Monthly Archives: July 2015

The first Mommy days.

I became a mom on September 28th 2014. But it didn’t feel real it felt like some one slapped a label on me and that somehow was supposed to make me qualified for this brand new identity, and I felt anything but. My friends all had baby’s and seemed to be in such better control than I was. I had an easy pregnancy, no morning sickness, no heart burn, and I was perfectly happy being pregnant and fully expected to sail into motherhood with the same ease. I had planned to deliver at a birth center, but when my water broke there was meconium in my water and suddenly I was being transferred out to a hospital.  23 hours later the life that was inside was now out and I was supposed to know what to do.  Breastfeeding in the hospital made me feel inept, a well meaning nurse corrected me over and over again telling me that my son should have my entire nipple in his mouth pulling him off and making me try again and again until he was so upset that he couldn’t be calmed to latch.  There I sat with a squalling newborn and leaky boobs wondering how in the hell I was going to do this. I stayed in the hospital for three days ( I didn’t have a cesarean, the extra recovery time wasn’t needed. I was just afraid to leave.) the hospital made sure I was fed, and I was somewhat anonymous. I didn’t want to see anyone I wanted my husband and me and the baby and no one else. My parents came to visit and I prayed the entire time that my baby would stay asleep so I wouldn’t have to let anyone else touch him. I was so angry that they were there bothering me, it felt intrusive, and I felt mean for not wanting them.  We went home with the baby and I can hardly remember the first few weeks beyond knowing that I was a mess. I burst into tears at the mention of the baby. People would come over and I would pretend so hard that I was fine, and I was anything but. My sister knew, she came over to meet her nephew and I could tell she could see I was faking it. She seemed to sense that I was completely coming apart and she called me daily to check on me. She saved me I knew she knew, and was  concerned. And I knew she would do whatever I needed to dig my way out. It was my check up with my midwife that was a wake up call. I felt fine bursting into tears at home, no one could see me there. But I when I went into the birth center to make sure I was healing the midwives asked me how I was doing and I burst into unrestrained sobs. I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t speak and I  sat in the public waiting room ugly crying until they quickly escorted me into an office. I left the appointment with orders to call a counselor and they follwed up with me three time until  I actulaly contacted the counselors. I emailed I couldn’t bring myself to call as just talking about it made me cry. It took me until my son was three months old for me not to burst into tears at odd moments. I would cry when strangers would ask how old my son was or how being a mom felt. ( no doubt terrifying the public and frighting several women off of motherhood.) my son is now ten months old and I feel slightly more qualified for the title of mom though I don’t know that I will ever feel like I know what I’m doing. Post partum depression is something that I didn’t expect to experience. I am so greatful to my sister who refused to let me go a day without a phone call in those early days. she told me that she loved me every time she spoke to me I don’t know that she will ever know how much it ment but I hope she knows how much I love her for it. I need to thank the nurses and midwives and mountain midwifery center they saw that I was drowning and not only threw me a life buoy but insisted that I take hold when I didn’t grab it right away. Thank you to my husband who put up with the tears and held me when I needed it, thank you for telling me I was doing a good job it meant everything to hear that. Lastly thank you to everyone who came to visit and talked with me those moments got me through the day and let me escape the loneliness I was feeling.

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Digging the foundations

Before we get started this is a story that is in progress. it is unedited and things will be moved, added. taken out and shot as needed. but this is the first chapter. and the begining of chapter two

Chapter 1

the more I try to fix me the more broken I become

He’s pounding on my door again but I can ignore him, for now at least. sooner or later he always gets in I’ve asked them to change the locks. They probably don’t, but I always ask. The pounding comes again and I roll to my side and face the wall. There’s a black smudge on the paper near the top of the wall i’ve no idea how it came to be there and I have thought about having the spot scrubbed away but it’s not always there, so when I point it out for them to clean they nod convincingly, they are always convincing, but then they never actually clean it and part of me is glad to keep it, the smudge reminds me of why i’m here, that flaw that is so obvious and elusive at the same time.

He’s in the room now, I didn’t hear the door open, but then again I never do Vayu has a knack for that he gets into places without anyone hearing him it’s annoying. I ignore him this annoys him which pleases me, it makes me feel real.

