RootsRain

Emily gives a music lesson to her youngest student to date:

Benjamin was pretty fussy before the music started, but as soon as Emily had begun playing a Bach piece, he calmed right down and watched her play. He hardly moved and didn’t make any noise unless she stopped playing. In this video, Emily’s singing “Pretty Saro,” an Appalachian folk song.

I was curious to see if Benjamin loved or hated the guitar since, when he was in the womb, he became really active every time Emily played. It appears he likes it. It remains to be seen whether he will only be a music lover (like me) or also a musician (like Emily).

At 8:19 this morning, Benjamin Thomas Gray entered the larger world outside Emily and we got our first look at him. Here are my three thousand words about him:

Benjamin weighed in at 7 pounds, 11½ ounces, and is 21 inches long. And according to Emily, he looks just like me. He certainly eats like me—that much is obvious already.

Mom called me “pops” this morning, but I’d like it to be officially known that she’s now a granny. I guess babies always make someone, somewhere feel old.

I think the labor made Emily feel old. Benjamin was 16 days late and then Emily was in active labor for 33 hours with no intervention, no drugs, no epidural… “Certified 100% Organic” is how grocery stores would put it. I’m quite proud of her. She just sat there for hours with her eyes closed, breathing hard occasionally, but making almost no expression… like some yogi in deep meditation. The doc & midwife had 2 other deliveries at the Birthing Center last night (first time they’ve ever had 3 deliveries happening at the same time) and they didn’t need to spend very much time with Emily because “that girl’s in control of her labor.” Way to go, Emily!

I was reminded again this morning of the verse “the whole creation has been groaning in the pains of childbirth.” It’s hard to imagine, when you’re in hour 28 of active labor and seeing no end in sight, that the result of all this pain and waiting—the interminable waiting without any rest—the result… is a child. A beautiful, delightful little promise of fresh life and curious joy. It seems backward—like a wait so horrible, so gnawing, so traumatic and painful should come just before… total destruction. But that’s not the way the universe runs, apparently. That’s not the point God made pain to raise. Pain points to renewal far more wonderful than the pain was terrible. Childbirth teaches it, the whole creation teaches it—from the flower that grows from the decay of last year’s leaves to a supernova collapsing on itself to form a black hole, powering the movement of an entire galaxy. The cross, especially, teaches it. As long as God is involved, pain is a signpost for growth, for change, and for hope. “The shadow proves the sunshine.”

Of course, that’s no reason not to love the fact that “labor” can now be used in the past tense at our house. Now we must learn other words and phrases like “spit up” and “it’s your turn, buster” or “Benjamin, leave Daddy’s beard where you found it.”