A Mothering Adventure — in three parts

My friend Jane had the coolest book launch party ever. Her memoir, Spirit Traffic brings readers into the saddle of her motorcycle as she rides cross-country with her college age son and husband — before returning home to an empty nest. When I entered the artsy, but dingy venue I wasn’t surprised to see half a dozen motorcycles adorning the room. On the stage, a bountiful bouquet of flowers was framed by two helmets. In addition to the expected reading of enticing excerpts from her book, Jane included a Moth-style storytelling hour with the topic, What Adventure Looks Like to Me. While driving to the event, I mapped out my adventure story and hoped I’d have the nerve to tell it — but lucky for me — the slip of paper with my name on it wasn’t picked. Today however, in honor of my mother and the fact that none of us would be here without our mother, I am compelled to tell my Mothering Adventure Story.

Part One:

Giving birth to my first child at 33 years old was hands down the biggest adventure of my life. While pregnant, I marveled at women with babies: they did it, so I figured I could too. But after 40 hours of riding the waves of labor, my planned home birth transitioned to the hospital, and I had my doubts. Once in the birthing room however, a squatting bar provided me the position I needed and a few pushes later, a robust baby was born. But our hope for home’s comfort was…