I miss it here

I miss it here, and so I've returned.

Is there anybody out there?

Anyone still here? Leave me a comment. Anonymously also ok.

Ok, so I'm back. Back as me. Ya, I'm a mom now but I'm still me. I think I need my identity still; you know,, me as a functional or sometimes dysfunctional human being. Being real, being stupid, being selfish, being selfless, being generous, being petty. Whatever. Just being me.

I think the last time I had a real entry was before I gave birth to a lovely baby girl. So much has happened and I do wish to remember it. Let me see where to begin. Ok, firstly, I haven't lost my angst and so you can be assured that I have not changed much. (definition: angst - an acute but unspecific feeling of anxiety; usually reserved for philosophical anxiety about the world or about personal freedom)

My water broke at about 6 in the morning of 4th April. I was peacefully lying in bed with Brendan, we were both so peaceful, soaking in the atmosphere of an early morning and the up and coming events which were: having a baby and moving to a new house, and then it happened. I felt a membrane ruptured. It felt like a soft burst of a thin piece of paper. I panicked. I said, "oh shit, oh shit my water broke!" I remember my hands were trembling when I called for my gynea. And touch phones make things worse when you're panicking! I couldn't scroll to the number and I kept punching in the wrong digits. Boy, was I freaked out.

I was kept waiting till about 11am before I was in the labour ward. I think it was about 2pm when my gynea ordered induced labour drip but still my cervix did not open. It remained closed till 10pm and my gynea said 16 hours of labour is fair enough and said we should proceed for cesarean and so I was wheeled in at about 11pm. I don't understand how come nobody talks about the process of cesarean, nothing could prepare me for it. It was traumatizing. I felt like a cow being opened up and a cattle was being pulled out from my stomach. The after-hours was worse. My womb was still contracting (the drip for inducing labour was still in effect, even as the painkiller wore off!) my god, during those hours, I wished I was dead. Of course now that it is over I am fine but then, I thought death was less painful then what I was having. I remember thinking to myself that if I survive this, once is enough, one baby is enough. But when I saw Kiki, I realised that she needs a sibling. You know, to rely on. They can have each other when we're gone. And so I know that I have to have another one. The power of Two. Just look at me. I have my sister. Eventhough she came seven years later, I still do rely on her for strength. I am stronger because I know I can count on her. I am stronger because I know she can count on me. And so it is.

Then came the breast feeding saga.
I was so stupid, I took breast feeding too lightly.
I messed with nature and I paid the price. A very high price. It was hell.
I thought I would try to breast feed and so the nurses brought Kiki to me to stimulate milk production. On the day that I was discharged, my breasts were engorged in the evening after I got home. They swelled to the size of ruby balls and they were hard like stone. I was in pain, pain and tremendous stress. I felt sick, feverish, cold and hot all at the same time. My armpits swelled to the size of an apple and I was horrified. For two days, I pumped out the milk for 4 hours in a row and they all came back engorged within an hour. I was forever pumping and my nipples cracked and blood came out. It was pure hell. I never got a wink of sleep for 4 days straight and I was loosing my mind. I was terrified and prayed for divine help. I regretted that I took it too lightly. It takes a lot of commitment to breast feed and I wasn't ready. I wasn't the type. I am not the typical , self-sacrificing mother. I feel that I contribute better in a thousand other ways. I just am not ready to be so great a mother and I have no guilt that I do not want to breast feed. I got so angry that the medical professionals made it so difficult for me to quit. They lectured me, persuaded me, pressured me, threatened me and bullied me. I felt like a victim and was very emotional. To hell with them, they were biased and it is not fair that they forced it on me. I battled the nurses, I battled the doctor at the A&E. Eventually, I got to see my gynea and he empathized with me. I said it was unfair that they taught me to induce milk but refused to let me stop. The whole thing was not an informed choice and that breast milk IS OVERRATED. I think some of them will want to burn me on a stick. I was fighting an army of activists and I felt the weight and fury all burdened upon me. Finally, I got my strength back and I fought my way to obtain the pills to help subside my swelling breasts. It was over. It took about a week to settle off. I've learnt a painful lesson. Jump with eyes opened. Never jump with eyes closed.

And so, one week was spent settling my physical and emotional problems.
I quickly regained my focus and focused on Kiki. I picked up skills from the confinement nanny. I was hands on, I fed, bathed, burped her.

Then came the move.
I cried so hard that morning we left commonwealth.
I cried so hard that Brendan cried with me.
I have to let it out.
I love that place eventhough it was small and cramped.
I felt that I was forcing myself to move on.
I don't know.
I still do miss it. I have lost my foothold. It was a place I felt it was my home.
I grew in it.
But then it is just like this.
I have to move on. I have to progress with life.
I can't just hold on and not grow.
And so I let it go.
On the way to our new place, I said goodbye to everything I see.
I was heart brokened.
I didn't look forward to the new house as much as Brendan did.
I had to learn to like it.
I only liked the bigger space.
And the sky.
I could see the sky now.
From my windows.
I liked that.
Yes. I liked that.

I guess I will learn to grow here.
Grow my memories.

Our guppies died.
I cried.
They were like the remains of the old flat and they died.
They were the third generation from the original generation.
And they died.
All swept clean. As if someone wants to sweep me clean. Cleaned from all memories of the old flat.
Okay, I get it.

And so it is.