I. WANT. MY. MOM!!!!

Last night I came upon an article with photographs of mothers helping their daughters give birth. These mothers….soon to be grandmothers... were not usurping the important role of husbands/partners.They were simply adding an element of support that can only come from a loving mother….especially one who has lived through the seemingly physically impossible task of pushing an 8 lb baby (or in my case…a 9.5 lb baby…thanks Matt) out of a small orifice.

I shared the article with Emily….who also thought it was touching. "You will be there, lol" she texted. And, indeed, I will if she wants me there even though it will be hard to watch her in pain. Let there be no mistake about it, labor and delivery is almost always long….hard…and involves pain. But I will be there.

The pictures...and our conversation...took me on a little trip down memory lane to a day about or so 18 years ago. It was spring and all three kids were at school. I was at work when I got a call from the school. Emily was hurt. She fell and cut her forehead. You could see the bone and they could not get the bleeding to stop. Did I want them to call an ambulance? Well….yes….and please don’t dilly dally!!

During an outdoor gym class, she tripped and hit her head on the sharp edge of a metal picnic table bench. It nicked a small artery in her temple so there was a lot of blood. The gym teacher…a young guy…have no idea what his name was….picked her up and ran inside with her...as she bled all over his leather jacket. He was so rattled he left the entire class of kindergarteners outside alone…..but not for long because they all followed after him.

The nurse tried to get the bleeding to stop but couldn't…and so they called me. An ambulance was summoned. Her sweet, kind, caring kindergarten teacher….Mrs. Cobb….went with her.

The hospital was 45 minutes from where I worked. It was a long 45 minutes with lots of traffic. I got there first….her dad arrived shortly afterwards. She was not as seriously injured as it had, at first, appeared. The cut only required 7 stitches (not the 14 stitches the paramedic estimated predicted) and she was the epitome of brave ….holding very still, without having to be strapped, motionless, on that dreadful thing they called a papoose board.

"Can we just give it a try?" I asked….without the board. They were skeptical but agreed to give it a try. We told her how very important it was that she didn't move AT ALL. No small feat for Emily...but she didn't. Wincing a little bit as the doctor stitched, she remained motionless….clutching my hand. No papoose board needed.

This re-memory is perfect for a mother's day post. (Yes, I’m aware this is three days late for a Mother’s DAY post...but ‘tis the season, still) Let me tell you why. Emily's sister, Beth, who was also a student at that same elementary school, was in art class at the time of the accident. And she heard her sister's screams as the gym teacher carried her at breakneck speed down the hall to the nurse's office. Emily was screaming over and over again…."I. WANT. MY. MOM…..!"

And most of us want our mom. When we are injured...or giving birth….when we’ve been jilted, cheated on, slighted. When we are nervous, defeated, sick....Moms make it better somehow.  

“A mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.” - Emily Dickinson

“The best place to cry is on a mother's arms.” ― Jodi Picoult, House Rules