She was already 10 days later. My sister Rosie and her best friend Charla had been there at our house for the birth that didn’t happen (they did leave behind a very nice teddy bear called Rob who is still around today), and then they had to go back to the UK. My parents had arrived to stay in Carmel and herald the newborn’s arrival a few days after sister left. But here we were, late-late-late. Still nothing.
She was due to be induced on my birthday, which I have to share with my other sister Mary in any case, and that just might be too many Mason girls sharing one birthday! Mum and Dad were not going to be able to stay around much longer either. It looked as if I would be delivering this baby all by myself. Madame was just super comfy in the womb and judging by my size at the time, she was very well fed and watered where she was, thank you very much.
On my mother’s recommendation I tried rock climbing over at Point Lobos. I touched on all measure of wives’ tales to try and bring along the little madame to the world; but she would come in her own time. Just as she did everything else in life.
On the morning of Sept. 21, I awoke with the worst indigestion. Someone must have snuck onions in my food, I thought to myself at about 4 a.m. Onions gave me the worst cramping aches in the history of. “How are you today, darling?” my mother’s sweet tones piped up from Carmel by the Sea, where they were staying. “Urgh, I have the worst indigestion,” I groaned. “Likely labor,” she said. “John, we must go!” She likely interrupted my father from his peaceful breakfast in the sun.
They arrived with the makings of a beef stew; I do remember that. Oh dear me, I couldn’t think of anything worse at the time; but mother felt I was going to need the protein and iron. By the afternoon I was in the grips of serious pain and father drove me carefully to Salinas Valley Memorial, me writhing like a beached whale in the back of my red Nissan. And there the journey began to try and deliver my daughter, who was eventually born, on her own birthday, Sept. 22 at 4:30 in the morning by c-section. When I saw her little perfect face and full head of dark hair, I cooed, no matter how buoyed I was by drugs at the time.
The early years fly by, don’t they. “What did you do today?” I remember one of my childless friends asking me when I was still home with the newborn. “Ummmm?” I could not remember what I did, short of feeding, burping, changing … had I even had a shower all day? No, I had not. Thankfully there were friends around to help me out and I did a crash course on motherhood in the few short weeks I got to stay home with her, not being the world’s most maternal creature.
Then it was back to work at the newspaper. Long days, getting the lil nipper up and to daycare in South Salinas before work started at 8:30 a.m. That was always harder than it sounds. I was so blessed to have the lovely Wilma, Queen of Daycare, who always accommodated this — by now — single Mother and helped me out whenever I needed her, or I could not have stayed in California without her and her husband Norman’s love and support. I remember rushing to pick baby girl up from school when the deadline was more serious (think Police and/or Social Services) and seeing the yummy mummies relaxing in their large wagons, planning play dates, as I skidded into the parking lot, late again.
Things eased up when I met her soon-to-be forever dad and we helped each other raise three kids in our blended family. She was the baby, the only girl. She liked to eat cheerios one at a time and ordered only ice at a restaurant or just grapes. She didn’t like to walk on sand or grass. (There’s an old Radio Flyer Wagon in our front yard that was used to transport her everywhere.) She was an absolute hoot.
She moved schools back to Soledad, where we lived, and there the sporting years began. We loved to watch her play volleyball and basketball. I recall traveling all over the area to watch them play volleyball especially. Those were some special times. And then she was done with that. During the battle years, we did our best to keep her close. For a while she moved away from us both physically and mentally. Then when she came back, metaphorically speaking, she was our little girl again. But then not really. She was changing, evolving and blossoming into a caring human being. She started her nursing life over 10 years ago and, over time, she has become the medical go-to for our entire family.
My daughter is getting ready to turn 30, she’s a qualified nurse, she lives her own life, rescuing animals like her Mama and being a good person. And she is incredibly thoughtful and nice to her father and me! We enjoy doing things together. We love to travel with each other and go to concerts or restaurants. This is what you can only hope for if you have a child. That they grow up to be a really good friend, a fantastic support and a generous-spirited person all the way around. You look back and you are proud to have come on the journey with her. And where did the time go? Don’t blink — 30 years goes by in a flash.
Happy Birthday, baby girl. I’m so proud of the woman you have become. I look forward to celebrating with you in big sky country very soon. I hope you catch the biggest fish of all in Swan Lake and ride the most beautiful horse in Glacier National Park.
“Don’t blink! 100 years goes by faster than you think.” —Kenny Chesney
