I have one child, the world's most wonderful daughter. She was born at home early on a Sunday morning after 33 long and hard hours of labour. She wasn't due for another eight weeks and so this incredibly minute tiny baby weighed barely 1000 g on the hastily produced kitchen scales.
This happened almost 28 years ago. We lived in a commune, had no health insurance in those days, no ultrasound scans, but a wonderful doctor and a very experienced midwife who stayed with us all the time from the moment I started labour, drinking tea, eating dinner, watching Dallas on TV, holding my hand, rubbing my back, listening to my baby's heartbeat und doing all the stuff experienced doctors and midwives do with a woman in childbirth.
The baby, our baby was grand - as they say in Ireland.
She is beautiful, clever, wise, healthy and passionate, an explorer, a nomad, an artist. The world is her homeland and so at the moment, she is living very far away, on the other side of this planet. But she is so close - thanks to all the wonderful gadgets and sattelites that provide almost instant connection.
So when she posts a music video on her facebook profile I can hum along with her.
For me it's an early morning tune, for her it's a lullaby.
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