Dakota was born in Bemidji, Minnesota. The hospital was about 22 miles from our home in the woods in Becida. My labor was induced at North Country Regional Medical Center, by breaking my water. Figuring that it would be ten hours or so, Dr. Armstrong went home to have dinner. He never got to eat it. My complete labor was three hours long, and the nurse thought she would be delivering Dakota. I remember that it was a record breaking evening for babies at the hospital. There were even moms-to-be waiting on beds in the hallway. In recovery, there were no private rooms. Living in the middle of three Chippewa reservations, most of those babies were Native American. Dakota had lots of dark hair and olive skin. He fit right in with them. When the nurses would bring him to my room, to this pale mother with red hair, they would casually check his name on his bracelet, trying not to let me see they were making sure. It was so funny!
One of the best things about my memories of Dakota's birth is that my mom was healthy, and had flown there to be with us. She watched him be born, and later called it one of the greatest moments of her life. He is the only one of my handsome children that she was able to be with me at the birth. I cherish that time in my heart. She was 68 years old, a widow, and finally becoming a grandmother.
I've got to stop before this becomes a novel. This year, we had a family celebration with pizza, ice cream cake, and some movies. Here are some pics. Love you so much, Dakota!
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