I recently entered a mini-essay contest for Tribe Magazine. I’ve published with them before and had a good experience. My essay wasn’t chosen — I like to think because it was a bit of a stretch for the topic. Anyhow, I was just reading a blog post about the NICU and its lack of windows, and it reminded me of my essay. I figured I’d share it now. Might as well dig out of the election-centric posts slowly but surely (Though there will be more. Oh will there ever be more).
A lot of us are struggling to figure out how to express what we are feeling. It is nothing quite like we have ever experienced before.
If you are anything like me, you have likely read about a kazillion birth stories since the moment you found out you were pregnant for the first time. I have read everything from accidental unassisted homebirths to hospital horror stories. From beautiful water births to straightforward c-sections. I don’t know that I have ready many details about preterm c-sections.
It starts as scattered seeds — kernels anchored by anxiety and waiting for the right conditions to sprout. Some days they are fertilized by memories. Some days by fear. Most often they germinate themselves, arriving with a lunchbox of sunlight and water as they feed one another.
My relationship status with nostalgia apps like Timehop and Facebook’s On This Day is, “it’s complicated.”
To the mom who…
has laundry baskets full of all the random shit that collects around the house. Toys, hair bows, single socks.