Category Archives: Writing

This Mess.

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There is Chaos.

Disaster, distruction, mayhem.

Crayon on the walls, yogurt in the carpet. Piles of forgotten toys. Dust on the cabinets and windowsills.

In every direction, there is filth.

The dishes from last nights dinner are still on the table. A basket of clean laundry is forgotten by the stairs, left alone to wrinkle. A wet diaper has somehow missed the bin. How long has it been since someone vacuumed? Impossible to tell.

The mess is never-ending, overwhelming, unrelenting.

But within this mess, there is also joy.

Imagination, beauty, fun.

Smiles on faces, stains on shirts. Favorite toys dragged lovingly in every direction. Light streaming through dusty windows. Fingerprints and fingerpaints. A half empty sippy-cup. A sock with no mate.

Without a doubt, children live here.

The dishes must be washed… but they will wait. The laundry will keep, and the diapers will eventually find the bin.

The little hands, little voices, little faces; they will not last. Instead, the moments given and time taken freely, set aside from worry and stress will be remembered.

And no one will look back and care whether or not the house was truly clean.

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I welcome and would love constructive criticism! Feel free to leave in comments. Thank you for reading!

Water.

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15

Another writing piece!

I am going to try to participate in this more regularly, so you can expect to see more of these. I really enjoy writing them, so I hope you enjoy reading them.

This weeks prompt:

Water gives life. It also takes it away.

Write a short piece – fiction or non-fiction – inspired by one or both of these statements.

Word maximum is 600.

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My contractions were fierce and regular, just minutes apart with little respite between.

I watched the water level rise in the dark blue birthing pool set in the middle of the room. Impatiently, I walked round and round, dreading each contraction as it arose. I was demanding and focused wholly within myself; my loving husband was subject to my every desire. The pressure of the contractions required his counter-pressure, and he couldn’t be more than an arms reach away without the thready wisps of panic beginning in my belly along with another wave of pain.

I didn’t ask. The pool was nearly half full, so I stepped in. My foot recoiled involuntarily from the unexpected heat, but I pressed on. Another contraction was mounting, and I desperately wanted whatever relief the water had to offer. I sat slowly, cross legged at first, and let the steaming water lap around me. I spread my fingers wide and made small waves in the pool. As the contraction became more powerful, I flipped over onto my hands and knees, leaning over plastic side, and let my whole body relax. I breathed in deeply through my nose and blew the air out of my mouth, forcing myself to relax. be calm… be like the water. The warmth of the pool leached into my bones and eased the ache. Sweat, unnoticed as it left my body, joined with the water around me. Moments seemed like hours in the comforting warmth, and I allowed myself to doze when nothing was happening. But the water was too warm; I was over-heating and I felt the world going black.

Laying on the cool, wooden floor, my wits were suddenly gathered to me by a contraction I didn’t expect. I was no longer in the pool, no longer benefiting from the easing of the heat and weightlessness. I was immediately aware of how quickly the contractions were coming, and the power with which they were moving my child within me. My breath was taken from me again and again as I struggled through the last few centimeters of dilation. I focused on my center, and relaxing, opening, progressing; but I started to doubt. I can’t do this. It’s too hard. I just want to stop, I just want a break. I began to cry when I realized I wasn’t the amazing, powerful woman I thought I was. Childbirth was too hard, and I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to.

Finally, someone suggested that I get back into the pool. The water had been re-warmed, and I slipped in easily. My breathing slowed, my mind calmed. My thoughts floated away on the water, and my contractions spaced apart. I was weightless, effortless, careless. I rested my forehead on the side of the pool and slept. Perhaps it was only seconds, or perhaps a few minutes, but I opened my eyes feeling refreshed. I had survived transition, and it was time to push.

As the next contraction mounted, encouragement came from all around me. There was no denying the urge, and I gave in to the instinct – I pushed with my whole body, my whole being. Every part of me pushed outward, and a scream of effort tore itself from my throat. I relaxed into the calm between the contractions, laying fully into the water, letting it carry my weight for me.

With another contraction and another push, the baby had crowned.

Contraction.

Push.

A wave of pain and a huge burst of pressure, I knew I had delivered my child’s head.

Contraction.

Push.

Rush and release.

I felt my body collapse under the effort, my eyes closed from exhaustion. I felt like I floated there for hours before I heard the words, “Mandy! Pick up your baby!”

I looked down, and floating in the water beneath me was the most perfect being, the miracle I had made – my beautiful baby girl. I scooped her out of the water and into my arms as tears slid down my face.

From water, into water, surrounded by tears of love and joy, Ruby Kate was born.

 

 

Alphabet soup.

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14

The Red Dress Club has another great prompt this week.

“Your assignment is to write a short piece – fiction, non-fiction, poetry, whatevs – in which each sentence starts with a the next letter of the alphabet. Starting with “A.” So, yes, your finished product will consist of 26 sentences.”

I chose non-fiction, and to write about my night.  I’ve been looking forward to this prompt all week.  This was such a fun exercise… challenging, and interesting to think of different ways to begin sentences other than with “I” or “my” all the time.  I think the final product is quite lovely.

