mine love
i just found this one story that survived The Great Computer Crash of '08 in which the entire contents of my computer save two stories i wrote for a creative writing class. i wrote this one for an assignment that asked me for a story about the most important person in my life.
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They told me I would love her the moment I felt her. I honestly don't think I did. She felt a lot like indigestion and really, how much can you love the stomach pangs of indigestion?
Sometimes people would ask me how she was doing. Like I had some sort of window straight into my belly where she squirmed and stretched and stuck a big foot straight into my rib. She had a nasty habit of pointing her toes and making me double over to my right. When I doubled over, I looked like I was about to fall over dead but really, bending over made her move positions, so that she'd draw that little foot in and press it against something much less painful -- my kidneys, my pancreas... wherever she could wedge herself.
I never wished pregnancy on anyone. I hated it. It was possibly one of the most uncomfortable ten months -- yes ten! they tell you it's nine, but if you do the math, 40 weeks divided by 4 weeks in a month... -- of my life. The first three were spent hunched over a toilet every morning, or trying to eat something before I got there so that I'd have something to throw up because the alternative was to throw up bitter green bile that looks like loose sludge with little yellow bubbles to accent its disgustingness. No toothpaste on earth gets rid of the taste of bile in your mouth. How much can you love a bout with bile after your morning bagel?
They told me I'd forget the pain of labor when I saw her. But twenty four hours that felt (again) like the worst indigestion ever (like when I eat that pizza with the Louisiana hot sausage I so love, but that kicks my ass every time), coupled with an epidural that only worked on half of my body and a catheter that ended up giving me the worst UTI known to man is just a little difficult to let go. I still shudder when I think of being on that hospital bed, my legs heavy and numb, my stomach growling and my mouth sticky because Nurse Ratched doesn't even let me have a glass of water... only ice chips. I hate ice chips.
When we met, I was exhausted and STARVING and although I felt something, I wasn't sure it was love; i had never had this type of relationship with anyone before and she was sweet and cute, yes, but was this love? They told me I would love her immediately and I worried because I didn't know.
Three weeks of crying -- both of us -- and changing diapers and all the stuff that happens after labor they never tell you about (and I won't either, because it's SO not right what happens to you) and I was getting the hang of things, of the colic, of the weird schedules, of everything. But I still wasn't sure because she was a lot of work, and what is there to love about feedings every two hours and 12 dirty diapers a day?
I don't know exactly when it happened, really. I thought it would be like falling in love with a man, where you got a rush and butterflies in your stomach; I thought I would moon over her and love would be love and would sweep me off my feet. It never happened that way. All I know is that one day, after I had already loved her a long time, almost forever, I woke up and opened one eye and my love smiled at me and cooed, drooling on my nice, freshly washed sheets, and I knew I was in love.
copyright sandra isla 2007
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They told me I would love her the moment I felt her. I honestly don't think I did. She felt a lot like indigestion and really, how much can you love the stomach pangs of indigestion?
Sometimes people would ask me how she was doing. Like I had some sort of window straight into my belly where she squirmed and stretched and stuck a big foot straight into my rib. She had a nasty habit of pointing her toes and making me double over to my right. When I doubled over, I looked like I was about to fall over dead but really, bending over made her move positions, so that she'd draw that little foot in and press it against something much less painful -- my kidneys, my pancreas... wherever she could wedge herself.
I never wished pregnancy on anyone. I hated it. It was possibly one of the most uncomfortable ten months -- yes ten! they tell you it's nine, but if you do the math, 40 weeks divided by 4 weeks in a month... -- of my life. The first three were spent hunched over a toilet every morning, or trying to eat something before I got there so that I'd have something to throw up because the alternative was to throw up bitter green bile that looks like loose sludge with little yellow bubbles to accent its disgustingness. No toothpaste on earth gets rid of the taste of bile in your mouth. How much can you love a bout with bile after your morning bagel?
They told me I'd forget the pain of labor when I saw her. But twenty four hours that felt (again) like the worst indigestion ever (like when I eat that pizza with the Louisiana hot sausage I so love, but that kicks my ass every time), coupled with an epidural that only worked on half of my body and a catheter that ended up giving me the worst UTI known to man is just a little difficult to let go. I still shudder when I think of being on that hospital bed, my legs heavy and numb, my stomach growling and my mouth sticky because Nurse Ratched doesn't even let me have a glass of water... only ice chips. I hate ice chips.
When we met, I was exhausted and STARVING and although I felt something, I wasn't sure it was love; i had never had this type of relationship with anyone before and she was sweet and cute, yes, but was this love? They told me I would love her immediately and I worried because I didn't know.
Three weeks of crying -- both of us -- and changing diapers and all the stuff that happens after labor they never tell you about (and I won't either, because it's SO not right what happens to you) and I was getting the hang of things, of the colic, of the weird schedules, of everything. But I still wasn't sure because she was a lot of work, and what is there to love about feedings every two hours and 12 dirty diapers a day?
I don't know exactly when it happened, really. I thought it would be like falling in love with a man, where you got a rush and butterflies in your stomach; I thought I would moon over her and love would be love and would sweep me off my feet. It never happened that way. All I know is that one day, after I had already loved her a long time, almost forever, I woke up and opened one eye and my love smiled at me and cooed, drooling on my nice, freshly washed sheets, and I knew I was in love.
copyright sandra isla 2007
Labels: baby
posted by LaSandri at 5:51 AM
3 Comments:
Me = goosebumpy and teary eyed.
This is one of the best 'stories' I've ever read on a blog.
I think it is awesome that someone can write about this. People allways feel like you should immediately love your child. When you don't you would be a bad person. Or they say it is impossible.
Thank you for writing and posting this. :)
You made me cry!
This is just like I felt with my son. But yet, so different.
Thank you.
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