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#91 of 97 Old 10-10-2004, 09:05 PM
 
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ok, here goes....this is reminding me how shy I am. It is also showing me how rusty my writing is!!!

The day my baby was admitted to the hospital time stood still. The doctor sent us in for tests due to an unexplained fever. "It's probably just a virus - but we need to do a full work up to be sure." A full work up - he was 17 days old. A FULL WORK UP - it rang through my body. The pediatrition was very empathetic, thank God. The baby would have to stay for at least 48 hours (it turned into 14 days). They would have to take blood, do a lumbar puncture, catheter, iv, x-ray. My baby, my baby - poked, prodded, shaved head. My tears mixed with his and rained to the floor. My husbands strong arms held up both together. That night, nursing my baby was pure comfort - not just for him - for me. I held him in my arms as we slept on the folded down chair together. The steel crib lay empty; it stayed empty. We were one: both hurting, comforting each other. We brought each other through it.

Trying to live life to the fullest.....with DH,  2 fun kids, and a wild dog. 

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#92 of 97 Old 10-10-2004, 10:46 PM
 
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I only had a chance to do one assignment too - but here it is:

I remember . . . .
I remember the look on my 2-year-old daughter Aimie’s face the day her baby sister was born. Aimie had been in and out of the house as I went through a long, grueling labor. Luckily, my midwife Edana had brought her daughter Alyssa to keep Aimie entertained so my husband and I could focus on the birth.
I remember lying in the tub as the contractions intensified. Aimie came in and watched for a few minutes and I talked with her between contractions. She came in again as I was trying to push the baby through on the bedroom floor. There was a lot of blood but as she looked at all of us and no one seemed alarmed, so she was not alarmed either. In fact, she was almost bored. “Let’s go outside and play,” she said to Alyssa.
I finally pushed that baby out and we called Aimie in. I was holding my little newborn on my chest. Aimie’s eyes grew round and wide and a smile covered her face. “It’s a baby,” she said. “It’s a real baby.”
I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom – naked, covered with sweat and blood. My husband Gary on one side of me, my daughter Aimie on the other, and my new baby Emily in my arms. I felt so close to my family.

Cathe Olson, author The Vegetarian Mother's Cookbook, Simply Natural Baby Food, and LIck It! Creamy Dreamy Vegan Ice Creams Your Mouth Will Love.  
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#93 of 97 Old 10-11-2004, 12:05 AM
 
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There was a journey that led me to this place. A divorce...I broke his heart. A passionate fling...my heart got broken. And then there was the first time I looked into those laughing brown eyes. I felt that I'd known him forever.

They all scoffed at the idea when I said - only two months later - that we had decided to have a child. It didn't take long at all. One morning I awoke and I knew. I was strangely exhausted while intensely filled with life. Through those endless months, I rocked the child in my belly, and sang to her. I whispered to her how it would be.

The first time I looked into her eyes, I had a sudden jolt of realization. This was the one I had been searching for. My entire life, I knew I had a soulmate, and she had arrived. She was a part of me, my very own angel. "Thank you", I whispered. "You saved my life."

I finally agreed one year later to marry the man with the laughing brown eyes. We were wed, and months later I was again with child. The night she was conceived was the first time my daughter recognized the moon. "Look Momma", she said, pointing up at the sky. "Moon!"

Nine months later, I panted and moaned through hours of labor, my little angel at my side. She leaned up against the wall next to me and huffed and puffed. My husband rocked me to and fro, wiping the sweat from my brow. Screaming, I pushed her out of me, into the light. As I caught her, I marveled at how very warm she was. Warm and soft and wet. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her for the very first time.

Life has been sweet within this circle of love. There will always be first times for everything. I hold on to and cherish those moments, for they are so fleeting. First smiles turn into first days at school, and on and on and on.

"The best things in life aren't things."

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#94 of 97 Old 10-11-2004, 01:44 AM
 
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Just wanted to get my piece in. This was an awakening experience, looking forward to more!


