the stories, the stories, the stories.
they will become. the lonesome cowboy with the dark secret. the number of breaths a person takes in a lifetime. the hidden language of the natural imagination. the tortured couple who can't help but be together. the snark, the snitch, the fairy-tale witch. all things imaginative are alive, they are within here, in the head, inhabiting the heart.
the stories are there for a reason.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
just keep writing
just keep writing. someday it may all make sense.
just keep writing. it's all for you and no one will read it anyway.
just keep writing. your life depends on it.
just keep writing. you'll want the boy to know what you spent your time doing.
just keep writing. there's inspiration in there somewhere.
just keep writing. these stories won't tell themselves.
just keep writing. there's a song on the brink of being sung.
just keep writing. he's playing by himself and that doesn't happen often.
just keep writing. you have nothing better to do.
just keep writing. don't you want to leave a legacy in words?
just keep writing. you once wrote beautiful poetry.
just keep writing. you can find those words again.
just keep writing. there are characters dying to be realized, plots longing to thicken.
just keep writing. how else are you going to change the world?
just keep writing. it's not the first time he's been fussy.
just keep writing. a creative mama is a happy mama.
just keep writing. you never know when you'll get time again.
just keep writing. you've got vows to recite in 2 months.
just keep writing. your friends really want you to.
just keep writing. it'll all make sense eventually.
just keep writing. it's something you're sort of good at.
just keep writing.
just keep writing.
just keep writing.
just keep writing. it's all for you and no one will read it anyway.
just keep writing. your life depends on it.
just keep writing. you'll want the boy to know what you spent your time doing.
just keep writing. there's inspiration in there somewhere.
just keep writing. these stories won't tell themselves.
just keep writing. there's a song on the brink of being sung.
just keep writing. he's playing by himself and that doesn't happen often.
just keep writing. you have nothing better to do.
just keep writing. don't you want to leave a legacy in words?
just keep writing. you once wrote beautiful poetry.
just keep writing. you can find those words again.
just keep writing. there are characters dying to be realized, plots longing to thicken.
just keep writing. how else are you going to change the world?
just keep writing. it's not the first time he's been fussy.
just keep writing. a creative mama is a happy mama.
just keep writing. you never know when you'll get time again.
just keep writing. you've got vows to recite in 2 months.
just keep writing. your friends really want you to.
just keep writing. it'll all make sense eventually.
just keep writing. it's something you're sort of good at.
just keep writing.
just keep writing.
just keep writing.
letter to no one
to whomever would listen.
days of mothering, cleaning, bending, laundering, rocking, nursing, caring, nurturing... where were mine? i wonder what it would take for me to begrudge my precious son the love i feel overflowing in my heart, the hopes unrealized, the chance to be just very happily him?
i wonder what they did to make them hate life so. how can a mother leave her babies at home, send them to school with no lunches and cigarette-smelling clothes, ignore their cries of help me, he hurts us, he touches the bad places? how can a father drink himself to oblivion while driving his young son into the front porch, taking vacations passed out poolside while the kids eat cheez-its for dinner and pour out the beer? how could they look away, laugh at, pretend it never was, the pain and crying of two young children, begging, please, love us? and how do they feel now, now that one has grown into an addict and perpetually jobless nobody, the other is distant and healing, protecting her young son from the ill-love, the kind that leaves a scar? where are they, who would they wish they were, are they as empty inside as i imagine they deserve to be?
do they work at karma, or is the mantra 'deny, deny, deny?' do they scream inside, the way that i did, the ways that i have, reaching and wretching over the agony of not being loved? do they ever wonder, is she ok? do they hope for my peace, the way i do for them? do they forgive, do they pray for love, do they feed their souls?
i wish i didn't know the answer to this. days spent in a dark house with her depressed and oppressive partner, or busily humming a tune of nothing hurts as he retreats to a place where no one lives... describing for themselves a life of no-worry, of no-accountability. never wondering what will happen when they are old, and no one is left to care, or, rather sadly, the only one left is the one they did not care for, the one who tries to break free day after day of their shameful disgust, of their pretending life is tv. the only one left who could help is the very one they neglected to begin with.
