Lorelai is a month and 2 days old now! Huzzah! It's hard to believe it's already been a month since she was born, and my induction. I still have nightmares about it, and this week in therapy I admitted that I kind of mourn the way it all happened. I feel very disconnected with the idea of motherhood. A lot of it has to do with the fact that I feel like I didn't give birth. I was pregnant, and then I wasn't. I don't have any pictures of me holding her in the hospital, because I was the one that took all the pictures. When she was born, I was cut off, on the other side of a curtain staring at the droplets of blood that had spattered on it that I could see through the wash of blue. And then the NICU, and then our breastfeeding woes.
I feel very much like from the moment my induction started, I was dancing through it all like a dream, and this didn't really happen to me. I sometimes expect to feel little feet kicking in my stomach. But they don't, they kick on my lap, and in the bathtub. I'm happy she's here, unmistakeably. I love her intensely and it makes me happy when she smiles in her sleep or accidentally shoves a finger up her nose in her determination to eat her palm.
Somehow, though, the way it all happened is a block in keeping me from being completely content. At least one good thing has come from it, one silver lining. I was having trouble with a bit of writing I'm working on for Althanas that describes the pain of a deep wound healing and bruising along bones and the bruising from the epidural attempts and the healing of a C section incision are being incredibly helpful in transporting me to the character's point of view.
So there's that. Little wins.
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