LABOR DAY

Since it's Labor Day, I was going to use a photo of a woman in labor, because I remember a Labor Day Weekend starting out for me in just that way forty years ago now.

So I went looking for photos and changed my mind about using any of them.

Because none of them reflect the reality of that particular labor.

The worst bit of it was in St. Cloud when I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to finish my drive to safety with a 14 month old and the new life my body was in the process of bringing into this world. I wept all the way back to the farmstead some miles from Cambridge, not from physical pain but because I had failed, a pain worse by far than any labor pangs. For the first time in my (since annulled) marriage I had been left a vehicle (just in case), and I *could* have escaped. But I couldn't. I failed in my bid for freedom for me and my children.

Back at the farm, I left our go-bags in the car and turned my mind to focusing on Helen and the new life, still nameless and genderless at the time but very much already an amazing individual. Serenity comes to mind.

Helen was her usual busy self, well used to me being round in the middle by then. She played while I cleaned and did dishes and laundry and what not all between contractions. Then we settled. Helen napped and my attention went inward.

I sang to my children until Lowell came out to the farm between the end of his teaching day and that evening's football game to check on us. He dropped me off at the hospital for safe-keeping, and Helen at a friend's house likewise - and off he went to get ready for the game.

I relaxed then. Staff was astute enough to just let us be, me and the new life I was bringing to the world. Serenity ruled. Between contractions I was mostly sleeping or at least dozing. During them, focusing on the powerful muscles that were doing the work and keeping the rest from doing much of anything at all commanded my attention.

The notes on the chart said it was a very relaxed and controlled labor and delivery. Which it basically was. The relaxation part started to lose ground when they didn't give me permission to PUSH until Lowell got there after the football game, and flew the coop entirely when he insisted on showing off his *coaching skills* by blowing in my face and trying to tell me what to do. But the control was there all the way through.

Now that I had permission, I pushed for all I was worth, mainly to get this part over and done with so Lowell would get the heck out of my face. Which he duly did once Sarah came triumphant into the world and he had preened more than a little before heading straight back out to the post-game coaches meeting.

Relieved, Sarah and I settled in, peaceful once more.

For forty years now, Labor Day Weekend has been a time of poignant remembering. Once I hit the workforce, I rarely actually had a Labor Day Weekend OFF - it has a very different significance for me.