and the other one. the one i wished things differently for, who now hurts and takes and cons and lies and lies and lies. the one tortured so long, no one is left to torture him but him, and he takes what he couldn't get from the abusers from those willing wanting wishing to help. he takes from us, from our child, from the third ones' kids, and an aunt and uncles' kids too. about-to this and fixing-to that. gonna throw ya'll some money as soon as this next job comes through, just need a little money for gas, and hey, what's one beer, and i'm in pain is why i take the pills, and i been driving this way forever, fuck you and can i borrow your car? you don't understand, don't know what the fuck you're talking about, somebody wronged me, so i'm screwing you, can you lend me twenty dollars til next friday? i'm in your neighborhood, just thought i'd stop by, i just want to help ya'll out of the goodness of my heart, hey want to get a six pack?
and he hides under his shame, never seeking, only scamming, just a little more to get by, until one day he's stealing a roommates truck and fucking a girl who doesn't know any better because she's got a job and is too dumb to question. and i feel sick inside each time he hugs me, or reaches for my son, and i pray for the presence i need to ensure my child never becomes like his uncle.
but, if only there wasn't more of them; they operate in packs of un-reasoning and deceit. the mother of all losses, the matriarch of un-truth, the master manipulator, the enabling grandmother of fear. she spins the tales they might want to hear, honey you know where the pills are, i've got the money if you need it, i'd rather you get it here than on the street. they been drugging me, stealing my money, look at me, i love you, why don't brandi ever come see me? i love her so much, doesn't she care that i'm dying, i have no money, i can't walk, won't you come see me and bring that baby? damn jigaboos trying to steal my jewelry, the doctors won't help, don't they know i can't? i'm gone sit back and wait for it to get easy, did you notice how fat she got, you know he's sleeping with his step-mom? just can't understand how my own family could turn their backs on a crippled old woman, don't ya'll see i'm in pain?
and i continue to retreat from their lies, and i fight my way back to love, muffling my ears from the cries of doubt, from the fears of self-realization, and onward into my own self, into the marvelous unknown, my child on my hip and my love by my side.
it's my life now. regards.
days of mothering, cleaning, bending, laundering, rocking, nursing, caring, nurturing... where were mine? i wonder what it would take for me to begrudge my precious son the love i feel overflowing in my heart, the hopes unrealized, the chance to be just very happily him?
i wonder what they did to make them hate life so. how can a mother leave her babies at home, send them to school with no lunches and cigarette-smelling clothes, ignore their cries of help me, he hurts us, he touches the bad places? how can a father drink himself to oblivion while driving his young son into the front porch, taking vacations passed out poolside while the kids eat cheez-its for dinner and pour out the beer? how could they look away, laugh at, pretend it never was, the pain and crying of two young children, begging, please, love us? and how do they feel now, now that one has grown into an addict and perpetually jobless nobody, the other is distant and healing, protecting her young son from the ill-love, the kind that leaves a scar? where are they, who would they wish they were, are they as empty inside as i imagine they deserve to be?
do they work at karma, or is the mantra 'deny, deny, deny?' do they scream inside, the way that i did, the ways that i have, reaching and wretching over the agony of not being loved? do they ever wonder, is she ok? do they hope for my peace, the way i do for them? do they forgive, do they pray for love, do they feed their souls?
i wish i didn't know the answer to this. days spent in a dark house with her depressed and oppressive partner, or busily humming a tune of nothing hurts as he retreats to a place where no one lives... describing for themselves a life of no-worry, of no-accountability. never wondering what will happen when they are old, and no one is left to care, or, rather sadly, the only one left is the one they did not care for, the one who tries to break free day after day of their shameful disgust, of their pretending life is tv. the only one left who could help is the very one they neglected to begin with.
and the other one. the one i wished things differently for, who now hurts and takes and cons and lies and lies and lies. the one tortured so long, no one is left to torture him but him, and he takes what he couldn't get from the abusers from those willing wanting wishing to help. he takes from us, from our child, from the third ones' kids, and an aunt and uncles' kids too. about-to this and fixing-to that. gonna throw ya'll some money as soon as this next job comes through, just need a little money for gas, and hey, what's one beer, and i'm in pain is why i take the pills, and i been driving this way forever, fuck you and can i borrow your car? you don't understand, don't know what the fuck you're talking about, somebody wronged me, so i'm screwing you, can you lend me twenty dollars til next friday? i'm in your neighborhood, just thought i'd stop by, i just want to help ya'll out of the goodness of my heart, hey want to get a six pack?
