Friday night, September 23, 1977 at 8:33 pm. I don’t realize at the time but I have another hour of this torture. I’m tired, hungry, irritated, and sick of being poked and prodded. I’m trying desperately to get comfortable, but every time I find just the right spot, they tell me to shift my position, so the oxygen can flow properly. I’m so tired and frustrated that hot tears slowly leak out of the outer corner of my eyes, across the top of my cheekbones, forming pools in both ears, which eventually drip onto my pillow. I’m a 17-years old high school senior in the labor and delivery unit of San Francisco General Hospital. My mother has been there for the entire day and my eldest sister, Deb, who just had a baby 10 days prior is there to support me. Yup, we (Deb and me) were pregnant together.
Did I mention that my daddy was a COGIC (Church of God In Christ) Pastor? If I didn’t, I’m telling One can only imagine the interesting conversations that occurred from people in and outside of the church about the “fast” preacher’s daughter. Oddly, I never heard any negative talk or at least I don’t remember anything significant. It might have been because I created a safe zone that was camouflaged by a really, really big attitude that served as my forcefield that forbade entry unless I lowered it. When necessary I could display my weapons if it seemed someone was being nosey, phony or just got on my last nerves. The weapon may have been the way I looked at you, you know the look, like you are absolutely retarded, get away from me; or the blank stare that really meant: “you’re an idiot, why are you in my space?” or pretending that I didn’t hear what I perceived as a “stupid question”. Seriously, I had lots of attitudes accompanied with a mean streak, created specifically for the people (i.e., phony, nosey people that got on my nerves). The other secret weapon was rolling my eyes accompanied by a smirk on my face that could make most people cringe. What? Don’t judge me, it was my secret weapon to protect me from the things that people might say or the way they might look at and/or judge me for what they perceived to be my story. Honestly, there really wasn’t much of a story to tell. I was a naïve teenager who never thought I’d be in labor and delivery on a Friday night while my friends were out having a “good time.”
I am finally dilating consistently enough that I may be able to push soon, so they say, but “how will I know?” I asked. They assured me that I would know, and sure enough, when it was time, I was ready, but then they told me to wait. OMG, would you people make up your mind!!! It was a tough labor. At one point they thought they might have to give me a c-section because the baby was so big, but Dr. Jenta Shen was able to deliver my baby without the trauma of a cesarean. My healthy baby girl, Lenika, was born at precisely 9:33 p.m. weighing a little over 8-pounds. Lenika was named after her Dad, Leonard, who we still call Lenny and life began.
Fast forward 41 years to September 22, 2018. Our family and friends are gathered at my grandson, Terry, and his girl, Rameia's baby shower. Can you believe it? My first born’s first born is having a baby, which makes me a great (grandmother). I don’t think it really hit me until I saw their pregnancy pictures. So much has changed since I was pregnant. The fuzzy image above of me near the pool was about as sexy as it was gonna get :). When I saw Terry & Rameia's images I was awe-struck. It was as if the pics came alive to tell a story that can only be shared visually. I felt their bond, joy, uncertainty, youthfulness, naivety, sensuality and beauty all of which was tastefully captured in a moment that will last a lifetime. I looked at the pictures over and over, trying to interpret more but then my mind was flooded with several thoughts. What did they (Terry and Rameia) feel in that moment, what would my great-grandchild look like, and how would I feel when I held her (the next, next generation) for the first time. My mind started to fill with the things I want to tell and teach her, things that many little girls will never know because their mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers can't show them. I snapped back into reality to soak up the festivities.
The older I get, the more I appreciate the beauty of pregnancy and the miracle of birth, not just for my family members but for any pregnant woman that I see. Ok, ok, I guess you could say that I am a little partial to Rameia since she is carrying my great-grandchild. But when she entered the room of the shower, she seemed appeared radiant as she smiled for the camera, greeted and interacted with her guests.
When I got home later that afternoon, I was overcome with emotion. I was humbled by the fact that my first born’s first born had positioned me to be great. I thought about some things I wish I cudda, wudda, shudda done about this, that and the other but I soon let that go as I allowed the tears to slowly escape my eyes as they gently traveled across the top of my cheekbones into my ears and dripped on my pillowcase 41 years later. This time though the tears had a hint of regret, laced with humility and lots of joy as I prayed and thanked God for who and what he is to me.
Lenika, happy birthday!!
