May 3, 2014.
Having our tiny baby at home was empowering. I went to the zoo. I pulled weeds. We took a walk. I ate a bagel and a banana and a pear and red raspberry leaf tea ice chips and I felt like a fucking princess, like I could yell and kick a hole in the wall if I wanted and still my feet would be rubbed and my leg cramps would be rubbed and I’d still get my really really really hot mini pool in my living room. I didn’t kick a hole in the wall, or yell at anyone, but I could have is all I’m saying. Christina looked like an angel and she let me scream in her face and I think about her face sometimes, the look in her eyes between my contractions and the way they shined in the candlelight at four in the morning.
My mom was there, taking pictures and telling me to growl like an animal. I was amazed how my body would feel nothing between contractions, I started out eating and joking between them but sometime during the third day of labor I slept between them. I stared at myself above the mirror in the sink and told myself my body would get our ET out. As I sat in the hot hot bath I told myself my body would never get my ET out, they would go on living inside of me. I told myself I wasn’t ready to be a mom. I told myself I was. I told myself someone would need to take my ET out because I couldn’t.
I looked pretty. I remember I looked at myself and I thought I had the eyes of a goddess. I remember I started crying at some point and I said, “I’m crying, but it’s totally unrelated to the pain and I’m not sure I can even tell you why I’m crying. I could be laughing, too. I might actually be laughing. I’m not even crying. Even though I’m sobbing.”
After I started pushing there was no more pain, just pressure. So much pressure. It was my favorite part. I remember thinking I could probably have an orgasm the next time around. They said, “We can see hair,” and I said, “Hair? That’s not my baby.” She was so warm when she spilled out of my body and I felt alive for a brief moment before the blood went somewhere. Out of me? I don’t know. It was gone and I wanted my mozzarella cheese I never got to eat. I didn’t see Iris until Christina held her. I felt high for days and days and days. I came down about three weeks later.
I cried because the world looked beautiful. I cried because the dressing bottle at Dions was perfect. The mountains were pink. I could stand on my feet again.
I took back my lunchable from Iris. She collected all my goodies in the amazing placenta and I had it dried and I ate it and it tasted like blood and I craved more. I smelled like blood all the time but only I could smell it and I want it again.
I’d have another baby at home. And another. My midwife looked into my face and said, “Tabatha, stop yelling.” And I did. I loved her in that moment.