Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Ink...

I lay there, stranded like a fish on a hot beach, in that black chair, underneath unforgiving flourescent lights. The man with the gun (tattoo, that is) hovered over me... he was kind and patient, not even seeming to notice my blinding white flab or the constellation of pale pink zebra stripes that adorn my body. My own child, just growing in my womb, has decorated my flesh, long ago, free of charge.

This torture that i am about to willingly undergo is a gift, no less... marking an anniversary, and celebrating a new beginning, so as instructed, i take a deep breath and let it out. I think 'You're in it good now, bitch' and 'Perhaps your feeble little mind has well and truly snapped, finally'. But i lay there, as stoic as i can be. And it begins. I try very hard not to think of the fact that really, i am being sliced, minutely, thousands of times. That ink, indelible and implacable, is being forced underneath my skin. The finished work will be two doves, suspended forever beneath my collarbone, holding a banner in their beaks... in the banner is a line of a Georgian song, in Georgian. The script itself is beautiful, art all on its own even without further adornment. The whole of the piece extends nearly across my chest, from armpit to armpit. The outlining is excruciating... i curse and squeal over and over again. I am ashamed of my weakness. and then astonished to find that it is far more painful, in its own way, then even pushing out a massive 9 pound baby with no drugs!

But we soldier on. After the outline, in dense black, is complete, we all take a break. I gingerly put my top back on and we go outside, where i eagerly smoke a cigarette and wish i had a VERY stiff drink at the moment. We begin again. At this point, the artist is shading the doves, delicately, with smoky black around the inner edges of the doves. These are no pastel wedding cake birds, to be sure, and i am glad. The inside of the banner is then shaded with deep, almost black purple that sort of bleeds inward, followed by red, a brilliant, not to be avoided red. But then, by God, i WANT people to stare. After all, it is my pain and my love branded on my skin... How could i hide it from the world after all i went through?. The red is not densely 'packed' into my skin, as he put it, but lightly shaded. The pale of my skin shows through, around the ornate letters and makes them stand out in shocking relief. Finally, the black of the birds feathers is delicately outlined in white.

We are finished. My legs are trembling and i am very cold. Each cut of the gun made the nerve in one leg jump, over and over again. I am exhausted. I have given birth... to love, to myself, to my own desire and dream. With this act, i peck at the shell of who i was. I am becoming... me.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Git yo shit, git you shit, git yo shit and get OUT

Is what I badly want to say to my mother right now. God she is a toxic, overbearing, controlling miserable asshole. I hate feeling this way about her, really i do, but i just cannot like her. She is humorless, petty, and hypersensitive and also antagonistic. Fuck. I just want to vomit all over her right now. Bah humbug.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

I am grateful for....

Fifteen dolla jeans from Hell-Mart that make my ass look fabulous, my gut smaller and fit perfectly. Cain't beat that with a stick (imagine this said in my Southern accent, if you will (-;). Excellent jeans are essential to a good self-esteem, at least for me.

Letting go...

Today, i bagged up every last scrap of all the maternity and nursing clothes i have held onto so desperately. It was like removing scraps of skin from my body, to tell the truth. I WAS going to Ebay a lot of it, some new with tags, but have not had the energy to do so. Well, the clutter of them sitting in my office has been a real psychic drain on me,and i decided i had to get ruthless and rid myself of them, once and for all. There is a lot, because not only did i have a great deal left from my pregancy with Sophia, i had collected many things from thrift stores and such for the past two years, thinking surely i would soon be pregnant again and be so grateful to have inexpensive, nice pants and cute tops for three dollars, etc.

