The baby arrived on the 22nd. Mother and baby are fine. I just called my daughter; she was having the babies photo taken, and then they were all going to her mums house to show the baby off during her moms big Thanksgiving day family get together.
My daughter informed me that the nurses voted Kiara the best looking baby in the ward, and I'm not in the least bit surprised to hear of it.
I am now a Gramps, a Grandad, a Grampa.
My daughters fiancé asked me if I felt older now that I was a Grandad, and I honestly answered that I did not. It's not like one suddenly wakes up to the fact of being old when one realizes that one is a grampa.
I like the idea of it, actually, I mean if one is old anyway, then why not play the role? I plan on playing the role well. While the thought of old age is not pleasant; the thought of being a grampa sits very well with me.
I couldn't help but be amazed at the miracle of birth.
The idea of a new life coming into existence in a place that is mostly concerned with old lives going out of existence did not escape me. Hospitals are a place that one usually thinks of as a place where the battle between life and death rages. It's a place of violence between the old reaper and doctors and nurses. It's a place where doctors and nurses lose many battles. They lose much more battles than they win; and even when they win one, they know that it's not a total victory.
They know that in the end they'll lose, but they still keep on fighting against the inevitable.
For such a thing as birth to take place amid such a furious battle between life and death...it amazes me, and to witness a birth one must trudge through the hallways of the dying until one gets to the purple elevators that takes one to a small corner of the third floor where life is coming in instead of going out.
Being around such a thing as birth cannot help but energize one. Instead of feeling older by being called a Grampa; I actually, truly, think I feel younger.
It amazes me that the maternity ward is even more of place of violence than the rest of the hospital. The violence of the battle for the outgoing is like it's in slow motion; and the dying go out peacefully in most cases, but the arrivals come in amid, here and now, real time violence.
The sound of my daughters screams, I tell yer, oh my oh my.
I knocked on the door, then I opened it, and I was told in no uncertain terms to go away. I was interrupting a battle. Very serious business was going on. The tone of their female voices was very serious in deed.
I heard my daughter scream again: then I beat it to the waiting room knowing I was way out of my league.
When it comes to birthing, I'd much rather leave it to the women.
Men are told to kill; the women can't help but give birth; and on and on it goes.
The tide goes out, and the tide comes in. Life has a rhythm to it. We have spring, summer, autumn and winter, and then we have spring again.
I looked into my grand child's eyes, and she looked back at mine, and I couldn't help but let out a small bit of joy and laughter.
What a scene? And what a victory!
Waltre
My daughter informed me that the nurses voted Kiara the best looking baby in the ward, and I'm not in the least bit surprised to hear of it.
I am now a Gramps, a Grandad, a Grampa.
My daughters fiancé asked me if I felt older now that I was a Grandad, and I honestly answered that I did not. It's not like one suddenly wakes up to the fact of being old when one realizes that one is a grampa.
I like the idea of it, actually, I mean if one is old anyway, then why not play the role? I plan on playing the role well. While the thought of old age is not pleasant; the thought of being a grampa sits very well with me.
I couldn't help but be amazed at the miracle of birth.
The idea of a new life coming into existence in a place that is mostly concerned with old lives going out of existence did not escape me. Hospitals are a place that one usually thinks of as a place where the battle between life and death rages. It's a place of violence between the old reaper and doctors and nurses. It's a place where doctors and nurses lose many battles. They lose much more battles than they win; and even when they win one, they know that it's not a total victory.
They know that in the end they'll lose, but they still keep on fighting against the inevitable.
For such a thing as birth to take place amid such a furious battle between life and death...it amazes me, and to witness a birth one must trudge through the hallways of the dying until one gets to the purple elevators that takes one to a small corner of the third floor where life is coming in instead of going out.
Being around such a thing as birth cannot help but energize one. Instead of feeling older by being called a Grampa; I actually, truly, think I feel younger.
It amazes me that the maternity ward is even more of place of violence than the rest of the hospital. The violence of the battle for the outgoing is like it's in slow motion; and the dying go out peacefully in most cases, but the arrivals come in amid, here and now, real time violence.
The sound of my daughters screams, I tell yer, oh my oh my.
I knocked on the door, then I opened it, and I was told in no uncertain terms to go away. I was interrupting a battle. Very serious business was going on. The tone of their female voices was very serious in deed.
I heard my daughter scream again: then I beat it to the waiting room knowing I was way out of my league.
When it comes to birthing, I'd much rather leave it to the women.
Men are told to kill; the women can't help but give birth; and on and on it goes.
The tide goes out, and the tide comes in. Life has a rhythm to it. We have spring, summer, autumn and winter, and then we have spring again.
I looked into my grand child's eyes, and she looked back at mine, and I couldn't help but let out a small bit of joy and laughter.
What a scene? And what a victory!
Waltre
posted by WaltsWorld at 5:43 PM
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