and he hides under his shame, never seeking, only scamming, just a little more to get by, until one day he's stealing a roommates truck and fucking a girl who doesn't know any better because she's got a job and is too dumb to question. and i feel sick inside each time he hugs me, or reaches for my son, and i pray for the presence i need to ensure my child never becomes like his uncle.
but, if only there wasn't more of them; they operate in packs of un-reasoning and deceit. the mother of all losses, the matriarch of un-truth, the master manipulator, the enabling grandmother of fear. she spins the tales they might want to hear, honey you know where the pills are, i've got the money if you need it, i'd rather you get it here than on the street. they been drugging me, stealing my money, look at me, i love you, why don't brandi ever come see me? i love her so much, doesn't she care that i'm dying, i have no money, i can't walk, won't you come see me and bring that baby? damn jigaboos trying to steal my jewelry, the doctors won't help, don't they know i can't? i'm gone sit back and wait for it to get easy, did you notice how fat she got, you know he's sleeping with his step-mom? just can't understand how my own family could turn their backs on a crippled old woman, don't ya'll see i'm in pain?
and i continue to retreat from their lies, and i fight my way back to love, muffling my ears from the cries of doubt, from the fears of self-realization, and onward into my own self, into the marvelous unknown, my child on my hip and my love by my side.
it's my life now. regards.
hoping he's still sleeping
this blog may have typos. maybe wont' make sense. cause i heard a noise, but i'm hoping he's still sleeping.
my lovely loverman says to me, you have time to be creative when he's sleeping, after i told him was jealowus of him for his creative time. i want' ted to strangel him. because he has no. freaking. idea.
but he's a great dad, and an even greater friend, lover, artist, supporter, teacher, etc, etc. he's awesome, weith an awlways great attitude. me, not so mucth.
iit's just different as a momma. it's relentless, and when the kid is sleeping (if you're one of the lucky few whose kid sleeps), you have anywhere from 5minutes to 2 hours to eat shower poop cry laundry dishes clean clean clean claen clean. just imagining making time to wirte or draw takes too much time.
yet here i am. i even had time to make a cup of coffee (a rare shred of my single self) before i sat down. i am focusing on blocvking out the pioles and pils of laundry screamaing my name, the fact that the dogs neesd a bath, the floor needing bvacuuming, the calls to the insureance compayn i need to make.
i read/heard that mamas have to just chalk up the first year to baby, especially thouse of yus who are nursign. i am learing to be ok with that. but yeastereday, i got to work an hour in t he backyard, and antoher almost hour at spreading some paint on a canvas. now, im' wirting, thought not very well, and am hoping if i just keep typing, ssomething magical will happen.
is it just me, or do the greatest thoughts/inspiration happen when we'er cleaning toilets or loating the dishwasher for the goddamned thouseanth time this week, and when i finally get down to typing, nothing but oatmeal semes to come out of my tired fingers?
i think i heard him again. nope, i know i heard him. thanks for the time. hope to see you next nap.
my lovely loverman says to me, you have time to be creative when he's sleeping, after i told him was jealowus of him for his creative time. i want' ted to strangel him. because he has no. freaking. idea.
but he's a great dad, and an even greater friend, lover, artist, supporter, teacher, etc, etc. he's awesome, weith an awlways great attitude. me, not so mucth.
iit's just different as a momma. it's relentless, and when the kid is sleeping (if you're one of the lucky few whose kid sleeps), you have anywhere from 5minutes to 2 hours to eat shower poop cry laundry dishes clean clean clean claen clean. just imagining making time to wirte or draw takes too much time.
yet here i am. i even had time to make a cup of coffee (a rare shred of my single self) before i sat down. i am focusing on blocvking out the pioles and pils of laundry screamaing my name, the fact that the dogs neesd a bath, the floor needing bvacuuming, the calls to the insureance compayn i need to make.
