To my dear Child(ren) - you are no fairy tale!

I can be quiet impulsive when I get passionate about an idea. Once something hits my head, and I feel my loins heated with the fire of desire and willpower, I have to do it. My body will willingly follow the call of my mind and heart, whether it liked it or not. I would jump into it wholeheartedly, guns blazing, heart on my sleeve, all cards on the table. Yes, I'm a sensitive creature. I like to act on my feelings and the desires of my heart. I live to explore the root cause of every emotion that runs through my veins and my mind. I guess I'm trying to justify, that when I became fixated with the idea of creating little wonderful bundles of joy, who would be just like me in every way, (beautiful, well behaved, obedient, and did I say beautiful, artistic, creative etc. ), I jumped into it with full force. When I first became a mother, the experience is unlike any other. The turmoil I put my parents through, particularly my dear father, was insurmountable. But I'm not going to write about that, that's all water under the bridge now. I am going to focus on the beautiful journey that led to your birth. At first you were just a lump, then a hump and then I became a massive human balloon. Literally. I used to rub my stomach every night, and talk to you from outside the womb, to try and still your kicking. My every movement became measured. Too much could cause a cramp, pull a muscle or upset you. I started sleeping on my side every night, for nine whole months, because lying flat was no longer possible and may run the risk of suffocating in my sleep, because you my dear were sitting on top of air supply and everything else. Nine months, I had never had so much water trips in between short periods. For the first three months, I waited and waited for some signs of morning sickness, nausea and vomiting. Nothing came. I thought I had made a mistake. But no, the daily black outs confirmed it. I fainted every other two days. Whilst I was sitting on the table having a meal, or waiting to see the doctor, or just walking around the house. It was extremely frustrating not to have control of your mind and body. I was furious that darkness could come and go as it pleases, and leaving me with bruises everywhere, especially on my face. Was I fearful of my safety? No, I was really stubborn about it. I was more terrified for yours. I was terrified of losing this tiny form within me, growing within my womb and stretching my body in all sorts of places. I was terrified, because I knew, if I were to lose this being, it would be the end of me. The fear helped mellow out my irritations and annoyances. From being hot, to being too heavy, waddling around like a penguin (literally), to not fitting my clothes anymore, not being able to wear high heels (back then I could wear them six inches like no-one's business), and just being so damn bloody hot. I had never showered so much in my whole entire life. Probably took 15 - 20 showers a day. Especially nearing the full term of pregnancy. Oh and the eating. I started to eat and eat and eat and eat like food was running out the next day. I forgot about weight and looking like a super model. No, I had far too important things to worry about. I had a little being inside of me, kicking and fighting for its very own survival. With every pull I became fiercely protective. Sometimes vicious, and savagely aggressive. Especially towards the nurses when it was time for your long awaited arrival. (I made sure I apologised to them later), because that wasn't me. I was not me at all. That was some demonic woman from somewhere deep in the chambers of my being. That woman, would only come out four times later, after the first time. She was a hell raiser that woman. Uhh umm. Oh yeah. She cried a lot the first time. Then she quickly realised that tears won't get her anywhere, so she stopped crying and started blowing, and blowing and huffing and puffing. Then came the pacing, up and down, round and round the hospital labour rooms and grounds. She tried her best to stifle the cries that were about to surface from within her blowing pipes. At first she was able to keep them at bay. Unfortunately for her, the closer the pains got and the longer they lasted, the less weak her defences became. When she finally let go, she was vehemently roaring. Her Siva was coming to its climax, and she started to swirl and twirl. Calling on the powers that be, on the blessings of her ancestors, on everything she loved and held dear to her innermost core, she called on her faith and she danced. There were some (a lot really) G-rated words in between but I think she was pretty much forgiven. It was her first time after all. Nurses, weren't too forgiving after the third one came though. When her Siva came to its full circle, it took one last yelp to open up the womb doors for your entrance. Choooooohuhuhu! There you were, rosy pink cheeks, the softest gentle skin I had ever touched. Black soft curls crowning your head. The tiniest little fingers and toes I had ever seen or touched. The most beautiful of all God's creation that I had ever feasted my eyes upon. You were perfect. Flawless. A divine intervention. A miraculous miracle. No miracle that I could have ever imagined could come close to what or how I felt that moment I held each and everyone of you in my arms. It was precisely that very moment, that I forgot every little annoyances of the times I had to carry you inside of me for nine whole months. I forgot everything but the overwhelming love that took over me. At that very second, I knew, that of all the things I had done in my life, I must have done something right, to deserve having you, holding you, without flaw nor worry. Just perfect life breathing bliss.