“Are you quite through?” he has a british accent today and the word quite, is clipped and elegant as though he pruned the dead rose blossoms off a bush with a quick snap. giving more room for growth

“Say it again” I know he won’t we did this once and I made him repeat himself too often for him to indulge me any longer. I will add quite to the list of words though and see if I can trick him into saying them. I think about the list it’s hidden away so it wont get tossed but I worry about it all the same. if I lose the words, I feel lost. I must remember quite though so I can write it down. “it’s quite nice to see you again” it doesn’t sound the same when I say it but I know it’s important.

He overlooks my use of the word but I know he will write it down later as well, another piece to the puzzle I suppose. I often wonder if he’s got a whole list of things he’s trying to peace together to form a logical paragraph about me just as I have dissected words and phrases to disassemble him. “ Why did you make me wait so long today?”

“How do you suppose that mark got there?” I don’t bother to point, he will either understand or not and his comprehension has no bering on where the interview is headed he has his coordinates and will not allow diversion from the path. it is far more enjoyable to have these talks this way. With him driving and dragging me along side whilst (another one of the words i’ve collected this one is snake like and ends with a lovely hiss and pop, I must not forget quite) I pick up shiny objects that have fallen along his chosen path, this way he travels along his path and I find treasure as I stumble through brambles. “It must be quite a stubborn mark since it hasn’t been cleared away yet”

Vayu nods pleased “There are some marks that are nearly impossible to remove, but with time and patience they can fade and those who love us can overlook them”

“They probably haven’t tried to clear it away” The smudge on the wall is larger now and I wonder how they all miss it, the room holds only me the bed and the smudge. it doesn’t hold Vayu, nothing does. The smudge would not survive if it tried to leave. I have not tried to leave but I know I must. i worry that I might be like the smudge, and leaving will destroy me

“Perhaps not all marks should be removed?” Vayu seems pleased with me, he thinks that today we will walk together and he will not have to drag me. This is nonsense, but I like perhaps. quite, perhaps, quite, perhaps. I have to be careful, some of the words get lost if you say them too much. I lost abide, I wore it out during a very intolerant week. it began to sound ragged and made up, it is still on my list but it looks imagined.

“Perhaps yes, perhaps not. Why?” I decide to take a few steps with Vayu, His eyes narrow he only watches me he tried to take notes during our visits once, it ended badly, but I collected a great many words that day. “They are reminders of where you came from” I scowl I do not like that thought, something in those words threatens, and I sit down on the path, I will not walk. I begin to hum it is tuneless but it drowns out the thought he has so rudely put into the room. the room is suddenly too small and the all the air seems to be leaving.

Vayu watches me “Perhaps your not quite ready to discuss this?” he has brought the air back and gave me the words again, sometimes I trick him into giving them to me but now it’s a gift , a glittering stone he has tossed on to the path and I retrieve it and I know he wont bring up the thought again, not today. I think of my list and I want more of the pretty little gems that hiss and pop and dance on the tongue.

“repeat it!” Vayu shakes his head sadly. he has a hat now and he wants to walk with me again, we never go anywhere when he repeats, he thought he might at first and he would let me show him the lists and read them to me. But our walks on those days were in circles and I was loath (that is another one I like its round like a marble in the mouth.) to let him leave.

“Why did you make me wait so long?” He’s brought us back to the trail head again and I can hear the birds in the trees next door. it’s a rattling noise I hope he didn’t bring the snake again. “snake?” Vayu shakes his head “woodpeckers then” he seems ok with the birds and I agree I do not like it when he brings the snakes they tie me in them and let them bite until I sleep. I do not know what the woodpeckers will do but they hum like bees in the trees next door. and I know that this is not right but Vayu told me they were birds and Vayu would not lie. Vayu watches me and then stands “you will not make me wait so long tomorrow.” He is gone and so I remind them that they need to make sure the walls are scrubbed and that the mark has gotten bigger. it wont be cleaned but they all nod at me as I speak.

Female age 29

weight 117

height 5’6

interviewer: Sterling

subject is not eating and shows considerable preoccupation with words will speak to the interviewer about not pushing for more answers. subject once again has complained that her quarters are soiled. considering medications again however dosing has been an issue.

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Just a short Intro

I am 30 years old A wife, a mother, a writer and so many other things it’s hard to find enough boxes to put it all in. There will be fact and fiction on this blog some of my writing, some of my ranting and probably alot of my bragging about my son and husband and the loves of my life. feel free to poke arround and see what you find,