- I didn’t have my son, Aaron, until I was almost 35 years old, 34 and ten months and twenty one days to be precise. Before marriage I was on track with my career, practicing law in Northern Virginia and Washington, D. C. But long story short, I fell in love with Bob, who had always envisioned having children, easy for him to say, I might add.
In any event, Aaron arrived at seven plus pounds within the first year of our marriage, which makes sense since he was conceived at our “Engaged Encounter” a required process of the Catholic Church aimed at giving couples a chance to determine whether they could really hack it together in a marriage, or whether they should actually split. Our session was during a weekend in a beautiful retreat setting in New Jersey in which we definitely deepened our love and our commitment to each other all right. Hence Aaron’s conception, an unexpected gift, and we became parents 7 months after our marriage ceremony. Our wedding song, Danny’s Song by Loggins and Messina, with the words, “even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you honey” and “now we’re gonna have a son” had especial meaning. I lacked scientific knowledge that my first child was to be a boy, since the doctor’s recommendation for a sonogram was for women over 35 years, and I had escaped that, but intuitively I knew my baby was a boy, and it turns out that I was right. That much I was sure of, and that much the Universe confirmed. But then, the actual birthing experience, was something else. It turned out to be quite different from what Bob and I anticipated, which for me was one of the first eye-opening discoveries of motherhood, and was to be repeated incessantly over the next 30 plus years. Stuff does not go according to your plan, Elaine, number one, and number two: you are not in control of your body, Elaine, nature is. I’ll go into that in the next post. Here I’ll only say that my survival guide for motherhood has been buttressed by my yoga training–stay flexible kid, you’re going to need it.