To my second-born son:

Thirty-six years ago, just now, I was in labor. My first pains were last night and Gary said, “Don’t think about it.” So I didn’t. I went to bed. I got up about now because I couldn’t ignore labor any longer.

At the hospital, a nurse examined me. “Well,” she said, “whatever happened last time you are doing it again.” You were 4 weeks early and I was already close to delivery. I was glad of that because I did not want them to send me to Portland again, or do anything to stop the labor.

I overheard a frantic conversation in the hall outside my room. My doctor would not come for the delivery because it was his day off. This didn’t surprise me. That doc was new and his father was an OB/GYN in Beverly Hills. He didn’t intend to stay in Oregon.

There was literally no doctor in the entire hospital. They called Dr. Larry Zagata, who had been my original doctor in my first pregnancy. He had just come off a weekend on ER duty, but he drove back from Neahkahnie. The baby was coming fast—you—and I recall quite clearly thinking, “It could not possibly have hurt this much the first time, or I would never have done it again!”

They barely got me into the delivery room before you came out, spilled amniotic fluid all over Larry, and then you pissed on him. He laughed. He’d only just showered before returning to the hospital.

So Larry Zagata, your dad and I, and three nurses were there in that moment. We saw you first.

I always figured Larry owed me a birth since your brother arrived in Portland.

I was in a room, showered and elated by 8:30 that morning. My temperature and other vitals were down and nurses kept coming in to check me. They did not tell me they were concerned, but I knew, and I wasn’t worried because a dropped temp is a sign of imminent labor in dogs. I took the birthing classes both times I was pregnant, and they were helpful. I did not scream, I sang during labor (Joni Mitchell’s “Song for a Seagull”), and though I cried on the third day of labor with your brother, I did not cry for you. What most helped was breathing exercises I learned in high school PE (the only useful thing I ever learned in PE) and relearned in classes plus what I learned watching our dogs whelp puppies. It’s called labor because it is hard work being born.

Welcome to the world, my dear boy. I always wanted brown eyes as a child and you were that gift.

love,