My second child and son was born on Memorial Day amidst the city having a large holiday parade compete with horns and beating drums while I clenched the bed rails in the new birthing bed of our local hospital trying not to do what my body wanted,  to push.

It of course was not a usual birth.

The baby’s heartbeat dropped too low, I was directed to lay on my left side in such an awkward position with a leg held high into the air to lessen pressure on the umbilical cord I nearly fell off the bed but it worked.

Now the baby became lodged at his shoulders while emerging and in order to bring him fully into the world his left arm was purposely dislocated, painful to me and more so my newborn son who emerged into the world at 1:03 pm screaming in pain.

I remember at the moment his tiny arm was reset at the shoulder by the doctor the delivery room lights flickered as thunder clapped suddenly nearly all at the same moment and thinking what a fitting ending, not realizing it was possibly an omen of things to come.

My little innocent child, unspoiled by the world with dark thick curly locks of hair and angelic face laid asleep hours later by my side peaceful as I cradled his little body close to me with happy exhaustion.

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