Birth quilt

I was painting endless timber panelling this morning - a lovely tinted white, very cool and calming - and as I got on with the job, my mind turned to pregnancy. Heh. Now isn't THAT something I've thought about before.

Not me being pregnant, but the trials that some women (so many women) face both getting pregnant, keeping the baby and then also once it's born (safely or otherwise). Over the past couple of months, I've heard a few pregnancy announcements to women who've withstood some of the most gruelling tests of their lives... the waiting, the angst, the sadness, yet a couple of surprise effortless ones thrown in to the mix which are a blessed wondrous gift. And congratulations to all/any who may still be reading this blog who are newly pregnant ;)

But my thinking went further than that today. I was listening to a woman being interviewed on the radio. They have made a birthing quilt to bring awareness to the issues faced by indigenous Australian and Islander women, who are forced to travel outside their communities, sometimes outside of the country (not just their country/nation but across the seas to a completely different land) to receive medical assistance to birth their children safely. These women go alone. They leave in the final weeks of their pregnancy, leaving behind obviously their partner and any other children they have, they have no birthing support, their mothers and sisters or aunties do not travel with them.

So here they are, completely alone with unfamiliar caregivers, and then basically left alone to birth by themselves - or at the most, with a stranger they've just met - before returning with their newborn/s on their own again.

They gave a statistic this morning: that for every non-Indigenous mother and baby that dies there are 5 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women that die and 3 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander babies that die at birth (or from complications of).

And so, is it medical negligence? Too much or too little intervention? For a woman to give birth safely, she herself must have some sense of safety, surely. How can it possibly help to ensure the smoothest possible passage of delivery if she has so much stacked against her to begin with? Where are her emotional and other birthing needs being met in such a practice? The more narrow-minded might say "Well they should move closer" (and I have met such folk who use this as the all-rounded, bigoted, racist answer to everything that needs "fixing"). But seriously, wouldn't allowing any or all her support people to travel with her be at least some teeny tiny start in ensuring the process is somewhat safer?

Once again, my perspectives and realities become even more sharply defined as I am reminded of my place.

Surely I'm entitled

It's no doubt, the past week and a bit has been one that's seen enormous growth and shift in perceptions (for me personally, I can't speak for anyone else as that is their story and their journey to have).

I was even more sure today that I am still under somewhat of a shroud - is it shock? Is it me changed for good, and for the better? Time will tell - when we had a visit from the one couple I find quite difficult to find peace with. Usually, I shut them out (for that is the only way I know how to deal with them now, they simply do not understand or take the hint from my statements or body language with regard to how much it pains me that they seem hell-bent on refusing Ellanor a place in their lives while simultaneously lavishing affection on the LGBB - it's nice n' all, but... bit of a balance would be nice please).

But today, I was able to deflect and rather admirably too. I felt so much stronger around them today. I felt like I had Ella herself right behind me - figuratively, of course, as I did not even attempt to connect with her but I do think there was a far more positive and healthy aspect to my attitude today and I believe it directly relates to the work I did with her last week - and I was able to make it through the entire day unscathed. None of the usual balls slipped through to the keeper (or in less vague terms, there were no off remarks which slighted me and caused me to put another mark against them in my little book of Those People Who Won't Face It (And Can't Be Opened Up To)).

It's been such a tremendous time of learning that I am currently fighting the urge to give in to denial that I experienced something so huge, but concurrently that it also happened so naturally and came with ease - like getting on a bike after not riding one for 20 years. I have woken each morning and pondered, Did that reeeeeally happen??? Of course, my responsibility to my own gift will now probably not allow me to forget or wave it all off. But seriously.... it'd be so easy to never speak of it again, especially given the doubters I am bound to come up against. A large part of treading water with what I've learned and done is in seeking out or sensing the correct audience, the ones who will nurture and encourage me to be strong and have faith about it all rather than help that part of myself that wants to pretend it didn't happen and just put everything down to one big coincidence.

