Today is a very unusual day for me.
I'm suffering from postpartum depression because my baby -- International Day of Peace -- is over.
All the months of preparation paid off and we had a huge crowd even without the city's two major papers giving us any coverage. Hurray for social media and small media sponsors!
With this weight off my shoulders, I was awakened this morning with the announcement of another impending birth....this time the real thing!
My daughter announced that her contractions were four minutes apart and she was going to the hospital to give birth.
"Well, I'll get right over there to be with Jenna when she gets home," I responded, because I knew she didn't want me watching over her as she labored through the day.
No, that's ok," she said. "Glenda, Kevin's mom, is coming to watch Jenna."
So there I was, my oldest daughter is having a baby, and I have to carry on with my life as though my oldest daughter isn't having a baby? Come on! I can't do that!
First I had a good cry. Twenty-four years ago today, she was in the birthing room with me as I gave birth to her little brother. Hey, this isn't fair, I thought. I let you come to my birth. Why can't I come to yours?
So I cried a little more. What was I supposed to do on a day when my daughter is having a baby, and I have nothing to do?
With no other options it seemed, I decided to cook. This is always therapeutic to a certain extent when folks aren't in the inside loop. So I went to Greenlife and bought some eggs and chicken. When I got home I put the chicken in the pot of water and added some flour to the eggs. Within a few hours I had a hot steaming pot of chicken and noodles. Good old comfort food!
Now to get it to someone who needed it! Gee, my daughter isn't eating right now. My son-in-law is with her. But there's Jenna. I'll make her and her other grandma happy with some chicken and noodles.
What if they don't want them? Or what if they're gone? These were just a couple questions that went through my mind as I drove to my daughter's home.
No one home. SHUCKS! I knew this was a stupid idea! After all, my daughter is 40 years old. She's all grown up now. She doesn't need Mama anymore. And she has plenty of other people to watch your grand daughter. Get over it! Go to the book reading or the potluck dinner. After all, it's just the birth of your grandson!
But soon the other grandmas drove into the drive way, and I got a chance to hug my grand daughter. Then I was fine. We chatted for awhile, and much of my left-outed-ness went away.
I had done something, as insignificant as it may seem. I felt much better. I could now leave relieved, and stop on the way home for some chocolate. I deserved it!
As of this writing, my grandson is still on his way. When I really think about the whole situation, I want to be there with my daughter. But I realize she's a big girl now, a married woman who is sharing the birth of her son with the baby's father. It's all very healthy.
But if we were in a tribe in the middle of the Amazon, would Mom there be left out of the labor and delivery? I think not, but this isn't the Amazon.
Things are under control. Don't worry, I tell myself.
But this is my daughter! She was in pain, and I could do nothing but make chicken and noodles.
Now back to the postpartum depression!