So many times I look at others from the outside in. Analyze why they make the decisions they make. Try to figure out what exactly in their lives or their background would lay the groundwork for such a choice... but I rarely turn that critical eye to myself-- so here goes.
I didn't want to spread myself too thin. I didn't want to strain my relationship with my husband. I wanted to spend more time with my son. I was burnt out from last season...
But
It's not fair that I don't get any credit for where they are now. It's not fair that someone else (who truly is an awful person... I think that makes this worse) gets to steal my work and claim it as their own. It's not fair that any recourse I have sounds petty.
Also
It's not fair of me to be jealous of something I willingly turned away from. It's not. It's not fair for me to criticize and demean someone who filled the spot I left. (... did I really want it in the first place?) It's not fair of me to wish anything but good things on them; the group I helped for four years to grow.
I was a good teacher. I am a good wife. I am a good mother. I'm an okay Christian. I wasn't a good student. I try to be a good worker. None of these things are absolutions or excuses; just musings to try to reason why I feel the way I do.
... That's it for now, I suppose.
August 26, 2012
August 2, 2012
On Birth, Part 4...
Everything is a blur. A moment. I can feel sensations again and they hurt. A splash of color in a wilderness of pain.
The nurse came in, I started holding my breath and the baby's heart rate increased. They gave me oxygen and it went down. Then we got the news, bad news... He was face up; he had to turn before he could come out. The nurse told me that many people with babies in similar positions have to have C-sections. I started panicking. I look to Mom, to Ben, to Jessica. I pray. I turn myself inside out with the want for a child I've never seen. We pray. They lay hands on my stomach and we pray for the baby, for me, for a healthy delivery. I push and push and push and we lose his heartbeat. All the sound is sucked out of the room and I can't speak or think until I hear that familiar wooshing sound once more. He's moved lower; he's turned himself! He's coming out and, suddenly, the excavator of my bone and flesh slides out and I am empty.
I wait and look and I hear him before I see his face. They place him in my arms. I feel his slippery soft head, look into his blue eyes and wonder if any child has ever been this perfect. I am delivered unto him. I am his and he is mine... ours.
They take him away and my arms feel empty in a way they have never experienced. When they bring him back he is much cleaner, and they lay him on my chest. He looks at me and we look at each other, overwhelmed by the sense of-- everything. But, he is here.
Gabriel.
The nurse came in, I started holding my breath and the baby's heart rate increased. They gave me oxygen and it went down. Then we got the news, bad news... He was face up; he had to turn before he could come out. The nurse told me that many people with babies in similar positions have to have C-sections. I started panicking. I look to Mom, to Ben, to Jessica. I pray. I turn myself inside out with the want for a child I've never seen. We pray. They lay hands on my stomach and we pray for the baby, for me, for a healthy delivery. I push and push and push and we lose his heartbeat. All the sound is sucked out of the room and I can't speak or think until I hear that familiar wooshing sound once more. He's moved lower; he's turned himself! He's coming out and, suddenly, the excavator of my bone and flesh slides out and I am empty.
I wait and look and I hear him before I see his face. They place him in my arms. I feel his slippery soft head, look into his blue eyes and wonder if any child has ever been this perfect. I am delivered unto him. I am his and he is mine... ours.
They take him away and my arms feel empty in a way they have never experienced. When they bring him back he is much cleaner, and they lay him on my chest. He looks at me and we look at each other, overwhelmed by the sense of-- everything. But, he is here.
Gabriel.
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