The fall of 1978 found us still living in Isfahan, Iran – but not quite so comfortably as we had been. Politically, the country was in constant turmoil. We were living under martial law, which meant we had to be in our house between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m. Martial law also restricted public meetings to groups of three or less, so our church meetings had been canceled. We knew from shopping trips out and about the city, that some bank buildings had been hit with firebombs and occasionally we could hear rioting in the distance. Sporadic power outages were common, and it was not unusual to be without power for the whole night. Our parents were very concerned about us living under those conditions; they got their information from television news, and the media coverage was a bit disturbing! We too were beginning to feel the stress of the political upheaval, although we had not witnessed or experienced any problems personally.
In the midst of all this chaos, we learned that we would be welcoming a new baby into the family around March 28, and we were excited! I remember being a little intimidated about having three kids, since that would mean the parents were outnumbered by the children; but Emily was gradually maturing into a more reasonable pre-schooler and Nathan was showing signs of better behavior. It’s interesting to me that as I look back, my memory is that I was more concerned about handling three kids than I was about giving birth in a country that was on the verge of civil war!
Although this picture is poor quality, you can still tell that the faux fur collar remained a wardrobe staple – the wrap style made it a perfect fit for my expanding mid section.
We had plans to spend Christmas in Germany with Carolyn and Stephen who were stationed there, and then go on to the States. Don would stay just a couple of weeks and then return to Iran to complete his contract, while the kids and I would live with my parents until after the baby was born and Don returned. We all decided that the restrictions of martial law would make a potential middle of the night trip to the hospital challenging. We couldn’t be out during the curfew hours, but we had no phone to call for a police escort and none of us was interested in a home birth!
That plan worked pretty much as outlined. by the time baby #3 was due, Don was back from Iran, working between San Diego and Chicago preparing for our new assignment in Saudi Arabia. He was home for occasional weekends, but I knew the chance of him missing this delivery were high. As the due date approached, my doctor and I agreed that since Don would be home the weekend that the baby was due, I would have labor induced so that Don could be here for that event. But when that weekend arrived, neither Dr. Westrup nor I really wanted to go through with that. I kept thinking that when the baby was ready, he would come, and I didn’t have the right to hurry the process for my convenience.
The weekend passed without any labor pains and Monday was uneventful as well. Due to a United Airlines strike, Don’s return to Chicago had been delayed until Monday evening, but that still wasn’t enough time. My dad drove Don to the airport and didn’t start back until Don had called back to check on me around 10:30. It was a terse conversation that went something like this (imagine Don speaking in a kind and concerned voice and me responding through gritted teeth, furious that this was happening):
“So I’m here at the airport, and before your dad leaves I just want to make sure nothing’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“If you think it might be tonight, I can come back to Greeley with him.”
“It’s not tonight. Quit asking me! Just get on the airplane and go.”
However, before my dad returned to Greeley an hour later, I was timing contractions and getting ready to go to the hospital! Mom took me to the hospital, and sat with me through an almost painless labor process. I think that was my reward for going on my own – the contractions really didn’t hurt! But because of the logistics of this birth, none of us thought to take a camera to the hospital, and Mark’s first pictures weren’t taken until three days later.
At 4:30 a.m. on Tuesday, April 3, Mark made his appearance – all 8 pound 10 ounces of darling little boy! When I called the Telemedia office in Chicago to share the good news, Don hadn’t even arrived there yet so it was a couple more hours before he knew that he had missed the whole show. And knowing how Don loves to be a part of childbirth, I could almost think he planned it that way!
And as with his brother and sister, Mark was welcomed into the family and adored from the beginning. From a letter to Don:
April 8, 1979 – Emily and Nathan are so cute with baby Mark. Of course Emily thinks she can do anything and everything for him. She’s real sweet with him and doesn’t seem to be jealous. And Nate is just his usual self. He came in the house after church this morning and hollered down the stairs, “Where’s my little brother?” I told him Mark was in bed, and his reply was, “I need to hold him.”
And does it get much cuter than this?
4 thoughts on “I’ll come when I’m ready”
We were very happy and relieved when this family made it back to the states. OF course, Don returned to Iran, but that is another story.That picture is the first time I’ve seen Don with a beard, if I remember right. Mark was born in Greeley, and we had to drive from Pueblo to see him. He was a beautiful baby, and it was certainly worth the trip. As a bonus, we also got to see Emily, Nate and Lynn. I remember Mark as being a real character even as a very little boy. I can remember one time when the family went some place and left Mark with Lou and me. I’m certain he was upset at being left behind, but he walked around like he was in charge and perhaps owned the place. He couldn’t have been more than two years old, if he was that old. Happy Birthday, Mark.
Oh what a cute boy! At 5 months old he looks like maybe his mother was spiking his milk, but still so cute! Happy Birthday to Mark!
He was sure cute! And like always, I love your stories!
I LOVED the “after” picture of the new mother! You look like a war refugee who’s been on the road for an extended period of time! Is that really how tired we all look after giving birth? Why then do we keep doing it? Those pictures brought back some great memories of the early days, when our children were darling and adorable and all that! Of course, they think they are still darling and adorable, but that’s a matter of opinion!