Karma

[ailbhe]

I had another flashback last night - this time to contractions. The relentless, hard, 30-120 second contractions I had for a month before Linnea was born. The ones I was told were Braxton Hicks until someone actually felt one and expressed considerable surprise that I could still talk. My abdomen would get so hard I couldn't make an impression with my fingers, and I couldn't walk or breathe - but because I could still talk, the medics were led astray. Oopsie.

I spent a while the day before - interestingly, before I read Radegund's birth story - remembering how I'd asked the midwives, somewhere after daylight on Friday but before the last midwife to deal with my labour came on shift, if I was going to hate my baby. I remember being very worried that, if the baby existed at all, which I sincerely doubted at that time, I would resent the 30 hours of hard labour I'd been through at that point.

I don't know how I got through that month, the 38 hours of labour, the 21 minutes of serious in-theatre melee, the three days afterwards when I couldn't walk unaided. I don't know. I'm sitting here, having done it, and I can't imagine how. I think it must be as I said three months ago - I just didn't die, over and over again. And the flashbacks and panic attacks are coming back, and bringing hot rage with them, over and over again.

Someone said to me, on a mailing list, recently, "It's about time you had some good luck, after all that."

I answered, "She's asleep upstairs."

She's asleep again now. She knows how to kick a ball from her door-bouncer. She can almost sit up. She can roll over both ways, and crawl backwards or in 360 degree circles with her tum as the mid-point (what's the technical term for the middle of a circle? epicentre?).

She tries to feed herself with the spoon when she's being given her two teaspoons a day of mashed squish. When she's hungry and placed in a nursing position, she pants like an eager puppy until she can grab me in both hands and eat. She has two teeth, but she only bites when not feeding. Her left lower front tooth is a little crooked; the right one appears straight.

She has some more consonants - goo, buh, tha. She likes to blow raspberries to express pleasure or what sounds like irritated swearing. She sings when I sing, sometimes, and beats her hands in time to music. She loves to watch me dance, particularly "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" which will, no doubt, be very good for my abs. Sometimes, when she's eating, she pulls away and looks at me; it looks like awe, though it can't really be awe. Perhaps it's love. Maybe that's what knowing where your next meal is coming from looks like. I don't know; it makes me sure and certain that it's all worth it, ten times worth it, forever worth it, if I get to keep her strong and safe and happy.

Comments

That was lovely

[the-ogre.livejournal.com]

Truly.

Thnaks for sharing it.

Re: That was lovely

[ailbhe]

In all honesty, I started that post miserable, and ended it feeling - not happy, but grateful and full of love. Then a flamewar erupted in my journal, but hey, everyone I actually know is on my side, so way hey and up she rises, or something.

Motherhood is lovely, for me. It's the culmination of a lifetime's ambition. And the brevity of my lifetime really makes no difference, to me.

Jeez.

[the-ogre.livejournal.com]

I just read the trollishness you mentioned.

What a creep.

As far as I can tell (having only spent a few hours actually getting to know you), you have a very good sense of who you are and what you are about - so anyone having the temerity of disagreeing with your own assesment of what is important to you and how you choose to deal with such is talking out of their arse.

And for what it's worth, I do enjoy reading aobut you & Linnea & Rob.