i read/heard that mamas have to just chalk up the first year to baby, especially thouse of yus who are nursign. i am learing to be ok with that. but yeastereday, i got to work an hour in t he backyard, and antoher almost hour at spreading some paint on a canvas. now, im' wirting, thought not very well, and am hoping if i just keep typing, ssomething magical will happen.
is it just me, or do the greatest thoughts/inspiration happen when we'er cleaning toilets or loating the dishwasher for the goddamned thouseanth time this week, and when i finally get down to typing, nothing but oatmeal semes to come out of my tired fingers?
i think i heard him again. nope, i know i heard him. thanks for the time. hope to see you next nap.
Monday, August 1, 2011
six months
wow. my son is six months old. there is nothing in that sentence that isn't still surreal.
really?! six months? really?! i have a son? really?! my life is not an illusion? really?!
really. i really am a mother. i think i always have been. but this, this is profound, not just imagining, babysitting, sistering, being the shoulder my brother-mother-father cry upon. not just bossing my baby sister (a seasoned mother of 4) around. now i'm in it. night. day. forever.
i am pretty sure i spend as many hours putting the boy to sleep as i spend actually sleeping. i clean so damn much i'm dizzy, yet it's never enough. i have had, and continue to have, all forms of baby bodily fluids on my skin, in my hair, on my clothes. there's not enough coffee, never enough time, and certainly no room for whining.
mothers are the original warriors.
i have to admit, i love every moment of it. it's what i'm good at. chaos is my rhythm, and my happy baby boy gleefully giggles with me as we dance, spin, swing, laugh, cry. and he constantly surprises and inspires me.
he had a tough start. breastfeeding wasn't going well, and my precious tiny baby boy began to lose weight. i was traumatized, exhausted. we began supplementing, which turned our feeding schedule into a round-the-clock ordeal. he was so small.
and yet, he remained calm. he rarely cried, and he seemed to see into my soul when he looked at me. we finally found our stride, and he began to fill out, and we weaned off of the formula and were nursing full-time. and then, it seemed, he just blossomed.
at six months, he's a long little fella with a small body. some of his 0-3 month clothes are still fitting. but, let me tell ya, he is the strongest and most dynamic kid i have ever met. at five months he began army-crawling, and now, at six months, is pulling himself up to standing. he loves to swing upside-down, and his favorite song is "do re mi." he's an engaging and charismatic little boy, and people tell us he seems like "a very mature baby." he laughs more than he cries, he loves his cousins, his favorite foods are avocadoes and bananas, and he's very interested in art (especially daddy's!). he makes our lives so rich, so lush, and we savor every lovely moment we have to hold, hug, kiss and cuddle him.
happy birthday, baby king. you are loved more than you will ever know.
really?! six months? really?! i have a son? really?! my life is not an illusion? really?!
really. i really am a mother. i think i always have been. but this, this is profound, not just imagining, babysitting, sistering, being the shoulder my brother-mother-father cry upon. not just bossing my baby sister (a seasoned mother of 4) around. now i'm in it. night. day. forever.
i am pretty sure i spend as many hours putting the boy to sleep as i spend actually sleeping. i clean so damn much i'm dizzy, yet it's never enough. i have had, and continue to have, all forms of baby bodily fluids on my skin, in my hair, on my clothes. there's not enough coffee, never enough time, and certainly no room for whining.
mothers are the original warriors.
i have to admit, i love every moment of it. it's what i'm good at. chaos is my rhythm, and my happy baby boy gleefully giggles with me as we dance, spin, swing, laugh, cry. and he constantly surprises and inspires me.
he had a tough start. breastfeeding wasn't going well, and my precious tiny baby boy began to lose weight. i was traumatized, exhausted. we began supplementing, which turned our feeding schedule into a round-the-clock ordeal. he was so small.
and yet, he remained calm. he rarely cried, and he seemed to see into my soul when he looked at me. we finally found our stride, and he began to fill out, and we weaned off of the formula and were nursing full-time. and then, it seemed, he just blossomed.
