And Gordon makes 3

Gordon was due in September. And not a minute too soon, I was thinking by mid-August. I looked and felt ready to rupture, we had the crib (white with red teething rails, and a gender-neutral rag-doll design on the end) all cleaned up and ready to use. I had purchased a few baby nightgowns and a stack of diapers, and other basics had been presented at a baby shower. (Back then, baby showers before the fact had to be gender-neutral. Hence, lots of yellow, white, and green.) All we needed was the baby.

Labor began right after a blessing at Mom & Dad's house on a late Sunday night. I had stood up and felt the first contraction. They continued off and on for quite sometime, and without getting into the tedious details of the progression of labor, Gordon was born shortly after midnight on Tuesday, August 30, 1977. I was surprised by his quantities of black hair (hair was iffy at best in my family's newborns) and his large mouth, with I immediately surmised came from me. I was also starving and demanded something to eat. The kitchen was closed, they said, but they would find me something. I believe I ended up with an oatmeal cookie and grape juice. Manna from heaven!

I have a clear memory of holding Gordon in the hospital, trying to get him to rest his head on my shoulder. He would have none of it, and kept trying to raise his head. It was clearly difficult for him, and he resembled a bobble-head doll as he pulled his head up and eventually steadied it. He then looked around intently, his dark eyes bright, his face round in the cheeks but not double-chinned while his head was up, his skin red and fragile, his dark abundant hair standing on end. It was my first introduction to Gordon's predilection to analysis and reflection. And as years passed, a testimony of how much we bring with us when we come to mortality.