**********************************************


The day my baby was born was a day of magical terror. When she was born it seemed as if both of us were awakening from a long dream. One moment, I was in sheer agony--"No, I don't want to see the baby's head in the mirror-I just want it out of me!" Then, as she finally slipped out, the angels rushed into the room and magic came too. It was like one of those movies where everything suddenly happens in extreme slow motion. Her father caught her and held her in his big hands like an exquisite wet little bird. He baptized her with his tears, and we were all as physically connected as we would ever be: from his hands, to her body, to her cord, to me. Lovingly he laid this tiny fairy in my arms, and instantly the universe was distilled into this one perfect drop of humanity.

She smelled of earthy sweet wetness, and her soft hair was plastered to her head. Her ears were still wrinkled, but her eyes were bright and searching my face, and when her eyes locked with mine I gasped and laughed with joy. She had taken me in and collected me as hers, as if to say, "Mommy, there is no going back to the way things were. Our journey together begins--today."
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#95 of 97 Old 10-11-2004, 02:27 AM
 
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Just under the wire... it's still Sunday on the west coast! Here are two of my free writes. I ended up doing 15 mins for Home and 5 for Two O'clock.

Home
Home is where the mess is. Though a fair bit of it manages to travel with me outside, too. Mango bits on my shoulder, tomato seeds on my jeans, unwashed hair and glasses lenses so smudged it’s like a revelation from the heavens when I mange to clean them and see clearly. The world is so bright and clear, and clean! Just as I suspected, the rest of the world is cleaner than mine.

But isn’t that the catch? Isn’t that the trap we all fall into? Some 1950s good housekeeping crap rears its tiny but insistent head and I find myself a “housewife" in the 21st century.

But I’m such a lousy one! There is almost a perverse pride in it. But mainly, I honestly find it nearly impossible to raise this kid AND have a clean house. I don’t think it’s just an excuse but I honestly know that seeing a messy house means I paid attention to my child today. Yes, I would love to bake bread to bring to my brother and sister just after the birth of their baby, but how much fun is it with my own baby hanging on my leg, in my arms? I manage to distract him with some flour on the floor but still, the bread making is an uphill battle. And afterward, I have battle fatigue! Ah, I sigh, there’s the bread. There it is. I made it! It’s done. Now get it out of here!

Seriously, there is not that same satisfaction from the previously meditative (tedious) process of baking. The science of it, the order, the precision. This is more like a harried attempt to hopefully reach the right consistency, stir stir stir pick up baby stir put baby down stir cry up stir down up pour down scrape up, lean over in a crazy angle so I don’t burn the baby (NEVER mention to my mother that I even went near the oven with the baby) and put the bread in. Phew.

So I have two loaves of banana bread and a flour-covered baby at the end of the day, both of which have received half my attention. Both of which, when all is said and done, I hope turn out okay. Oh, and I also have a nice pile of flour on the floor, the measuring cups strewn about, bits of lunch stuck to the floor (and my hair), about 25 different balls in various places, which makes walking hazardous, our mail spread in a fan on the floor in front of the couch… need I say more? Home is where my mess – my art, my daily bread (sustenance), my triumphs and defeats – in short, it is where my heart – lives.

Two o'clock in the morning...
For us, it was always 4 o’clock in the morning – that nether-hour that rests truly between the night and morn. The hour, in fact, of our son’s arrival into the world.

Oh, those four am fights: the blur and confusion and heaviness. Emerging into the cry of our baby and into the rawness of our own needs, weighted down by clumsy communication and desperation for relief…

Why can’t you help me?
I am helping you.
But you’re not.
But I am.

The inanity of the situation as suddenly our baby materialized between us, raw with his own needs and we would look at each other, the parents of this small one and with a mixture of humility, grace, and fortitude, we bent our own egos down and opened our hearts to each other, to make room for this new one, this person among us, helping us become our own people, and husband and wife, and mother and father.

At four am, I chose to become stronger rather than weaker. I chose to give, and give again. And again.
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#96 of 97 Old 10-11-2004, 05:15 AM
 
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I do not say this lightly...Mama O - you are gifted.

Hunger is political.  Wherever there is widespread hunger, it is because people with guns are preventing other people from bringing in food.  
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#97 of 97 Old 10-11-2004, 03:07 PM - Thread Starter
 
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Thank you all! Please move on to the new thread that begins Week 2.
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