First Born

First Born
Good Morning to all.
I don’t know why, but spell checker is not working, so please excuse anything misspelled . Enjoy Anyway!!
My last post was about my youngest son and his birthday.
Here it is February and I haven't posted for almost a month.So this post is about my First Born.
Larry will be 38 February the 14th.
I had been married almost 2 years when I found out I would be having my first baby. Oh what joy!! The whole experience was one big mystery to me.
Ya, I knew that my mother had had 13 babies, and lived.. and I had had all the normal instructions about babies, in high school health, and home economics classes. I still was very uncertain as to how this was all going to work.
When I became a new mom-to-be, I was sooo.. very happy that I would finally have a baby all my own, and will be able to direct its life and give it love and a happy home. This baby would have every advantage I could possible give it, at least that’s the idea I had.
We lived in California, on the Hoopa Indian reservation, where I quickly found out, that if you are not Indian, they do not want you living there, but, because, my husband was Indian,( Blackfoot) we were ok to be there. By that I mean, that if you were not Indian, you were seen as someone who doesn't belong. The Indians, who lived on this reservation, where themselves only part Indian their parents, parents, ect., had mixed with the Chinese, who had lived in the area, working on the railroads, when the rail lines were first being put in from California, to Utah!. (When I lived there, there really were only 5 known full blooded Hoopa Indians on the reservation). These people hung on to the fact that they were Indian, and they were the only ones allowed to be there, as the white man had already taken almost all their land from them. So, a white person living there was a threat to them. They had their own laws and their own ways, and you were not allowed to mess with that.
What they would do was let you come in and buy land, house, whatever. Then they would wait a few months. Then they would get a gang together, and go to your home, when you were gone, and burn it down.When you go to the police, who consisted of one officer, and one sheriff, who were more than likely related, you were treated with much concern. Everything would be promised, as to the fact that they would look into this matter and it will be dealt with. Then you wait, and guess what.. nothing ever was done about it. If you complained too much, you may find yourself sitting in one of the two jail cells they had, which almost always, was empty. After a while, most people just packed up and left.
Now, Back to the main topic!
The Hoopa hospital, where this wonderful event was to take place, had one doctor and a nurse and a couple nurses’ aids. The Doctor was a woman doctor, and she had, had an amazing life. She had done a lot of work in Africa in the Amazon area where tribes had been fighting each other with just a river to separate them. While I was in labor having Larry, she told of stories where she delivered babies in a boat, going down the rivers, and the tribes shooting at each other across the water, as the boat floated through the fighting. So see, I was in good hands. She wears her hair in long black braids, tied with buckskin straps and most of the time she had on regular clothes, and a smock, and she did wear moccasins.
When the big day came, it was a Sabbath, actually it was Feb.14th. The Doctor had told me that I was due on Valentines Day. Well I don't observe that as anything other than a pagan day, and was absolutely sure I would not have my precious baby, a gift from God, on a pagan day, and on a Sabbath day as well, which is a day to rest. But somehow, things didn't work out like I thought. Indeed, I started labor on Friday the 13th and 17 hours later Larry was born. He was born on the Sabbath, on Valentines Day. I, being very young in the Faith, was somewhat concerned for the fact that I labored on that day. I have since resolved that it was indeed a labor of love, which is allowed.
All that said, I was very very proud of this little boy, who was so very perfect in every way, whom I considered to be a big miracle, and God had given him to me. I remember feeling so proud, and finally getting to see this little person I had grown to love as I carried him, before he was born. I felt so much love for him, so protective of him and had this overwhelming desire to show him off to everyone. I couldn't wait to get out of the hospital, so I could get him home and start that wonderful journey, of being his mom.
God has blessed me with 4 children, and every one of them is indeed a miracle and every one of them is a perfect gifts from God.