I’ve been thinking about what to write here about labour and our birth story. I may yet write up the story but I’m still not sure if anyone really wants to read it?
There are some things I want to note though, even if just for the benefit of one friend who loved these thoughts and told me I had to blog them. The first of these thoughts is on writing. The second, coming soon, is on swearing.
First up then – On writing:
Labour was a strange experience, on many levels, but firstly because I discovered that I have a small lady writing furiously in the corner of my brain. As I grunted and groaned. As I rocked and went all primeval there was a tiny observer noting what was going on and how interesting it all was. I remember this voice quietly noting that the contractions weren’t very far apart at all but and that this time round there were small gaps between them. I remember this voice reminding me how gas and air worked again, it doesn’t take the pain away, it takes my brain away from the pain. I apparently repeated constantly, ‘I’m going to the land beyond the pain’.
As I freaked out in the pushing phase the small voice reminded me that this was the phase where the ‘ring of fire’ would happen (I’ll leave you to guess at that) and then as he finally came out it reminded me of my friend Anna’s description of a slippery fish coming out. The writer in me was observing, noting and jotting down things to be able to process this later.
Thanks little writer. Whilst you wrote the rest of me turned into a primeval woman overtaken by my body doing things I had no idea it knew how to. You watched and observed whilst some other part of me gave birth.
I guess I want to note this because I think it means I really am a writer. Adrian Plass talks about this phenomenon as well, the small writer typing frantically all the way through experiences that happen to him, noting how they might be useful for later thoughts and writings.
I like the little writer. I love writing. I Iove communicating and sharing the random stuff that goes through my brain so that whoever stops by here can maybe know we are not alone. I love that my honesty can help others. I love that one day I may get space to write more and more and not just in snatched moments here and there whilst the tiny people sleep.