at six months, he's a long little fella with a small body. some of his 0-3 month clothes are still fitting. but, let me tell ya, he is the strongest and most dynamic kid i have ever met. at five months he began army-crawling, and now, at six months, is pulling himself up to standing. he loves to swing upside-down, and his favorite song is "do re mi." he's an engaging and charismatic little boy, and people tell us he seems like "a very mature baby." he laughs more than he cries, he loves his cousins, his favorite foods are avocadoes and bananas, and he's very interested in art (especially daddy's!). he makes our lives so rich, so lush, and we savor every lovely moment we have to hold, hug, kiss and cuddle him.
happy birthday, baby king. you are loved more than you will ever know.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
birth story
(love is reborn.)
january 30th, 2011. i am due in two days. i awaken early on sunday morning, around 5 am. actually, i had been awake for a little while, my very pregnant body heavy and uncomfortable. i make my usual bathroom trip only to discover a pinkish fluid. did my water just break?
jump ahead 12 hours. i am home. john and i had gone to the birth center, thinking i was in labor. i wasn't. i was leaking fluid, but nothing was happening. the mild contractions i had been having that morning had stopped. i tried to rest.
11:45pm. an unusually early night for us. we usually head to bed after midnight, around 1:30. we were tired from all of the excitement earlier. thinking i was in labor, we had called our labor support friends. dogs were carried to a friend's house, bags packed into the car, only to find it wasn't happening. at least not yet.
shortly after removing my contacts and brushing my teeth, i have a contraction. whoa. this wasn't the mild kind from earlier that day. this one pushed me, pulled me down into a standing half-bend over my bed. i swayed my hips and moaned. i rode the sensation, and when it was over, i stood and breathed. it was happening.
john began to time each contraction. we sat up in our bedroom, him on the bed, me standing and swaying. our midwives were correct to describe them as waves. they rose gently but firmly, and i moaned softly and swayed into the intensity of the sensation. they were coming closer now, stronger. i called the midwife and she suggested i rest in a warm bath for a while. i did, and john continued to time. before we knew it, it was time to go.
i had three contractions on the way, in the backseat. it was around 3am, and the streets were empty. we arrived quickly, a gentle mist falling upon us as i had another contraction getting out of the car. i swayed, moaned. we could hear a baby crying as we walked into the birth center. someone had just given birth.
we spent some time on the monitor, listening to the baby's heart rate. he and i together remained calm, steady. with each contraction, i bent over halfway and rocked my hips. i was determined to open, not to fight it. i would not be afraid.
my dear friend melinda arrived around 3:30. she joined us in the exam room as we waited and monitored. i couldn't get enough water. i ate a little, but i really wasn't hungry. after what felt like nearly an hour, our midwife, jill, came in and took me back to the birthing room.
i squatted into each contraction, my hands in prayer at my forehead. i took a deep goddess pose, and envisioned my hips spreading wide. i moaned through the feeling, i rocked my hips. jill came back in and administered a mild sedative to help me to rest- nubain, i later found out. i lay down with john behind me, and in a moment, i was asleep.
i suspect i slept an hour or two before i awoke in the middle of a contraction. i felt immense pressure, and the urge to push was strong. still, i knew it wasn't time. i grabbed the leg of my yoga pants and lifted my leg with my arm, to allow the contraction to pass. jill heard me moaning and came in to check on my progress. she wanted me to let my leg down, to rest, but i assured her that this brought relief from the pressure. she left me alone, and left the room.
i am not sure when i awoke, only that i was on my knees draped over a yoga ball on the bed. i felt a gentle hand rubbing my lower back. i soon realized it was melinda- she had napped on a couch in the office. john was beside me, and the lights were on, low. i rocked with each contraction, i sang out my birth song. i resisted the urge to push time and again. i was opening, wide.
jill came in to check me. i was fully dilated.
melinda helped me to the bathroom. i had a contraction over a small shelf in front of the toilet. i sang, i cried. i was so tired. but i knew the work was only beginning. i asked jill if i could get into the tub now. mercifully, she said yes.
i don't remember my water breaking. i am guessing it was a slow leak. as i waited for the tub to fill, melinda helped me out of my clothes while john got into his swim trunks. he got onto the seat of the large corner tub, and melinda and jill helped me in.