For a long time, i kept these things not just because the thrifty, pack-rat side of me kept insisting it would be criminal to get rid of such great stuff that i would surely be using soon. But also? I felt a bizarre kind of guilt, and came to believe that getting rid of all these pieces of cloth would be scrapping my last hopes for another child, that I would be in some mystical way letting myself down. No more of that. In fact, i DO still have hope, even if it is but a faint whisper of the boundless optimism i started out with. I found a local pregnancy center that i admire very much for its quiet but definite purposefulness in my community, and the woman had a little orgasm when I told her about all the clothes i had, lol. So, off they go, pretty clothes of good quality that will hopefully lift the spirits of someone who feels beaten and worn and let down by life (gawd that was melodramatic, but y'all know what i mean). I did keep two things that i could NOT bear to part with. One dress, that almost made me break down in tears: It is not a maternity dress, but of such tentlike proportions that it was my very favorite article of clothing. Bright lilac linen that barely skimmed my overripe belly in my tenth month of pregnancy (yes, the bastards don't tell you that it's not any goddamn NINE months). I was wearing it when i went to the hospital to have Sophia, and i need to keep it. Maybe one day she will have the cool and floaty pleasures of wearing it, even if it is as shapeless as a sack, ha. The other was just a cute empire waisted non-maternity dress that i think i will wear this summer, just for the hell of it (it totally makes me look pregnant but i don't give a shit).

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Like bunnies...

Twice in three hours...

Mama is walkin' funny but feelin' GREAT...

God I love that man... he can really lay it down (-;

Too cryptic?

Homegirl got LAID!!! Yeeha!

Monday, December 12, 2005

'Some people have TWO kids'

My daughter said to me today. 'Kara has two kids, Aaron and Vera Beth. Annemarie has two kids, Ana and Andrei'. I had to muster a peaceful smile (though my heart was breaking) and tell her that yes, that's true, but some people only have one kid. And that God might give us two kids, one day, we just had to keep asking. When will the pain go away, i'd like very much to know. My poor innocent girl, she has no idea, and i would never let her know how much those sweet questions tear at my soul.

I suck

I am so sorry i've not updated in a week, but i've been dealing with some serious things in my personal life that i just can't get into here. Anyway, i'll try to drum up something really interesting very soon, like tomorrow (0;. I'm sure all four of my devoted fans will be champing at the bit, lol.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Why she's my best friend EVER

Kara is my best friend. She set me and my husband up on our first date. She was my DOULA and was with me through all 36 hours of my labor... in fact she almost caught the damn baby. She's always been there.

But, you want to know how i reaaally know she's my bff? She'd had a hard couple of days with last-minute company... and said to me when i asked her how she was faring..

'It's all i can do to keep the liquor in the house, Lydia... this morning, you know what i did? I got that nasty coconut rum out, and poured some of that into some orange juice and DRANK IT DOWN, because it was all i had.'

She really doesn't drink much, on a normal basis. So this touched my heart with it's vulnerability and humanity. That's why I love Kara, because she's real and true and has weaknesses and isn't afraid to admit it.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Content

There is a very profound Scripture, by St Paul (i am the sucky kind of Christian who is incapable of remembering exact references, leave me alone) that says 'I have learned, in whatsoever state i am, there with to be content'.

Well, i've come to a decision, one that will change the way i answer people when they ask if we want more children. I am now only going to answer "We are so happy with the one that God has given us. If he wants to give us more sometime, that'd be Ok, too". I feel that will completely satisfy the casual asker, and derail any depressing and morbid discussions that might arise about my baffling inability to concieve again.

Oh, i forgot to mention: I have secondary infertility, as yet unexplained, because i have been unable to pay for more extensive testing. We think that part of the problem is possibly hostile cervical fluids (yeah, they're bad mofos, those fluids). Anyway, it's been two years and a couple of those goddamn chemical pregnancies but nothing more. And it hurts. It hurts like an untended broken tooth... sometimes it is quiescent and i think maybe the pain is gone for good... other times it throbs dully and wakes me up at night... and still other times it takes my breath away with a white hot bolt of agony.

But maybe, just maybe... if i PRETEND to be content true peace will come. I know that the lesson i'm supposed to be learning is to wait on God and his ultimate, perfect timing. That's the main lesson of my life... i am impulsive and keenly want immediate gratification. I mean, everyone does but with me it's like a sickness. And i haven't yet learned.

I have railed against God, I have abused the body that refuses to give me another life to love. I have wept and keened, I have tried to drink and smoke away the pain (ooooh, deep dark secrets, folks). All for naught. The reality is still the same. And so is God, who gives all good things to those that love him. The end.

Groundbreaking news

Apparently, God lives in Egypt...

So sayeth Sophia.

It seems that He does live in our hearts, but his primary residence is Egypt. Who knew?