Sympathy for Mom

My friend Amy wrote a post on her blog the other day about having THE TALK with her young daughter, and it reminded me of a story I just have to share. It’s sort of related to sex. And it is about a child. Close enough.

Although he doesn’t have any now, my husband has raised cattle at various times in the past. One day, he had a cow that was having trouble calving. This didn’t happen often, but when it did he’d call Uncle Dub, who thought it was great fun to come help pull a calf.

Well, Uncle Dub was duly called but it would be a while before he could make it. So, my husband did what farmers have done for centuries—he put the wife and kids to work.

My job was to use my body to hold the cow up against the wall while my husband tied a rope around the calf and then pulled it out. Oh, and I was supposed to try to comfort the cow while he’s doing this. Now, I’m not quite an Amazon woman. I mean, five foot four inches pretty much sums me up, but I was giving it my best shot. The two older kids were helping my husband pull. It looked a lot like a one-sided tug of war game with the other end of the rope in a pretty weird place. Our youngest son just stood over in the corner of the barn, watching.

Finally, out came the slippery, bloody calf, alive and well. It was a pretty exciting moment for all of us.

Slowly, my youngest son walked up to me, big-eyed, and asked, “Momma, did they have to do that to you?”