Gingerbread Woman

Wherefore art thou lioness?

One of the things I have always prided myself on is my courage. I have never for example, done that avoid someone thing when something uncomfortable had to be said or done. I have never seen difficulty as a reason to give up on anything or anyone I believe in. I've had scalpels down my throat without anesthetic. I've worked through addictions and betrayals, dated men en route to being women and women en route to being men. I've been abused for holding a girls hand in public and refused to let go nonetheless, been beaten up but not beaten. I've stood in front of someone I cared about to stop him being hurt when I had no certainty I wouldn't be, I've taken on a gang of teenage boys who followed me round a shop shouting about my cleavage, and after dunking one in the crevice he was so keen to comment on, silenced the lot of them.

I have I think, reasons to be proud of my bravery.

Only now, less than a month from Fred's due date, I seem to have misplaced it.

My midwife talks about birth plans, and I have to resist the temptation to pop my fingers in my ears and hum loudly.
My pregnacy book gives me a list of things to plan around the delivery, I slam it shut and pop it back in storage.
I can't even bring myself to pack an overnight bag.

People ask me if I'm excited, and I tell them I'm doing my pelvic floors to hold him in. I'm not joking.

Mum says very sensibly, 'darling it's a day of pain and unlike most pain, you know it'll end, you know why you're having it, and at the end you'll be holding something special'.

I agree with her. But, the book remains closed, the birth plan's not written and the bag isn't packed.

It's not the pain so much as the invasion of my body I fear. Here I am, for all the bravado, a girl who needs half a bottle of wine and preferably a couple of joints to get her kit off in front of someone for the first time....about to be poked and prodded by people I've never met before. I'm scared of having my waters broken which sounds nasty, of being cut, which makes me gag, of stirrups and forceps and stiches. I'm scared of feeling out of control whilst the medical profession make decisions about incisions and talk in a a language I don't immediately understand and that, if the going gets tough, they could be hesitant to translate.

I'm scared to make a plan in case I need to tear it up, and scared not to in case I get there and don't know how I want it to go if could all go to one.

I'm scared for Freddie and his big head, scared he'll be in distress or hurt on the way out, or have something wrong with him when he gets here.

I can't even decide whether I want to do the earth mum jasmine scented water birth holistic thing, or fill myself up and float away on a wave of pethadine and an epidural.

I do know, as the false labour pains keep reminding me, that actually at some point, ready or not, it's happening, and that when it does, I'll need the lioness. So if anyone sees her, please, give her a stroke and send her this way.

posted by The Gypsy @ 10:26 am