My son was born in the height of the dry season, almost noon on a Friday under a cloudless blue sky and merciless sun. He was born with a knot in the cord. The midwife brought the cord to me, as if to say it was a miracle that he had not suffocated himself before birth. I was unimpressed I think, drained with the effort of delivery, awed by the emergence of this whole other person. I did think at some point that he had tied the knot himself with all that swimming around in the days before the womb became a tight fit. He's still a swimmer, and probably still ties himself up in knots, but manages to emerge unscathed.
Because we never tried to find out if he was a he or a she before the birth, we chose yellow (not pink nor blue) as the colour for his baby clothes and blankets - the colour of his season, of sunshine and shower of gold cassia, dripping cat's claw blooms and blazes of poui in scorched hills. He was the golden child - until we found out that he was born "with a touch of jaundice." The cure for that was to expose him in the morning sunlight a few hours a day. That gave him heat rashes. A month with a new baby is like a whole lifetime.
That year, the rains came a month after he was born. They were torrential but cooled us down. He ate and slept, woke bawling like a banshee and grew fat as a buddha. Happy birthday, son, have a great year too.
Shower of gold cassia, and poui blossoms on the ground.