Friday, April 2, 2010
The Miracle of Birth
Probably, "awwwww!" Birth is funny that way. Totally disgusting in concept, and totally fantastic in execution.
Our own dear Missy, Empress of All that the Light Touches, is going to give birth any day. She is a small doe, weighing in at a hundred pounds or so, and delivered 23 pounds of healthy, fuzzy wuzzy offspring last time she kidded. Her son, Jasper Jules, is now the strapping goat equivalent of a linebacker, and would have made good eating were the humans not vegetarians.
The difference between goat mothers and horse mothers—and forgive me if I've mentioned this before, but it is a point worth repeating—is that goat mothers will wait until three in the afternoon on the sunniest day of spring to give birth. We don't expect kids this weekend, because the forecast calls for high winds and hail. Horse mothers wait until three in the MORNING on the stormiest night of spring, and will foal when there is a tree blocking the road and the three closest vets are, respectively, hospitalized for pneumonia, visiting family in Florida, and incapacitated by a blow to the head.
Speaking of birth, FarmWife's evening plans include baking a cake for her youngest daughter, who came into the world by the above-described method three years ago. As a consequence, I haven't time to write much this evening. As I leave you, friends, do please join me in wishing Missy all the best as she prepares to kid this week. She will benefit from our good wishes as she undertakes the messy business of birth.