the warm, bubbling water felt so soothing. i swam around, allowing the contractions to come, willing the baby to come. imke had arrived, and michelle shortly after. i could see the day breaking through the blinds. i barely opened my eyes; i was drifting in labor land, my mind fully in my body and yet somehow out of it. i could feel john's loving hands supporting me, his sweet words soothing me. there was a shift change, and nurse heidi left and nurses katie and jill came in. the labor team was fully in place.
midwife jill suggested i get positioned between john's knees and let him support me while i braced my feet against the side of the pool. i began to push. in between each contraction, i drifted away, the people and things around me becoming a dream, a blur. and then i awakened again, fully into the pushing, the pressure. jill held up a mirror, and for the first time, the reality of what was happening became firm as wood. i could see the slightest sliver of my baby's head, his hair distinctly different from my own. i wanted it, now, more than ever.
i pushed for some time. i only opened a very tiny bit. after a few more pushes, jill suggested i get out and try to empty my bladder. i tried, but only a little bit came. with melinda's help, i got back into the bed and onto the yoga ball. john changed into dry jeans. my knees on the bed, and my upper torso draped over the ball, i rocked and breathed and pushed. i was holding the hand of john on my left, melinda on my right. i had an awkward hold on her, and with the contraction squeezed her delicate hand painfully. she switched off with michelle for a bit. jill, seeing little progress, suggested a catheter. i was flipped over onto my back. she waited until the contraction was over before efficiently emptying my bladder. it was full. now, the labor began to flow.
she instructed me to push out and up. i did. john on my right, melinda on my left, each holding a leg. michelle held a mirror. and as i pushed, i watched in amazement as my son's head began to emerge.
the pressure was overwhelming, and the ring of fire burned, burned, burned. but seeing this, the lavender head of my little son, slipping from my body, erased all pain. there was no fear. as soon as i saw the first trace of his ears, he was out, his slippery purple body in the gloved hands of my midwife. i remember hearing myself crying, "my baby! my baby!"
jill cleaned him off as my friends stood back and smiled and hugged and cried happy tears. imke floated quietly among us, capturing this captivating experience in her gentle lens. john held my hand, and smiled and smiled, beaming with love and pride. i, meanwhile, was in a delirium, half high, half traumatized, fully amazed and overwhelmed. my darling boy was placed into my jelly arms, his little body crying and slimy. he felt so good. i loved him instantly, couldn't take my eyes off of him. he had my hands, long, long fingers, his head was long and cone-like from his passage into the world. he looked like a tiny alien. and he was completely beautiful, totally perfect.
monday, january 31st, 2011, at 11:16am, rex williford olenyik entered our world. he weighed 6lbs, 4oz, and was 19" long.
looking back, i don't remember the pain. i remember sensations, orgasmic and hard, challenging and fierce. i remember the calm, the feeling that i was totally supported, cared for, safe. i remember the love that kept me focused and free as i labored and allowed my son to make his way into my life. i remember me, and how i came home that day, home to my self, home to creation, to life.
i am so thankful to my midwives- margaret, for her motherly humor and calm reassurance; nancy, for guiding me through fear and into healing; and jill, for transforming my prejudices to trust, and for delivering me to my child. i am thankful to katie, who showed us around the birth center when we were just beginning to bud, and for seeing us off after seeing us through the birth of our family.
i am thankful to my teacher, kendall, for teaching me to breathe through to the other side.
my deepest gratitude to my dear, dear friends, friends who ask for nothing but the truth. michelle, for her strength and humor, and for her yummy food and caring family. imke, for her twinkling eyes and lightness of touch, her great laugh and only the best of hugs, and for giving me a gift i couldn't experience any other way. melinda, for her grace, for her love, for her hands, and for her indestructible heart that beats with the earth's rhythms.
and john, my love, my everything. words can't describe the sounds that love makes, the silent echoes from deep within my loving heart. you, my love, are always with me, always have been. thank you for seeing in me that which i cannot. you have brought me home to love.
january 30th, 2011. i am due in two days. i awaken early on sunday morning, around 5 am. actually, i had been awake for a little while, my very pregnant body heavy and uncomfortable. i make my usual bathroom trip only to discover a pinkish fluid. did my water just break?
jump ahead 12 hours. i am home. john and i had gone to the birth center, thinking i was in labor. i wasn't. i was leaking fluid, but nothing was happening. the mild contractions i had been having that morning had stopped. i tried to rest.
