Kids

I'm writing this on my phone blogger app, and as I tap the screen to enter this section of the page, it directs me to post content.
The title is "Kids".
I could easily leave it right there. One 4 letter word that fills all space.
And while I'm here, 4 letter words are more often very, very good things.
In this case, they are, even as they masquerade under the other at times.

My 2 daughters, as different as they could be, they have often times been everything to me. Not always, and that's ok. They fill my heart, occupy my mind, worry my soul, thrill me, frustrate me, terrify me...they are the best thing I have ever, and will ever, leave this world. Each a part of me, in various degrees and stages, vital parts that walk and think and talk outside of my own physical self...that had always tripped me out a bit.

Older girl, she is one of my best friends. We've been through hell together a few times. A beautiful woman, stronger than she knows, fiercely independent, stubborn/strong-willed, kind even when she'd really rather not be, frightened of her fragility. I knew when she was conceived, I did with both the girls, although with this one I wasn't aware of it in those words. I simply knew that something extraordinary had begun, long before a test confirmed that. My pregnancy with her was filled with concern on the dr's ends, too small, one kidney, proportions wrong, heart rate off, she may not live through the birth, test test test test test...test. I held off my joy to keep everyone calm, they were all afraid I'd lose myself in happiness and then shatter when my darling died. How terrible, in hindsight. Did they never know me? Nobody was more aware of what those words meant. Nobody. How could they? I was the one with this amazing life inside of me. I knew which foods she liked, which she was going to kick me over, what position she preferred, even favorite songs. I knew how she hated those tests, the pressure from the monitor straps bugged her incredibly and she'd wiggle and shift until it was completely off of her. The techs would run in, baby's heartbeat was off, and we'd have the same conversation. I finally would just laugh.
She was fine. And even if she wasn't going to live long, she was living then already. I resented the intrusion of negativity into my time with her, just in case it was going to be all that we were given. She and i were already a team.

Labor was long and hard. Strapped to every piece of malfunctioning machinery available, fighting them to let my body do it's job. Drifting to the edge of life and back to bring her into this end of it...things of that journey that only a woman can truly understand.

When she was born, and good golly, in their hurry to haul her out of me they were beyond zealous, they whisked her straight away, no sight, no sound...then they hit me hard with the demerol. I was very consciously aware of every sound, my ears and mind straining hard for any noise. I wanted to tell them to all shut up, let me listen for her, but I couldn't speak. Finally I was able to move my arm and grabbed a nurse's arm and made her look at me.
Then I heard her.
My girl. A soft cry, more of a bleat, but it grew stronger. I laughed, that strange kind that happens when you've lost control of your voice but it can't stay inside of you any longer.
And I cried.
Someone rubbed my head, soft strokes across my forehead, down my cheek, a hand I was holding gently squeezed.

They brought my grumpy, goober covered darling to me, and that moment will live in me forever. I looked into her eyes, and she into mine, and our very spirits met. I had a flash of a lifetime, saw her at many ages, knew instantly that her soul is older than mine...all in a flash. That brief instant of pure connection. As much a part of me as the blood inside...more.

We had a rough week, that first one. Transfusions, infections, wound care, etc.
Going home, to an apartment I'd never seen, was a relief. No doctors, no tests, no nurses, no noises.

Just the beginning of it all.