Tonight, on Annabelle’s birthday, I started thinking about that night 18 years ago… After tutoring a little boy, I started contractions, although I wasn’t sure what was happening so I threw in some laundry, lit the fire, and read my homemade goddess book full of inspiring thoughts. Was it happening? Was my body beginning the process of bringing a new soul into the world? I had a whole plan to hypnotize myself into pretending I was in a field of lavender with butterflies fluttering around me as I gave birth; or that I was standing next to an ancient waterfall, having a baby in delight with no pain…
haha
Self hypnosis didn’t work, and 24 wildly delirious hours later, hours filled with driving to the hospital on the full moon in a big storm only to find out they didn’t have room for me and I had to be in full blown labor in the waiting room while I waited for a room… pacing the hallways, tossing and turning, bouncing on an exercise ball…
With hair fairies making my hair look like two trolls had a wrestling match in there…
Listening to Frank Sinatra and sleeping through contractions as my soulmate Kim flew in from LA and stood by my side for every minute of the birth, holding my hand, putting cold towels on my head, and whispering, “You’re so fierce,” into my ear. In hindsight this was nice, but at the time, I hated the word “fierce” and didn’t want to hear it. Why? Who knows.
It was a wild messy gorgeous terrifying journey, the journey of a new life heading into the world over 24 primal hours…
And then this perfect little soul landed in my arms.
I immediately forgot the pain and didn’t care if I slept because I couldn’t believe this tiny 8 pound magnificent soul was now living in my house. No one told me I would feel so euphoric.
That night my life changed forever, and I couldn’t believe someone would now call me mom, something I had never planned to be. I belly danced throughout my pregnancy and labor, literally dancing my daughter into the light. And now I’m just … amazed. She’s 18.
The first thing she did today after school today, on the day she turned 18? Headed straight to the earring shop for a third piercing. I had discouraged her from getting that third piercing, but “Now I’m 18 Mom” meant she could do whatever she wanted. Then she ended her birthday night crying in my arms that she didn’t want to grow up, that she was too small to go out into the world alone. I was at a loss for what to do except wrap my arms around her and hold her, just like I did in those first moments.
And all I could think was that this is the baby girl I carried, and now she’s grown up. I tried not to feel a bit smug when later that night she said the third ear piercing wasn’t working out and she needed to remove it. I thought about my own Mom, and everything I had put her through. My kids are a piece of cake compared to having a child like me: headstrong, obstinate, daring, and impossible to guide or advise. I had my own ideas on my life journey, and I wanted to experience the world on my own, “drink the mystic deliria” and dance barefoot under the moonlight.
And now it’s time for my little chick to fly, and it’s so thrilling and so piercing I can’t even think about it, so I’m writing about it instead.