11:45pm. an unusually early night for us. we usually head to bed after midnight, around 1:30. we were tired from all of the excitement earlier. thinking i was in labor, we had called our labor support friends. dogs were carried to a friend's house, bags packed into the car, only to find it wasn't happening. at least not yet.
shortly after removing my contacts and brushing my teeth, i have a contraction. whoa. this wasn't the mild kind from earlier that day. this one pushed me, pulled me down into a standing half-bend over my bed. i swayed my hips and moaned. i rode the sensation, and when it was over, i stood and breathed. it was happening.
john began to time each contraction. we sat up in our bedroom, him on the bed, me standing and swaying. our midwives were correct to describe them as waves. they rose gently but firmly, and i moaned softly and swayed into the intensity of the sensation. they were coming closer now, stronger. i called the midwife and she suggested i rest in a warm bath for a while. i did, and john continued to time. before we knew it, it was time to go.
i had three contractions on the way, in the backseat. it was around 3am, and the streets were empty. we arrived quickly, a gentle mist falling upon us as i had another contraction getting out of the car. i swayed, moaned. we could hear a baby crying as we walked into the birth center. someone had just given birth.
we spent some time on the monitor, listening to the baby's heart rate. he and i together remained calm, steady. with each contraction, i bent over halfway and rocked my hips. i was determined to open, not to fight it. i would not be afraid.
my dear friend melinda arrived around 3:30. she joined us in the exam room as we waited and monitored. i couldn't get enough water. i ate a little, but i really wasn't hungry. after what felt like nearly an hour, our midwife, jill, came in and took me back to the birthing room.
i squatted into each contraction, my hands in prayer at my forehead. i took a deep goddess pose, and envisioned my hips spreading wide. i moaned through the feeling, i rocked my hips. jill came back in and administered a mild sedative to help me to rest- nubain, i later found out. i lay down with john behind me, and in a moment, i was asleep.
i suspect i slept an hour or two before i awoke in the middle of a contraction. i felt immense pressure, and the urge to push was strong. still, i knew it wasn't time. i grabbed the leg of my yoga pants and lifted my leg with my arm, to allow the contraction to pass. jill heard me moaning and came in to check on my progress. she wanted me to let my leg down, to rest, but i assured her that this brought relief from the pressure. she left me alone, and left the room.
i am not sure when i awoke, only that i was on my knees draped over a yoga ball on the bed. i felt a gentle hand rubbing my lower back. i soon realized it was melinda- she had napped on a couch in the office. john was beside me, and the lights were on, low. i rocked with each contraction, i sang out my birth song. i resisted the urge to push time and again. i was opening, wide.
jill came in to check me. i was fully dilated.
melinda helped me to the bathroom. i had a contraction over a small shelf in front of the toilet. i sang, i cried. i was so tired. but i knew the work was only beginning. i asked jill if i could get into the tub now. mercifully, she said yes.
i don't remember my water breaking. i am guessing it was a slow leak. as i waited for the tub to fill, melinda helped me out of my clothes while john got into his swim trunks. he got onto the seat of the large corner tub, and melinda and jill helped me in.
the warm, bubbling water felt so soothing. i swam around, allowing the contractions to come, willing the baby to come. imke had arrived, and michelle shortly after. i could see the day breaking through the blinds. i barely opened my eyes; i was drifting in labor land, my mind fully in my body and yet somehow out of it. i could feel john's loving hands supporting me, his sweet words soothing me. there was a shift change, and nurse heidi left and nurses katie and jill came in. the labor team was fully in place.
midwife jill suggested i get positioned between john's knees and let him support me while i braced my feet against the side of the pool. i began to push. in between each contraction, i drifted away, the people and things around me becoming a dream, a blur. and then i awakened again, fully into the pushing, the pressure. jill held up a mirror, and for the first time, the reality of what was happening became firm as wood. i could see the slightest sliver of my baby's head, his hair distinctly different from my own. i wanted it, now, more than ever.