So when I was asked today what we are planning to put on the walls (in terms of pictures and so forth) as we were standing in the freshly painted sitting room, I very casually said, "Ella will probably have pride of place above the mantle" and basically let it drift through the air. The receiving party didn't miss a beat and replied, "So dark wood then, that'll go well in here" and nodded. I don't suppose by now I should anticipate or expect to hear anything more. At least he confirmed to me that he hasn't missed that massive framed portrait we have of her (which you cannot miss) that commands at least a glance when you walk in our current front door, because he knows the colour of the frame. I can just nod and let it be now. Still, it hasn't deterred me from trying to make them equal, at least in my eyes. I guess as a mum, you do that when you have more than one child. After all, I struggled with very similar doubts about whether I would be able to love the LGBB before I had her, given the enormity of my devotion to her older sister. I worried that I would love Ella less, that she would be left out/behind, back in 2004. And I worried equally that I would not love Lolly as much/enough. Well, as far as Steve and I are concerned, she fits like a glove. They both do. And I understand that now that I've had Lolly - the angst of anticipating the arrival of a very much-wanted subsequent child does not diminish your love for your existing baby, for your love for them is totally unique and different. Each an absolutely perfect reciprocal gift.

And you know, I already have planned a Sisters montage for the entry in our new home. I can just see it. My two girls, side by side.

Steve dug a hole

Well, actually no, technically that's not correct. He burrowed a wall, forged a gap, knocked the crap out of an oddly-placed structure. I think he feels better for it.

And, just quietly, if anyone had ever told me three years ago that I would be taking snaps of my sweet little daughter eating a sandwich on a picnic rug in her front yard under a big ole maple, I'd have laughed my head orf at them.

I feel like I look and sound as if I'm am one step away from donning cotton gardening gloves and calling myself Mrs Fulton, Margaret Fulton*, and putting on a bright apron with sunny buttercups on it. I am finding it harder to fight the urge, moving to a house like this, and it reminds me of something my Homoeopath (remember him?) said to me almost off-handedly, ages ago just after I had Lolly. He said, "Why are you resisting being a mum?" It rocked me then and it's stayed with me til now. But maybe this is all part of that. This move might be just what I need to actually make the outside match the inside and feel comfortable enough in my ability and desire to just go with it, instead of being in this sort of half-life I'm still in, in so many respects.

Give in to the urge, is what everything is starting to nag me. And when I do, it'll be natural - the things I do will come naturally. Heck, I may even feel like cooking the nightly meals again (Steve has wrestled that one off me, nearly two years ago now, and it's become like his domain for the time being, but perhaps with a bigger yard and a huge blokey tool shed he will actually feel like getting out of the house into his expansive backyard, for until now we really haven't had anywhere to escape each other on our current turf).

It's all good!




*please do NOT let me go there, I don't want to box myself in, there will be no baking of cookies from scratch on cookie sheets for this lame-o domestic godess. Pull my head in if I even look like suggesting I make my own gingerbread cookies in the shape of Christmas trees, dusted with icing sugar to look like "snow".... please, I beg of you, save me from that.

Things that can't be good

• I saw a bank document (you tend to accumulate those when you are between homes) that said something about balanced translocations. And I though, "HUH?", having to think really hard and carefully about whether I was due for an egg retrieval or transfer or other such eggy-related thing. Then I thought to myself, that's impossible because 1) I'm not doing IVF and 2) last I knew, ANZ didn't offer PGD with their Cash Management Account. Reading again and making myself concentrate, I saw that it actually said "Balance transaction". You can take the girl out of the IVF clinic....

• My Gymboree clothing order arrived today. What a nice little boost to the senses and soul that was. Except.... every damn piece of clothing I bought the LGBB is so damn cute that she can't wear them. I may just squeeze her to the size of a toothpick. Seriously, people, have you seen this stuff?? Brightly coloured cupcakes at the cuffs of dark chocolate cord pants (very sensible, is cord, on a toddler) and a matching olive green top with three cupcakes on it, Gingerbread House pink pj's with dark burgundy cuffs, I Love Candy pj striped bottoms and pink top in candy colours, a white corduroy, puffy, satin-lined vest/jacket thing with faux fur hood. I can't go on. I've never seen such gorgeousness. It's ludicrous. What was I thinking and when did clothes actually become delectable?

• I ate a whole box of Jamaican rumball truffles yesterday. I think I justified it as lunch. So today, I've made pumpkin soup for myself in an attempt to redeem the evils of so much sugar.

Taking care of business

Why did it take me til only recently to be satisfied with my justification of the number of days/hours the LGBB is "seeing her friends" (at occasional care)?

Since we've had the house on the market, which would have been about two months ago now I'd guess, she has been going three times per week, 3.5-4 hours at a time. She lurrrrves it. I wouldn't be comfortable sending her if she didn't. But it seems, the more hours she's spent there, the more she has enjoyed her home away from home.

