My Firstborn

15 years ago today, I lay tethered to a bed in Woodland, CA, with massive doses of Potossin being injected into my veins. This stubborn little baby boy was going to exit my womb come hell or high water. Afterall, he had delayed things by 10 days and that was quite enough already! After resisting for 16 hours, he finally succumbed to the relentless efforts of outside forces.

Grant Ford Shaffer entered this world at 11:42 PM on November 15, 1993. I can't say I was particularly overjoyed at his arrival. Not only had the previous 6 months proven difficult, that day had been long and miserable, refusing to follow the scenario I had scripted long before, nor had it proven the idyllic scene of my first child's birth that I always imagined. There was no instant bonding. What do you mean do I want to nurse him? Uh...only if I have to! I really just want to be left alone...to eat...to sleep...and to stop being poked, prodded and otherwise irritated by this "noisome pestilence" of healthcare professionals! Leave me...please, just leave me...and take that thing with you when you go.

Where, I wondered, is the supposed romance of childbirth and motherhood? What is wrong with me that I'm experiencing no deep sense of satisfaction from what has just occurred? And by the way, why do I still look 6 months pregnant?

Fortunately for me, there was nowhere to go but up. I did get a good night's sleep...except for the 6 times they awakened me to ask how I was doing and if I could feel my legs yet...and the one time when I said "yes" and they made me transfer to a new room...and then promptly brought to stay in my room this little boy who squirmed and wriggled and grunted all night long. Don't you people have a nursery here? Oh...only for when I'm showering. O-K then. That's O-K...I'll take care of him. I'm not hungry or exhausted or anything...we'll be fine...just fine.

Still nowhere to go but up. Next morning, I looked like a very tired and pale version of Willy Wonka's Blueberry girl, and one of my blessed co-workers from the PT clinic next door was gracious enough to point it out. A steady stream of visiting family and co-workers, not to mention the frequent attempts to calm or feed this restless baby who can't go to the nursery, meant I still didn't get any rest.

Well, the good thing is, I didn't want to stay beyond the 24 hours my insurance company so generously allowed.

As I prepared to leave the hospital, I realized that the pre-pregnancy clothes I had brought to wear home wouldn't even come close to fitting. Why didn't anyone tell me you don't come out of there in your former shape and size? It's not exactly a minor detail, you know, leaving the hospital clothed.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the ascent toward the light commenced, but it was a very gradual ascent with this child...about 13 years or so! After 15 long years, I can look back fondly on all the mishaps, the worries, the fears, the misunderstandings. Not only do I see light at the end of the tunnel, there are days of pure bright sunshine.

Here...now...15 years later...I have discovered the romance of motherhood. It's in the lifelong service to this human being...a unique creation of an eternally creative God - a young man whom I've been privileged to watch, enjoy and guide through all the delights and perils of childhood. It's in watching him love little children, serve his handicapped aunt when no one's looking, reach out lovingly when he knows I'm hurting even if others are looking, play joyfully with his little brother, keep his commitments faithfully. There's the romance, the joy, and the satisfaction that escaped our first hours together, and now they are much more well-grounded than those early feelings would have been.

I'm thankful for my firstborn. Happy 15th birthday, Grant!