i pushed for some time. i only opened a very tiny bit. after a few more pushes, jill suggested i get out and try to empty my bladder. i tried, but only a little bit came. with melinda's help, i got back into the bed and onto the yoga ball. john changed into dry jeans. my knees on the bed, and my upper torso draped over the ball, i rocked and breathed and pushed. i was holding the hand of john on my left, melinda on my right. i had an awkward hold on her, and with the contraction squeezed her delicate hand painfully. she switched off with michelle for a bit. jill, seeing little progress, suggested a catheter. i was flipped over onto my back. she waited until the contraction was over before efficiently emptying my bladder. it was full. now, the labor began to flow.
she instructed me to push out and up. i did. john on my right, melinda on my left, each holding a leg. michelle held a mirror. and as i pushed, i watched in amazement as my son's head began to emerge.
the pressure was overwhelming, and the ring of fire burned, burned, burned. but seeing this, the lavender head of my little son, slipping from my body, erased all pain. there was no fear. as soon as i saw the first trace of his ears, he was out, his slippery purple body in the gloved hands of my midwife. i remember hearing myself crying, "my baby! my baby!"
jill cleaned him off as my friends stood back and smiled and hugged and cried happy tears. imke floated quietly among us, capturing this captivating experience in her gentle lens. john held my hand, and smiled and smiled, beaming with love and pride. i, meanwhile, was in a delirium, half high, half traumatized, fully amazed and overwhelmed. my darling boy was placed into my jelly arms, his little body crying and slimy. he felt so good. i loved him instantly, couldn't take my eyes off of him. he had my hands, long, long fingers, his head was long and cone-like from his passage into the world. he looked like a tiny alien. and he was completely beautiful, totally perfect.
monday, january 31st, 2011, at 11:16am, rex williford olenyik entered our world. he weighed 6lbs, 4oz, and was 19" long.
looking back, i don't remember the pain. i remember sensations, orgasmic and hard, challenging and fierce. i remember the calm, the feeling that i was totally supported, cared for, safe. i remember the love that kept me focused and free as i labored and allowed my son to make his way into my life. i remember me, and how i came home that day, home to my self, home to creation, to life.
i am so thankful to my midwives- margaret, for her motherly humor and calm reassurance; nancy, for guiding me through fear and into healing; and jill, for transforming my prejudices to trust, and for delivering me to my child. i am thankful to katie, who showed us around the birth center when we were just beginning to bud, and for seeing us off after seeing us through the birth of our family.
i am thankful to my teacher, kendall, for teaching me to breathe through to the other side.
my deepest gratitude to my dear, dear friends, friends who ask for nothing but the truth. michelle, for her strength and humor, and for her yummy food and caring family. imke, for her twinkling eyes and lightness of touch, her great laugh and only the best of hugs, and for giving me a gift i couldn't experience any other way. melinda, for her grace, for her love, for her hands, and for her indestructible heart that beats with the earth's rhythms.
and john, my love, my everything. words can't describe the sounds that love makes, the silent echoes from deep within my loving heart. you, my love, are always with me, always have been. thank you for seeing in me that which i cannot. you have brought me home to love.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
on change, rather, adaptation
i remain unchanged. my son sleeps on his mattress on the floor, draped in diffuse cloudy light. he is my sober dream, my ever-changing reality.
now, things are different. yet really only revealed, a motherhood uncovered from under the rubble of past and piles of remembering a childhood gone bitter. where were the good times? now is the great time, the evolution of love.
he sleeps so sweetly, yet i sleep none. a few meager and fortuitous moments here and there, some while walking or doing. still somehow, they are enough to fortify me. his breath nurtures my soul.
now, things are different. yet really only revealed, a motherhood uncovered from under the rubble of past and piles of remembering a childhood gone bitter. where were the good times? now is the great time, the evolution of love.
he sleeps so sweetly, yet i sleep none. a few meager and fortuitous moments here and there, some while walking or doing. still somehow, they are enough to fortify me. his breath nurtures my soul.
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