My baby is one. Three hundred and sixty five days have passed. The earth has made one rotation around the sun. Birds have flown south and north. We've planted and eaten tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers. We've had a few weather related events. All kinds of other things have happened.
I don't want to start getting sentimental. And I think I might be getting my period. I've been feeling that way for about four months.
There are a couple of dreams that I keep having. One is almost too sad to write about but I have been trying. The other is a dream is telling me there's something I'm not writing about.
I am in a room where I used to have a poetry workshop. There are six rectangular tables pushed together making a big square and my therapist is at the head where the person facilitating the workshop would be. She is telling me I should never plan to get anywhere in Boston by 6pm. She is telling me that if I never get to the place where I need to be by 6pm, then I won't be able to write. She is telling me that we can't talk further about this one thing I keep wanting to talk about unless I can write these poems I want to write.
I mentioned in a post last summer that I needed to write about W's birth.
I have not written one poem in one year.
It had been sort of a complicated pregnancy and on Friday July 27, 2012 I had been in my bed, mainly on the left side, for a little over a week. If you know me, you know I was unhappy. You might also know I've had migraines since I was 12. Or you might know that B was born 3 weeks early after I was induced when my water broke in the middle of the night. You might know that during my pregnancy with B I had debilitating carpal tunnel. My husband was cutting my food toward the end and we were moving. The carpal tunnel was not quite this bad with W but laying on my left side was particularly painful.
When a baby is born it is an amazing thing, let's face it.
Almost 40 weeks preggers with W I was more pregnant than I had ever been. On my left side. Migraine. High blood pressure.
I'd done anything possible to get this baby moving out.
On Friday July 27 after my husband left take B to my mom's for the day, and then go to work, I left my left side to do something like pee or eat. Whether peeing or eating, I was seeing triple. I wanted the baby to come on his own but I knew I was going to be induced. Our regular appointment was scheduled for later that day but I called and we went in early.
I rode in a wheelchair out of my midwife's office as she phoned the hospital to let them know we were coming. She delivered B but wouldn't be there for this. My blood pressure was 160/100. The baby was just fine. Cozy, if you will. It doesn't really matter what all happened between then and 5:22am on July 28, when W was finally and fully born, but I think it might in the poems.
B was almost 3. For several days before and after W's birth, I felt like I could not be his mom. A couple of hours after W was born, I talked to B, who was with my mom and stepdad. He was telling me about a dream. "Mommy, I put my headache in the hole." These statements do not seem related but I think they might be in my poem.
When a baby is born it is an amazing thing. But it is a thing that changes everything again.
And here's why I won't get sentimental. I don't have the words to describe how I am in love with this little boy and I'm sad to let his babyhood go. I do cry almost any time I think about this. I think I mentioned my hormones.
But on the morning of his birthday, W fell asleep while riding on my back for the first time and I realized that his babyhood is not slipping away. It is moving naturally on, making room for more of him. And while it's sad to fold up and pack away the little green "Little Monstah" onesie, I am ready, to move forward, to see what he and his brother are passionate about. I want to see what they fall in love with in life.
As for me, I've got to write these poems, but there is much to be done before I can...