Lately I have come across people who have tragic stories of birth.
Being that Mother's Day is coming up, I've again been reminded about my own experiences and how they compare to others I have learned about.
I honestly feel totally guilty that it was so easy for me, easy to give birth, easy to make the decision.
I mean, I knew it was a big decision and all, and I did have my days of crushing sadness, but my sadness was more about how Jacob couldn't love me enough to devout his life to me, well, he didn't really love me at all, I think, which hurts most of all.
My biggest problem in life is that people can't hardly care about me, I mean, some do, but usually those people are the kind of people who care about people in general more than most.
It always hurts to know that the average person doesn't want to care about me.
Their actions always prove it. It was never the idea that I was losing motherhood or anything else in life that ever bothered me more than thinking people cared about me, feeling like they care about me, and then learning that it was all a lie and having them totally reject me from their lives at a moments notice, or even after a few weeks or months of strained interaction where I am totally confused by their attitudes.
I know I'm the one that probably did or do something to make people aware that they suddenly can't take trying to pretend that they care. Honestly, it's like they think I'm the kind of person that they would usually care about, and then when they figure out the person I really am, they hate me, and probably think I know why, I don't.
Anyways, this is not what I wanted to write about, I wanted to tell you about my birth story.
I mean, well, because I have heard a few, and I can relate to none of them, not even a little.
My story of labor and delivery is very straight forward, and I always want to add the details that probably not a single person in the world really wants to know.
Honestly, I can't even relate to other stories of pregnancy because my pregnancy was so easy.
Maybe it's just that the people who have had the worst experiences are the ones that like talking about them more, or feel the need to talk about them more. Ones like mine, where things were really mostly good, are silly and boring. People don't want to hear about how my labor progressed rapidly and how I was treated mostly good at the hospital. I think they like the dramatic details of a more risky situation in a story.
The only thing risky about my story is that I torn a little more on the inside, during my last two pushes to get Parker out of me, than I should have, but they totally sewed me up pretty good(even though, those stitches did get infected a week later, but I got the medicine, it worked)
I mean, I wish I could relate to having cravings during my pregnancy when all I had was an aversion to the smell of meat, I still wanted to eat meat. My only craving was being more hungry than usual.
I keep hearing stories from woman about getting diabetes and intolerance for lactose and gluten, and none of that happened for me, I feel guilty about that, as if I should be so lucky to be healthy, to have so little problems. I mean, I think I deserve all the pain and suffering I have heard about, I think I could bare it a little better than them. Not trying to brag, I think it's just reality.
It seems that the people who love the most, suffer the most, I don't love enough, so I don't suffer enough.
I just can't muster the mushy-mushy like the whole world seems to endorse.
I mean, I am intensely loyal and I DO love people, just not in the way they expect.
I wish I could relate because I wish I could understand why these things happen.
Why did I experience such an easy birth and have such a easy time with letting Parker go?
Why didn't I have the fun of cravings, and all that weird stuff about feeling the baby roll around inside you?
That's a thing I wonder about, I barely felt Parker inside me when I was pregnant, except for a couple of times when there was a loud sound and he literally kicked the breath out of me from the inside, and that didn't feel good. Most of the rare movement I had felt from him, while he was forming inside me, was painful, literally, it did not feel like an of this 'gentle rolling' I heard about. It felt like something trying to break out of me, like the sharp finger pokes my brother used to do to my rib, when we were kids, as some kind of way of 'tickling' me, but it didn't tickle, it hurt, and I had bruises (not from Parker, from my brother)
I can't write much longer, and much of this does not make sense. I just feel completely invalid because my life experience of similar things never matches up with others and it probably should, just a little bit.
It's sort of like going to a restaurant where you get really good service and you love it so so so much, then you come across people who have nothing good to say about the restaurant that you love.
Makes me think, why did I have good experience, and others, went the same place, in the same way, and did NOT have a good experience? What about me, or what I did, made it work out so well for me, but not for most others?
I guess I also wonder how so many people that are uglier and meaner than me can find marriage partners.
What did they do that I didn't? I probably will never know.