The move from Hartsook Street to Benedict Canyon was a bit more complicated than our first move from Mark's apartment in Studio City to the Laurel Canyon cracker box on stilts in 1972, or the move to Hartsook from the hills.
Labor Day: The Prequel
Our first born daughter came three weeks early. She was "due" to be born November 7, 1976.
I was determined to have a solar clothes dryer at our brand new (to us) house, which we moved into October 1, 1976. I had visions of tee-nine-see-wee baby clothes blowing in the breeze, and smelling oh, so sweet. My Grandmother never had a dryer. My mom bought one when I was about ten years old, and I mourned the loss of that comforting line-dried laundry smell. I found a wonderful Sunshine Retractable Clothesline to attach up under the eaves of the roof overhanging the patio of our new home. We’d moved in a week before and already put the business end of the clothes line in place. It needed a support pole to hook onto out in the terraced garden. I went to the hardware store and bought a sixty pound bag of concrete, some sand, and the steel pole.
At the hardware store, a very nice gentleman put the bags of concrete and sand in the car for me. Funny how when men see a pregnant woman coming they either give her wide berth (perhaps superstitious behavior in case ‘being with child’ is contagious), or move in close to assist her in any way they can. Every woman who sees you wants to share her birth story nightmare. It’s as if you’ve got a sandwich board sign that reads: “Tell me about your Great Aunt Agatha’s triple hemorrhage, please.” You DO NOT have to listen to the story gore! You DO have the right to say, “Thanks for wanting to share. It makes me feel nervous to hear that right now.” I was a slow learner and listened to a few too many gory stories before I got the hang of changing the subject. “How ‘bout those Dodgers, eh?”
Once home with the concrete, I was eager to start on the clothesline project right away. My husband wasn’t due home from work this Friday afternoon for another four hours. The October sun was slanting and daylight leaving the sky earlier every day. So, impatiently, I carried the sixty pound bag from the Volkswagen bus in the driveway around the side of the house to the back yard. Ditto the twenty pound bag of sand. No problem. I found the right place in the garden and dug a hole for the pole. No problem. I screwed the clothesline receiving hook onto the pole. No problem. In lifting the bag of cement to pour it into the wheel barrow to mix with sand and water I had a problem. The bag slipped and I made a grab to catch it. I caught it. No problem… but, I just want to acknowledge, I was an idiot. I nearly fell down the steps up to the terrace and probably should have waited for my honey to help. I really wanted to complete this project right NOW! I had baby clothes to wash. The nesting instinct is real and it comes with a lot of adrenaline! I didn’t hurt myself, but gave myself a good scare and felt some belly muscle strain for a couple of hours.
Two days later, during a surprise baby-shower in North Hollywood Park, my shape really changed. The baby dropped so low I suddenly had room to breathe at the top end of my belly which felt wonderful and made more room for yummy cake… but I had to pee every five minutes. Trade-offs. When you’re sharing space with another in such close quarters you’re grateful for every half-inch you can get.
Monday after the baby shower we had a doctor’s appointment out in Pasadena. On examining me, Dr. Schoeber said, “My, my, my! You’re nearly fully effaced and four centimeters dilated already. You have what we call ‘silent labor’ and could go into ‘real’ labor at any time.”
Thursday night we went to our birth education class and told our teacher what Dr. Schoeber had said and that we might not make it to the last class so was there anything we should know if the baby did come early? Ms. Campbell’s drama background came to the fore and she said, “You get down on your bended knees and thank the Lord your baby came so swiftly!”
“Yes, but is there anything else we should… know…?”
Nothing. She told us nothing.
When labor started just before midnight on October 17, I chanted a little mantra to compensate for any missing info. “I have faith in my body, I have faith in my body, I have faith in my body.” We very nearly came to call the baby “Faith.”
Perhaps the clothesline project hastened my labor. Perhaps our first born saw a post-it note left in the womb-space by a former tenant. October 19, 1967, when I was nineteen, I enlisted the help of a compassionate MD in terminating an unplanned pregnancy. Perhaps the post-it note read: “Beware the nineteenth of October; Evictions happen.” I felt very lucky to have had the option, in a time when abortion was illegal in California, and I've been curious about this coincidental timing of my daughter's birth ever since.
Having faith in my body served me well, but I wish that the homebirth movement, in the mid-seventies, had had more providers from which to choose. We felt tremendously buoyed by the support of friends and utterly let down by the paid professionals who were supposed to be attending us during this pivotal time.
It feels to me as if there's a monolithic machine that moves slower than slow when it comes to acknowledging what kind of support moms and babes need for a good birth.
The house move, and the birth at home, that had some snafus, combined to put me squarely on a path to try to make things better for me and my sisters.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice-
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
---Jelaluddin Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks
This next move we're preparing for will be a doozy. Long distance, secure packers, and too much stuff - even with what feels like pretty austere paring down. The fellow who was to have come Sunday to give us an estimate stood us up. Not an auspicious sign.
Moving right along… where's the Yellow Pages for Movers, when you need it? And WHERE will we put the clothesline?
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