no words to speak of the darkness
of the fear that i've got to walk this road alone
keep telling myself that i'm not alone
that others have walked this way before
that they've seen the darkness and lost their light
and kept going
and finally, gone on to live again and love again and laugh
yet i fear and there is nothing tonight that can ease this fear
the hunger in my arms returns
yearns to hold my child close
the dark cannot steal her away from me
i refuse to let her go
this fear may creep up my throat and steal my words
it may even cloud my sight
it will not take my child from me
yet every time her breath catches in her lungs
i shake
every time i see her legs begin to mottle i fear
when she sighs after the struggle to draw breath and clear the pathways of her frail lungs
the fear rises in me and i want to hold her tighter in my arms

tonight i read of a woman delivered this morning. her child did not live to see the nooning of the day, or the bright sun in the sky, or the clouded dusk. i grieve her loss and it makes me want to run to my own child, sleeping peacefully in bed, and snatch her up. it makes me want to sit by her side all this night and count each breath and weep.

but for the luck that brought me to my own doctor on april 28th, it would have been me in that hospital bed tonight. grieving. dying.

Whooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Go, Munchkin, go Munchkin. Rah Rah Rah. Go Munchkin...
ahem.Ignore the proud and vindicated Mama in the corner. But I'm just so fricking PROUD of my baby right now. She found the Holy Boob, and latched herself on, and she Got Milk.
With the widest, most unsure, horrified eyes I've ever seen in an infant. She didn't know what was going on, or why, or what to do about it other than suck and swallow. Now she's finishing her feeding in her grammy's lap, being told what a good girl she is.
This is so cool. Lactivists can go kiss my pasty white ass. I am *not* a failure at moo-cow-dom. I am *not* a sad excuse for a mama. And even should we never do this again, I'll always have this moment to hold away in my heart.

new books? I'm in the process of thinking about wondering about getting back into my writing. For the first time in a serious way since two moves ago. I don't know how far I'll get this time before I give up in favor of the insanity that can become my life.

but since I only want to concentrate on one book at a time, which should I focus on now? the poetry or the fantasy? Or some combination of both? Because I've got this one character floating around in my subconscious and she's really cool. And her name is Alexa...

if there's anybody actually reading this, let me know your thoughts.

Herself is home. She is awake. I worship before her tiny little feet and screams of "MAMA! Pay Attention!"

but she's a good baby. she only cries when she needs me. something to be said for that...

so she's home now, and doing well. Except for her first spit-up on Mama with milk out her nose. Be proud of me, I didn't panic. I picked her up, wiped her face, kissed her forehead, and burped and cuddled her until she was alright again. She's sleeping now, and I'm exhausted, and I just want to lay on the couch and hold my angel on my chest for the next twenty years or so.

heartbeat to heartbeat. Everything will be perfect, just as it should be.

First day home! Now, with Socks!
Naptime

my baby's coming home. what kind of twisted humor in the universe has decreed that I'm going to be responsible for this child? I and my beloved made this small person, and now we're going to raise her. and it terrifies me.

if it didn't scare me, I would know that I wasn't ready...

there's just no way to know what will happen
I don't know if I'll be the person I want to be
I hear the words in my heart whispering
peace
let it go
just breathe
and I want to believe it
I want to let go, I want to relax and embrace serenity
but this is so much harder than anything I've ever faced before.

this has been a really bad evening. besides the fact that i'm stupid and can't do anything right tonight, i don't think i deserve my emerald anymore. if i thought the boy would take it back, i'd offer it. but he wouldn't take it. i hope.

honestly, i'm afraid he might, right now.

hold the curtains back
lace and white floating in the breeze
scent of cut grass calms my nerves
sunlight and summer and daytime
there are no shadows here
crystal hanging in the window
fracture the light and make colors dance
rainbows against cream paint
vanilla
cinnamon apples baking
mown grass drying in the sun
speak of peace
smell of the happiness and hope
a girl playing on my carpet
sweet faced with her daddy’s eyes
she is going to be the light of my life
the apple of my eye
sweetness and sugar and all those things
that make up a life
this is what I dream of
this is my perfection
someday

I still don't really feel like a mother. It's sporadic; I mean- when I've got my girl in my arms I can feel it, and when I'm at home living life like it never happened I feel nothing. And I feel bad for not feeling anything. And I know that it's silly.

Still.

