up. It was then that Kennedy was first put to my breast, and as she latched, I felt sorry for anyone who wasn't me in that moment: Being able to provide the stuff of life for this baby - a human I had grown and supported within my own body for (over) nine months - being able to feed this wondrous new and helpless infant from my own body made me feel powerful and at one with the creative energies of the universe - I can not overstate this: I was woman and I roared. Poor Dave, poor men everywhere: they who provide a single cell to the process are bit players in the miraculous circle of life, and I was all power.

Meanwhile, my mother had called Dad back in Ontario with the news - he was in a meeting but asked for her call to be put through on speakerphone. "It's a girl!" Ma said. "I knew it would be," replied Dad. "Tell Krista 'good work'."

Dave called my brothers, and when Ken heard that the baby's name was going to be "Kennedy Ruthann", he banged on the bathroom door where his soon-to-be wife was showering and said, "They named her after me!"

Dave called his sister Ruthann, and when she heard the name, she yelled, "You named her after me?!"

Dave called his parents and they said, "We'll be there next week!"

As I was being put into the shower to get cleaned up, Ma and Dave went home to get some treats for a little Maternity Ward party they were planning, and after I was comfy in my bed (I couldn't believe how nice and cosy and homey my room was), a nonstop parade of well-wishers began to show up. Delight came by, and Marg and Mike - Marg taking Kennedy out of her little bassinet and holding her to the consternation of others who came by and might have liked a cuddle. Ma and Dave came back with asparagus rolls, oysters and cream cheese, and Diet Coke - I had stopped drinking my favourite pop while pregnant and Ma figured I'd be wanting some now; she wasn't wrong - with champagne for themselves and others.

Essentially, a whole whack of people came by the hospital and congratulated me on my sweet little girl; an exhausted baby who slept through the evening and didn't wake up until the last person left and her exhausted Mama thought she could finally close her own eyes. And then Kennedy started to wail and motherhood really began.

I reckon that's enough for this week.