Happy belated birthday, John

On his facebook site, my son, John, posted a picture of me in the very last days of my pregnancy with him. Not being a facebook user, I couldn't view the picture and though I was sure I would remember what I looked like, I was shocked when he sent me a copy of the photo. John was born on May 5th, 1978, three weeks overdue to the day. These days they would not let you go so far past your due date, but I was healthy, the baby's heartbeat strong, John was moving in utero, usually pushing my belly outwards even further than this picture shows and making my backbone feel as if it would crack. He weighed in at 10 pounds, 4 ounces and was 22 inches long. He had lots of brown hair and a big perfectly shaped head. (I remark on this because my oldest son, Daniel, was a somewhat pointy-headed forceps delivery baby.) His fingernails were so long we had to cut them right away, and there was a whole added section to the placenta that we joked had grown to feed such a large fetus. Remarkably, the birth was fairly easy, most of the labour spent riding the Clydsedale wagon at the Experimental Farm in Ottawa on a rather chilly day. I went into hospital in the early afternoon and John was born some time after 4 PM. No anesthetic, no tears, no rips, he just slipped out. I guess we all had to wait until he was damn good and ready to make his exit, and if there is one enduring trait it is exactly that: John does not do anything until he is absolutely ready to do it.