Starving Artist Ink.

i’ve told my birth stories in many ways
i first explored it, reliving with with my husband- putting together the pieces. his and mine.
he painted the pictures of the moments that were a hazy lull, drifting in and out of two worlds of time

i wrote it flat, whatever  words came, with a milky sleeping goddess on my chest.
still fresh, with the ache between my legs and an overwhelming endowment of nourishment at my breast
here and here

i questioned it later as it came to me, wondering how i could be so naive.
going back in time and suggesting what i could have done differently, wondering why i didn’t just think… why didn’t i know?
because i did know.. i did. but. somehow i stopped being apart of all of it when it came to the final end- past expiration date. it was no longer mine and now theirs, so i went with it.  unsure of how it was to all pan out. naive, at what point during an induction is it the drug talking, or the body talking? at what point is the labour the medication- at what point is the labour mine?

i went back in time and i picked out all of the things that i didn’t want in hindsight. most of it, to be honest. the things i didn’t want were the things i didn’t have to have.
fingers and monitors. gel and a clock. sterile and unfamiliar. unsure and inhibited. iv and needles.
i completely disconnected from what was happening – the BIRTH of my baby – and i just carried on, away. taken over.
it’s still hard for me to forgive myself and use the excuse of being my first time.

we talk about it often enough these days, going back and forth… (revisiting) adding to it, taking away from it. smoothing things over. knowing what we want next time, him understanding things differently now, understanding where i’m coming from and also.. just. knowing. trusting.

i wrote it again, but this time for her..
and i tried my best to take away my stuff from her story.
i wrote it, exploring it from a different angle.. honouring the beauty of her arrival.
remembering that sweet reward of suddenly- this mysterious babe within – there, at my fingertips…
and even more suddenly – there… on my chest.
my life forever changed in those first inhales of this goddess on my skin
her dark eyes searching mine in a knowing way. telling me her story of arrival in slow blinks and eager mouth…
i contacted the hospital so i could get the records from her birth
i didn’t know how much i needed it, until i had those papers in hand
the confirmation
written in barely legible scrawl from the midwife i would have never chosen.
going back and knowing where i was- based on what she wrote.. and how any of it could have been different, or.. the same.
and i was suddenly okay with that.
it helped me to close that door and to move on

just the other day i stood watching claire play
and suddenly it dawned on me
i’ll never give birth to her again…
i guess somewhere in my mind i thought that i would prepare and nest
i would surround myself and create an environment to birth her into
i would tell her a new story, and the old one.  we would do this dance for years and years.
in a way though,
i guess we will…