The Twenty-eighth of January can mean a lot of things to a lot of people. But for me, it will always have a very special meaning. It was on this day, twenty years ago, that I gave birth to my daughter.
My husband and I already had a son, nineteen months old. We were living in Germany. My husband was stationed in Pirmasens with the US Army in a maintenance company. We lived in leased housing, which was a very nice apartment building close to downtown, and not in the "American Ghetto". My mother was there with us to help with my son while Kevin and I were at the hospital for the new baby.
Another thing you need to know is that on January 17, 1991, the bombing started for Operation Desert Storm. As we were in Germany, we didn't know what the results of that would be, but the Army hospital had been cleared for the arrival of casualties, so Army personnel that were not wounded were sent to hospitals around the countryside, including the Stadt Krankenhaus in Pirmasens.
On January Twenty-first, Kevin and I drove to the hospital at 10:00 in the morning for my scheduled C-section. They asked if I was in labor, and I as not. The whole idea was to deliver the baby without the additional trauma of labor. Unfortunately, the maternity wing was full, and they sent me home.
I was disappointed, but life goes on. We spent a week showing my mother some of the sights, and being careful with me nine months pregnant. Then, on January 28, at 9:00 in the morning, Kevin and I again drove to the hospital. I was beginning to worry that I would go into labor, and have to have emergency surgery again.
Happily, this time, there was a bed available, so I was admitted. The anesthesia was General, and done very quickly, so the baby didn't get any of it. So by the time I woke up, everyone was admiring my beautiful daughter. She was named after one of my Great Grandmothers, and we were completely delighted.
Twenty years have come and gone, full of joy and tears, of hugs and upsets. Nobody ever said that raising a daughter was easy. Now she's a beautiful woman, and I'm so proud of her abilities and talents, and her open and giving heart.
Others have commented today on the tragedy of the Challenger disaster, which happened five years before my daughter was born. The truth is, that to me, it just doesn't seem very real. When it happened, I was in Joao Pessoa, Brazil. I was there serving a Mormon mission, and had been in Brazil just over a year. I didn't even find out about it until a week later. I was walking through the town square, and happened to see a newspaper for sale, with the picture of the explosion. I was stunned that it happened, and perhaps even more stunned that something that monumental could happen, and I wouldn't even know about it for a week.
I think the most profound comment I heard was six months later, when I got home. I was discussing it with my mother. She told me, very emphatically, that she hoped it wouldn't shut down the NASA program, because there were great things in space for us to discover.
My mother's not an SF fan, and I was rather surprised at her attitude, until I realized that it wasn't the science fiction aspects of space exploration that my mother hoped for, it was the pioneer spirit.
She comes from a long line of pioneers, some that crossed the plains from Nauvoo to the Salt Lake valley, and some that found the LDS church, and joined, against family opposition, because they could see no other way to follow their hearts. To her, the thought of not exploring the Solar System, which we have been given as a home, would be tragic. The pursuit of knowledge is utmost in her support of the space race.
So how do I conclude this little ramble? I agree with my mother. We should always seek to discover things about ourselves and the world around us. And with the birth of my daughter, I was introduced into the wild and wonderful world of being the mother of an intelligent and talented daughter. That adventure is ongoing. And I'm very grateful for it.
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