A day for gettin’ Down…It’s a celebration, bishes!
Before having Aisha, I never had a cause.
Several friends and loved ones have been affected by, or lost their lives to various illnesses such as depression, cancer, heart disease, HIV/AIDS, Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s. Others have children with autism, cleft palate, juvenile diabetes, ADHD, or seizure-related disorders.
I have sympathized and sent condolences, offered words of support (or in some cases, attended funerals) and on occasion written about the battles won and lost by the people I’ve known. Yet in doing so, I never felt “close” to the situation – even when it was one of my own fighting the good fight.
Aisha’s pre-natal diagnosis of Trisomy 21 changed all of that. Continue reading
I simply cannot believe she is two weeks old today.
So it’s been just over two weeks since I last wrote, and obviously, quite a bit has happened since then – namely, I had a baby! Me. I gave birth. To a person. It’s amazing how much life can change in the span of fourteen days.
First, I would like to thank everyone for the well-wishes, prayers, thoughts, emails and messages during this time. Even though I was off busy birthin’ a baby, I can’t tell you how much I missed blogging, and how touched I was by the outpouring of support. You all are swell. Seriously.
I admit that I am having some difficulty writing this post. I’m scrolling through my phone looking for pictures to supplement, and I’m overcome with emotion. Aisha’s delivery and birth were difficult – traumatic, even. We almost didn’t make it. And while we’ve both come out of the experience no worse for wear, the enormity of it seeps into my conscience every now and then, and it’s sobering. Sometimes I tear up. Sometimes I cry outright. Continue reading
Today’s musical interlude brought to you courtesy of Europe.
Bags are packed. All things baby have been set up, washed, placed and purchased.
Family and friends are all on standby. Camera batteries are fresh. Phones have been charged.
The boy is watching a movie to distract himself. I’m not quite sleepy, so I’m doing some editing work for a client, trying to take my mind off off what is in store for me tomorrow.
I’ve had my final meal of the day; I can’t eat anything after midnight.
I’ve cried. I’ve prayed. I requested that others do the same (pray, not cry).
I’ve done all that there is to do.
By this time tomorrow, I’ll be a mommy.
Wish me luck, y’all.
No one else will ever know the strength of my love for you. After all, you’re the only one who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside.
I really should clean the mirror.
I am huge, I am uncomfortable and I can barely breathe. I’m unable to sleep for more than two to three hours at a time, so I’m exhausted, a little cranky and always hungry. I can’t pee without experiencing Braxton-Hicks, and with my ever-expanding dimensions, simple, daily things like climbing the stairs or washing the dishes leave me breathless. I can’t eat without spillage, as the belly makes it impossible to pull up to the table – no matter how careful I am, I invariably drop something in transit from plate to mouth. Being comfortable in clothes – or in my skin! – seems like a distant memory.
However, with every kick, roll, flutter and turn, I grow more and more excited and curious about the little peanut who still grows inside me. I wonder if she’ll be as active outside as she is in my womb. Will she be a happy baby? Will she be a cuddler? Will she like music? Will she be a sleeper or an eater? Will she be a tiny baby? What will her first cries sound like? I’ve never been so unsure, but also anxious, impatient and thrilled at the prospect of being a mommy. I simply cannot wait for the arrival of the little whirlwind that’s going to change my life forever.
Any day now, Aisha. Any day.
I was lying on my bed, lost in thought, as I mentally reviewed earlier exchanges I’d had with a cousin and the boy in two separate disagreements. I’m not nearly as thin-skinned as I used to be, and in fact, I’ve grown rather proud of my tolerance for being disliked.
(In spite of my armour, I always find it unsettling when people resort to barbs or the casting of aspersions to illustrate/disguise their point. I don’t fight dirty – mainly because I don’t like having to take back something I’ve said; It seems like a waste of words…And really, if I utter it, it’s more likely true than not.)
Uncomfortable, I rolled slightly to my right to alleviate pressure on my back. The motion caused a wee point to appear below the surface of my abdomen. Foot? Knee? Elbow? I wasn’t quite sure. I returned to centre, and pulled myself into a seated position.
The point appeared again, and I realized it was a hand. I watched it trace an arc across my stomach, and followed it with my finger. I felt tears forming and let them fall. I was suddenly moved by the timing of it all, as if my little one was reaching out to me to remind me that she loved me, regardless of what anyone else thought of me at that very moment.
I love her right back.
Never let me go.
This is not at all a pregnancy post, a peanut post, or even a family/friends post. I just wanted to commemorate the fifth anniversary of my dreadlocks. It’s been a long and interesting road, and no one is more surprised than I am that I managed to stick out what is, essentially, ONE hairstyle for so long.
Never imagined I’d get to this point. I’ve no idea what I’ll do with my hair next.