I have to go strip to the waist, hook myself up to an oversized "personal" electric milking machine, which requires the use of both hands constantly to keep the horns properly placed on my nipples, and thus I operate the on/off switch with my toes about half the time. I'm going to be tied to this machine. Because I love my baby, and because this is the only thing that gives me peace right now; it's the only thing that the woman who shared her body with this child can give her right now. I can't be there to hold her, or to soothe her cries, or feed her when she's hungry or change her diapers. I can't be there when her eyes open and she looks around trying to make sense of this strange new world. I can't be there to sit with her for hours, just being there.

but I can pump those depressingly small plastic bags of milk.

it's soft purple tonight
lavender sky strewn with stars
matching my mood
you sit across the room
hiding in your world
escaping into the games, the fantasy

I'm breathing peace in the cut grass
in the breeze from the window
in the way we sit in silence

touch my cheek gently
your eyes say what your words do not
and tonight, for now, we are still
nothing can disturb this
nothing can disturb me
stars come out
daylight fades the purple skies and silver shines
silver on the velvet night

under blankets we lay still
your hand on my hip
skin warm to mine
no words here either
only your breath
my heartbeat in the dark

In my former life as a receptionist I learned a lot about people. I learned that the more power they hold in a company, the nicer they are to the little people. Maybe they can afford to be generous with compliments and courtesy- they have time, and no one is going to tell them to hurry up and get more important things done.

I spent a lot of time entertaining. Or, as I liked to say, Receptioning. It's an art form of the sort practiced by courtesans and other professional hostesses, only without the sex. When someone walks into your lobby, smile brightly. Welcome them. Make them feel as though you've been waiting all day for the chance to serve them. Even if the phone's ringing constantly. Make eye contact as if to say it telepathically. A good receptionist implies her willingness to serve and please in her body language as well as her tone of voice.

Hmm. Maybe we're not so different from sex workers after all. Though I believe that they get paid better. And have some degree of choice over which clients they service.

It's a matter of pride for me that there were only a few individuals and situation that I couldn't cope with. For the most part, though, I was practically perfect --Once I got my feet under me. By the time I left my last position to become a mommy, I came to the conclusion that I was a Mary Poppins figure.

For a limited time you too can lease your very own Mary Poppins! Office in chaos? Receptionist suddenly ill and she's the only one who knows where the bodies are buried? Look no further! Have we got the girl for you! Call OfficeTeam at xxx-xxxx

For the past year that seems to be how my work life was. One mess after another. Filing nightmares. Staffing nightmares through chance and not design/poor management. Finally a much loved receptionist with sudden illness- and all any of these places needed, really, was someone to hold their hand and answer phones. Reassurance does not come cheap. I've seen both my paystub and what my employers have paid for me. It is very empowering to realize that the same people who don't trust you to wipe your nose without instructions are the same people who trust you with opening their mail.

But by and large I have to say I've never felt it as rewarding as when I see the look of gratitude in their eyes when I tell them that it's okay. That I'll be back on Monday. That until they're ready I'll keep coming back. That someone will be there, come hell or high water, to answer the phone at 0800.

I guess I'm ready for motherhood after all.

a happy cow is a contented cow. Happy cows come from California -that is, if you believe the commercials. I'm so not a happy cow right now. Not a productive cow, either. I'm stressed, depressed, and not lactating enough. It's really silly of me to think it's a competition, and that I'm being judged over the quantity of what I'm not producing, and I can't help feel bad over it.

It doesn't help that my girl may be coming home soon. What am I going to do once I'm respsonsible for her? I want to get a can of formula on hand so that at least I can supplement her feeds the moment she's home with me. Because I know I'm not going to produce anywhere near enough for her to eat, and I don't want her to go hungry.

I wish I knew the secret of convincing my body to make more milk. I wish that it was as simple as a 1-2-3 step program. People tell me that every body is different, and that I'm doing fine, and I'm NOT because I can't squeeze out enough per day to keep up with her right now...

Tired. Cranky. Depressed.