Even yesterday, when I dropped her off at 8.30 and was very wary about doing so in light of the past week, I asked Penny (a lovely older staff member/carer at the centre who's into wooden toys and alternative/Steiner/whatever you want to name it teachings) to take extra special care of Lolly. That she had been feeling rather sensitive to either or both Steve and I leaving the room, let alone the house. I hadn't seen much of her since Thursday and had been gone for much of the weekend and virtually all day Thursday and Friday. So by the time Monday morning rolled around, that little powerhouse of a LGBB had only had a few short hours with just her mum and dad on Sunday afternoon. And she let us know she was unsettled by way of her altered sleep patterns, her numerous night wakings and crying out (she is still doing this, it may take a few more days yet for her to settle too from recent events).

So I dropped her off with a big kiss and a big hug, trying very hard to mask exhaustion and so forth (although I realise they just pick up on it and it must be rather confusing for a child to see a smile plastered on your face over the top of what they sense is unease), and called to check on her two hours later. She was fine. When I went to collect her, she was commanding a corner of the darkened room - for it was sleep time for the other children - and chatting to the bears there.

If we had other people to call on, I daresay some sort of regular arrangement could be made. A day could be agreed on. I am past the point of huffing over the fact that people I would have hoped to be willing to see her as often as they could are in fact not doing that and rather than take it personally myself, or on behalf of my daughter or Steve, I simply accept that it has not happened that way because that is not what Lolly needs. So this occasional care replacement, while it costs somewhat more than a relative or friend taking the LGBB for a day or half day, is the ideal thing.

It can't work both ways for people who are only "half" in her life. And I think the LGBB has very adequately informed me of her need for time without me and with whom she will have it. For now.

Ah! There you are!

Ok, must be brief.

Shit, when I said in my last post on the other blog that I was being "called in" and needed to shift some of the physical stuff to get on with it... ah, I didn't quite expect it'd start happening THAT BLOODY DAY!!!!! I posted that before 7am and by 11.30 I was on the train to I've Never Been Here Beforesville. I still have an emotional lump in my throat and also need a bloody good cry, despite sort of letting some of the buildup go ... uh, erm, in full view of the public on a Saturday night. Oops.

I also still have to sort some things out and check stuff and yada yada, so this first post is very boring and very, well, simply here as a confirmation you're at the right place. Yes. It is I. Your resident nut job, freakoid, airy-fairy (aherm thanks, Mel) mother to one LGBB.

You're all lovely. And you must all be part of it, in some small way. That's why you're all here. Isn't it?

More soon, please don't gnash teeth til I get back. I just may not be able to post for a few more days because of 'tying up loose ends' and continuing stuff and business and all that. Clear as mud?! Sorry, guys.

*waving as I leave* No, you hang up first.

Getting there. It's time.

Geez, these days I hardly get time to get my feathers all ruffled and the realisation comes *pouts* Where's the fun in that?

I am joking, of course.

It's time to fly the nest. I didn't see before that I am not seeing my family as individuals, not beholdent or responsible for insuring my safe passage through my life after experiencing death.

Wise friends are like beacons to me and I appreciate every singular (and collective) one of them (you).

After a build-up of incorrect energy delivered upon me (again) today when I least expected it, in very poor form I perpetuated its effects by purging/dumping, if you will. Like most things viewed in hindsight, I don't know if simply seeing my hurting words on screen and knowing they'd reach a sympathetic ear was what catalysed the enlightenment. But in one fell swoop, I've made another bounding leap in knitting the wound closed.

I can't expect anyone not living my life to fully realise what I feel. No matter how many times I explain or spell it out, it's not for anyone but me to solve the riddle that's been niggling at me. Everyone has their own life. They don't owe me anything. But... in the reverse, nor do I owe them. This was my sticking point thus far, I believe. I expected to be expected to deliver. Seeing as I can't these days, such is life with a gaping hole I will in some respects never fill, I was beating myself up all this time that I can't possibly hope to repay in kind (or otherwise) that which was granted me as I healed in the early days of Ella dying. What's ensued is a flogging of myself to explain myself to, most of all, my family. I don't think they expect it, but I did it anyway. They're all individuals. They are all different (ok, ok, for the Python fans I have to echo... "yes.... we ARE all different"). They are neither responsible nor answerable to me nor me to them.

It's time. I'm on my own now. I finally. FINALLY. Realised it. Not more than 10 minutes ago.