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Another day is gone.  Breathless, I sit here through a contraction.  Can’t seem to make it through the night any more, as it is only 5am.  Don’t worry, I don’t think I’m in labor – I just can’t sleep through some of them.  Every night, I go to bed hoping for more than three or four hours of sleep.  For the past few weeks, I’m lucky to get that much.  General consent is that the days before delivery are trying to prepare you for sleepless nights with a newborn.  Heaven knows I hate hearing that, I got plenty of sleep when Ronan was a newborn.  I don’t think it’s just my body, either.  Just as I am cursed with the need to get up and pee, my mind starts racing.  Kicked in the cerebrum, I can’t shut off all the thoughts about what I need to do, what is coming, what happens next.  Laying in bed with my eyes closed but my thoughts open, I try instead to see peaceful thoughts.  My consciousness guides my restless head towards my birth, and visualizing a perfect delivery.  Never mind that things don’t always go as planned.  Often I have read of other mothers who’ve used positive visualization and the mind-body connection to create the experience they had only dreamed of.  Perhaps I will be one of those lucky mothers.  Quite funny, however, that I never get to dream of my experience as I never seem to actually be sleeping.  Reality sets in rather quickly, and I begin to realize that this roller-coaster can’t be slowed down.  Soon, there will be another child in our house.  This family of three is quickly becoming a family of four.  Under no circumstances had I previously been able to imagine anything other than what is, and soon it will be what was.  Very soon, a little girl will join our household, and our love will grow to encompass her.  What an amazing thing to behold.  X-rays of our hearts would show no change, but there is nothing around us that WONT change.  Yes, life will go on as before.  Zero chance that we wont be living it just a little fuller, though.

Tears.

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The Red Dress Club had a photo prompt this week.

When I looked at the photo titled “Resigned“, I didn’t think about how creative I could be… all I could think about was the number of times I’ve cried lately.

Just last night, I cried when I put Ronan to bed and he was coughing so hard he was gasping.  I cried because I couldn’t do anything for him, and it was killing me.

I cried when I watched this season’s premier of House.

I cried yesterday afternoon when I watched Toy Story 3 for the first time.

I cried this weekend when I scanned a patient that was having a miscarriage after she had just lost her 11 day old daughter to an infection she acquired while she was in the hospital.  I cried and cried and cried.

This morning, someone I care about got some very good news, and I spent a few minutes wiping away happy tears.

I know I’m hormonal, and things just seem to make me so much more emotional than they usually do, but I don’t mind.

It feels good to cry.

Also, I will be posting some pictures shortly.  It’s been a while!

I Don’t Like You.

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You know… you’re not really all that great.

Excuse me?  Hah… um… what a thing to say.  Who just says that to someone?

Well, we’re stuck in this elevator.  Might as well say something.  Besides, I’ve never really liked you.

Oh.  Go on, then, I guess.  Tell me how you REALLY feel.

Okay.  I will.  You know that phrase, “Jack of all trades, master of none”?  That’s you, only at life.  You are pretty good at just about everything, but you aren’t really good at anything.  And to be completely honest, some things you just plain suck at.

Suck?  That’s a little harsh.

Yeah, but it’s true.  You suck at cleaning house.  You suck at paying bills on time.  Sometimes, you even suck at being a wife and mom.

Woah, woah, woah.   Hold on there.  I’ll admit, there are some areas where I’m lacking, but really?  I’m a pretty damn good mom.  I do the best that I can, and I realize that I’m not perfect.  But that doesn’t make me suck. And wife?  That’s a work in progress, friend.  Constantly evolving, ever changing.  We communicate, we try to fix things, and we both give and take in this relationship.  We have sucky days, but neither of us suck.

…I guess I can give you that.  But what about work?  You aren’t really very good at your job.

My job?  That’s one place I allow pride in myself!  I take good care of my patients, and do the best studies I can!  I am constantly trying to learn more, and be better.  I have had patients tell me specifically that I was the best part of their stay in the hospital, and that means something to me.  I work every time I’m asked, and I work my butt off.  I can’t say everyone I work with likes me, but I go out of my way to be easy to work with!  You can NOT tell me I suck at my job.

I never really thought of it that way.  You are pretty good at what you do.  Your body, though?  Kind of leaves something to be desired.

Oh, I know.  I’ve felt that way for years.  Only, it’s a little silly.  MORE than a little silly.  I don’t have perfect hair, or dress the best.  I’ve struggled with my weight and my body image.  I’ve looked in the mirror and cried before.  But… I’m learning not to feel that way any more.  I realized a while ago that only I could make me feel badly about myself, and I’m choosing not to do that.  I’m choosing not to hear, I’m choosing not to listen.  I’m choosing to ignore YOU.

Me?  You can’t ignore me.  I’m you.

I know.  But I’m tired of what you have to say.  I can ignore you because you don’t have anything nice to say.  Because I’m tired of letting you tear me down.  Because I just realized something.

I.

Like.

Me.

This post is a response to the following prompt: “Think of a person you don’t like, and describe what you might say if you had to share an elevator ride together. Then describe what happens when the elevator breaks down. For six hours.”