I hold your hand in mine
eyes meet
you know me, your mama
there is something so soft in your touch
eyes close and you sleep
press your face into my shoulder
this is where you want to be

love me
by your side in the night
velvet skin warm on mine
breath against my back
love me
touch my face with your lips
brush the hair from my eyes with your kisses
hold me close and whisper in my ear
because you haunt my dreams
lover and beloved
hold the key to my soul
unlock me and take my treasures
they are a tribute to you
what you have given me is worth far more
you gave me my own self again
confidence and strength
no matter what shadows come I stand tall because of you
take my tribute offered freely
conquer me with your touch
love me
together we ride the night
stars shining in the darkness
come the morning I will see you by my side again
come the dawning your eyes open and you kiss my cheek
as you slip from my side
always and forever
no one will take this from me

faith

remember that faith comes in a mustard seed
water it with what you have
be it tears of joy or sorrow or the sweat of your toil
let it be a labor of love

remember that from the darkest night
dawn is brighter for the grief we face
for every moment of despair
is an equal spark of joy

keep the faith
this too shall pass
and the seed that sleeps through winter's cold
will come back with glory and green come the spring

if words can paint a picture let me share this album with you

can you imagine what it's like to be told that after being told that you'd never have a child, you're pregnant?

seeing two pink lines on the pregnancy test, and knowing what it means to have everything in your existance suddenly stop

it can't possibly be this easy, because nothing is. specialists tell you that it's a high-risk pregnancy, that your chances are higher than average for early labor and a small baby, but they have no idea how much higher. They don't have a clue if your body is capable of sustaining the pregnancy, either. because for this, you are the baseline.

learning to relax at every appt that goes smoothly. In and out of the office in the time it takes to go to the library and browse. nothing unexpected, all signs point to normal development.

everything's fine.

nothing's fine.

waking up one day and wondering if the queasiness is ever going to end. Standing over the stove as a wave of vertigo threatens to collapse your knees on the spot. Sitting alone at home one night and feeling your sanity slipping away... depression. Is it normal to feel this way? Why can't I stop crying? I just feel like the last control I have over my life is gone, stolen by a baby growing inside me that I had given up hope of ever having, and by the fear of losing her that drives me back to doctors time and again. Listen to the specialists, try not to worry.

imagine the morning when everything is hard, when it's such an effort to do anything, and normal life is only a memory of someone else's life...

I became a mother that morning. And I still don't understand how the fuck it happened, or where this baby came from, because I don't remember her first cry. I wasn't there. I was dreaming of her first laugh, her first smile at me. I was hearing her whisper in my ear. Hush, Mama, it's alright.

The breast police are going to cart me away this week. Maybe I'll wake up and find them on the doorstep with my morning tea, and they'll take me away to the station where LLL meetings are mandatory and little pamphlets are required reading on the benefits of breastfeeding and how my child is going to be traumatized and permanently emotionally scarred by my lack of this basic maternal instinct.

I just don't want to breastfeed.

It's not that I've had a bad experience so far. The handful of times (three) that I've put the baby to the boob, it's been a relatively innocuous thing. She's latched somewhat, suckled a bit, fallen asleep more. Given her preemie state, and that she's just now really getting mature enough to have the suckle reflexes, that's fine. I'm just all squicky at a person making wet, fleshy contact with my boob. Because once upon a nightmare, the husband of a friend of mine showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the day when he was supposed to be at work, and the compromise I made to get him out the door without anything worse happening was that he kissed my breasts. No one had ever done that wet, sensualistic type of thing before, and I didn't like it, and the fact that I didn't want to have to do it didn't help any.

And I'll be damned if I'm going to let my daughter trigger a semi-hysterical reaction from me doing what comes naturally to her and what should be a wonderful bonding experience for the both of us.

I'm so fucking tired of this shit. I'm tired of having been screwed over by the people I was supposed to be able to trust. I'm tired of having to deal with this fucked up crap while I'm living my happily ever after, while I'm embracing my new role as wife and mother. While I'm learning to deal with a premature daughter who is still in the hospital indefinately, who I'm only now a month after her birth learning not to be afraid to love. I can't fear to love her. Even if my nightmares hold her dying... in my arms, before my eyes, while I'm somewhere else entirely.

So I'm going to run away from this flashback. I'm not going to face this trigger. I'll spend hours and hours with a breast pump to give my girl the benefits that come with her mother's milk. And I'll gladly feed her with a bottle and face the breast police when they come to accuse me. I'll hold her to my skin in kangaroo care, and I'll do that happily for hours and hours at a time. But I'm never going to hold her to my nipple to feed again.

When I held her, I loved her. And the old screaming was rising in my head as I didn't want to hear the ghosts of the past. These things must remain apart. I do not want to see them in the same reality. Ever.

my girl was wide awake this morning, and burrowed her way down into my arms so she could go back to sleep after feeding. She has the cutest little eyes, and they're so expressive I want to laugh- they fill me with such contentment and happiness. I just wish that feeling could last beyond the NICU doors. I know she's going to survive, and thrive, and come home eventually. I just feel lost in this halfway zone between being post-partum and not yet a mother.