Altadena, California style, Sept 1973. Dresses by Elouise; D’s tie by a friend.
Nothing like the experience I describe in Part 5 and Part 6 ever happened again. Going to seminary, and to Fuller Seminary in particular, was the most wonderful thing I could have done at that time of my life.
Nonetheless, this post is also about hard stuff. Read the rest of this entry »
~~~Our son, born in Boston, August 1998
July to August, 1968. I watch and feel my protruding belly take prodding kicks at all hours of the day and night from this unknown-gender life inside me. It’s almost impossible to get comfortable lying down. Or sitting down. Or standing up from sitting down. I have to pee every time I turn around. The Boston heat is sweltering.
I go to the Boston Lying In Hospital Clinic regularly, watch my weight and diet like a hawk, and arrange for a 6-week leave in August and September from my position as organist/choir mistress at the First United Presbyterian Church of Cambridge. I also arrange to work in the dean’s office at the Harvard Law School until two weeks before the due date.
D and I need to move out of Mr. Griswold’s house by Christmas. We know we’ll have an apartment, thanks to friends moving out in the fall. We’re at the top of the waiting list, though they’re not sure when they’ll move out, or how much furniture and baby equipment they’ll take with them.
Even though I’m the oldest of four daughters and have experience taking care of my sisters, I’m anxious! Not so much about giving birth as about the kind of mother I’ll be. Will I know what to do and when to do it? Will D be able to help me, or will I be pretty much on my own?
And then there are D’s fears. He’s been a child of divorce since he was 3 ½ years old. He didn’t see his father often; his single mother raised him the majority of the time. What does it mean for him to be a father?
I’m a worrier from way back. My intuition, experience and observation of friends tell me this could be the end of life as I know it. I fear that once again I’ll lose my identity as Elouise. Instead of being Mrs. D, I’ll become Mom. Generic Mom. The kind people tell bad jokes about or worship as though Moms were at least near-perfect.
Money, time, health (mine and Baby’s), David’s studies, my need for a life of my own. All this and more weighs on me. It feels like getting married without being ready. Maybe a bit like driving without a license, training program or instruction book. We already have Dr. Spock’s latest edition, but I haven’t read it yet.
In the end, these unknowns softened us, even though we were both anxious. It was like getting married. We didn’t have a clue what was coming next, yet we were committed to getting through it together.
I don’t think my experience was strange or unusual. Yet that didn’t make it easier. Just the thought, much less the reality of being responsible for the life and wellbeing of a helpless baby was enough to set me off.
There’s grace in not knowing too much about what’s coming down the road. Or about what you’ve already met up with down that road back there called Childhood. I was clueless about my past—not about what happened, but about how it had shaped me.
Not knowing this may have been a disadvantage. But it may also have been a gift. I didn’t feel pre-programmed to become a certain kind of parent, as though history would inexorably repeat itself.
I’d always thought the process of giving birth would be the most difficult part of all. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t the nightmare I expected. Becoming a parent was much scarier and way too real. No going back. We’re it! Coming, ready or not!
At first it was stranger than strange. Yet from the moment our son was born, something began happening in us. It happened when we held him and fed him. Watched him breathe in and out. Counted his tiny fingers and toes and responded to his cries and baby talk.
He was part of the family now, and we were at least ready enough.
To be continued….
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 July 2015
Photo credit: DAFraser, August 1968
Dear Diane,
Summer 1968. How do you like your lovely tanned legs? And what about those toes? I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten this picture! Read the rest of this entry »
Griswold Hall at Harvard Law School in 2003
D and I were guests in the Griswolds’ house for about six months. Here are two favorite memories from our first months in the house, plus a few pregnancy photos. Baby is due near the end of August.
The Sisters Next Door
Before leaving for Washington, D.C., Mr. Griswold gave us contact information for two sisters who live next door. Shortly after we move in they invite us to lunch. They’ve heard I play the piano. Read the rest of this entry »
Anthony’s Pier 4 Restaurant, Boston Waterfront
(now closed)
Spring 1968. Mr. Griswold asks D and me to house-sit for him for up to one year. I tell Mr. Griswold I’m pregnant, thinking he might change his mind. He doesn’t. In fact, would D and I be able to move in by early June?
D and I talk it over. We also talk with friends from New Zealand. They plan to return to New Zealand with their baby right after Christmas. We’re at the top of the list for their spacious apartment near the university. Good news, since Mr. Griswold isn’t sure how long he’ll need to have us house-sitting.
Yes, D and I can move in by early June. Mr. Griswold invites us to supper so they can show us the house. Nothing fancy. No need to dress up. Yes, I’m nervous! Is this really happening?
I’ve met Harriet Ford Griswold before, but usually at official social events. She asks about Diane’s and Mom’s polio histories, and tells us her polio history. She’s a woman of great courage.
The house is set up so Mrs. HFG can be as independent as possible. A cook helps with dinner, and a cleaning woman comes every so often. The rest of the time Mrs. HFG is on her own. Even when Mr. G is present she doesn’t expect or want him to do what she can do. She goes into detail about how she gets along by herself most of the time. I wonder whether she’s lonely.
The house is in a residential area, sits on a hill overlooking Boston, and has a yard full of trees. Most impressive, it has a small enclosed elevator for Mrs. HFG. There’s an old piano I’m welcome to play, though hasn’t been tuned for years.
Beyond that, there’s a ground level back door entrance, and doors throughout most of the house are wide enough for a wheelchair. Mr. G keeps the thermostat well below 65° Fahrenheit at night. I think he expects us to conserve energy. Which we do.
The move is easy. We pack our clothes and kitchen, box the books, throw everything into the back of our VW squareback and drive off.
Back at the office
My co-workers know I’m pregnant, and that D and I are going to house-sit. I have my ‘interview’ with the future interim dean. He sees no reason to let me go, and tells me to stay on as long as I’m able. I’m relieved.
In May, Mr. Griswold takes our office staff out to lunch, with spouses or special friends. We drive to Anthony’s Pier 4 Seafood Restaurant, a favorite with everybody. We have one last lobster feast (pick your own lobster from the tank as you come in), and tell stories about working with Mr. Griswold.
It’s the end of an era. Mr. Griswold is retiring, and the university is going to build a modern law school building, just behind Langdell Hall. The law library will stay in Langdell Hall. The offices we’re in will become part of the new library, but not until I’m gone. I love Langdell Hall.
I continue working until two weeks before my due date in late August. No health problems. Just Boston heat and time out as needed to put up my legs, relax, drink water and make trips to the ladies’ room.
In early August, EW hosts a raucous farewell celebration and baby shower for me at her home. Her round dinner table is filled with friends from work, plus D and a few other spouses. Mr. Griswold is already busy in Washington, D.C.
A few days after the farewell party I receive a hand-written letter from Mr. Griswold. It’s on his new letterhead: The Solicitor General, Washington. Erwin N. Griswold.
I read it several times, stunned by what he says. I show it to D, then put it away. It’s a treasure I don’t know how to unpack just yet. I don’t look at it again for years.
I’m less than one week from delivering our first child.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 April 2015
Photo credit: http://www.webtravelguide.com
Boston Lying-In Hospital for Women (center building),
part of Brigham and Women’s Hospital
It’s early Spring 1968. I’m back at work, and my lips are sealed. No talk about being pregnant. No need. Not yet.
But I do need affordable maternity care. The university refers me to a downtown clinic Read the rest of this entry »
It’s December 1967. I’ve worked for Mr. Griswold for just over two years. Right now I’m in the hospital on the university campus. Miserable and getting worse. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 