warrior

it’s not a body
torn apart
by four pregnancies
it’s the body
of a warrior
cut open twice
followed by two home births
my body
has stories to tell.

something that occurred to me in the shower one morning. i give my body such a hard time…but my body has always been there for me. it was not my body that failed me in childbirth–but the current medical system that does not allow for anything but a textbook birth (hence my being cut open twice because i dared to have 42 week pregnancies.) and after being assaulted by the medical system…twice…my body recovered and got me through two home births. kudos to my body. my warrior body. strong, dependable, magical.

miserable creature

was there ever
joy
in my life
have i always been this
miserable creature
i see
in the mirror
was my heart ever
a light place
or
was this darkness
just born to me?

so on top of a head cold, two of my sons had birthdays this past week. my seven year old was a difficult one. the pregnancy was physically easy, but emotionally a trainwreck.
dusty found a shiny new girlfriend while i was pregnant for poppy. that went on throughout the pregnancy, birth, & first two years of poppy’s life.
so, unfortunately, a day where i should feel happiness turns me into a puddle of misery as i remember how awful i felt for those years.

moses jones page six

my tarot reading last night indicated that i am ready for a new relationship…but am still heavily influenced by what happened in my relationship with dusty….
my art/comic concurs.
the dusty effect on my heart….

moses jones episode 3 page 6

here is another page. i am having fun with creating moses jones pages again. judging by audience participation (number of likes & comments) mojo is not nearly as popular as my other creations, but i love her–so i will keep writing her.
plus,
this comic is another way for me to work out my feelings as a mother, as an ex-wife, and as someone who used to live in a dysfunctional intentional community.
it’s kind of like my self-portrait art journal…but a bit more involved.

misha’s birth day

i know another reason why i’m feeling warm & fuzzy towards dusty right now. when we were married, i surmised that if we were ever trapped somewhere, dependent on working together to get to safety, we would die.

my observation was true of every time i needed him to be there for me.
except one…misha’s birth.

misha is my third child. my first two were c-sectioned because my body likes to take more than 42 weeks to perfect a baby–& doctors do not like to let a woman go much past 40.
so, twice, i let them cut the baby out of me because they said that it was for the best.
when i got pregnant with misha, i could not bear the thought of another c-section.
so i fired all the doctors.
problem was, none of the midwives in madison would support my birth because i had been deemed too risky.
i had never had a vaginal birth. i was 40 years old & prone to long pregnancies. these were my crimes.
misha is the one who suffered forĀ  them.
i found an outlaw midwife who lived one state over & would travel to me when i went into labor.
second problem…i didn’t know what labor looked like because doctors had never let me get that far.
by the time i was certain i was in labor–& not wasting the midwife’s time–misha was on her way out.
she came out fast. relentlessly fast. none of the stages of labor i had read up on were observed by misha as she rocketed out of me.
there was one doula present and dusty.
we were in a kiddie tub on the fourth floor of a 30 person cooperative.
when misha was born, she was having trouble breathing. she probably just needed a few puffs of air to get her going, but none of us knew what to do. by the time the mom down the hall called her midwife to come help, misha was showing signs of seizure.
the paramedics took her away.
the NICU kept her for 12 days.
they told dusty & me, best case scenario: misha has coordination issues & learning disabilities.
worst case scenario: cerebral palsy or epilepsy
i cried so hard as they said that. my heart broke. it was all my fault. if i had just been unselfish enough to get the fucking surgery…to have another fucking c-section…misha would have been fine.
i waited for dusty to blame me. he blamed me for everything. it was always my fault.
this time he would be right.
except
he didn’t blame me. he told me it wasn’t my fault. he zoomed me around the hospital in my wheeled chair–being silly & sweet–as i was still too wrecked to walk much after the birth. he watched the boys while i kept vigil at her side. he came to be with her when i was forced to go home & sleep.
he took care of us.
he was there for me.
seven years later, just as i would remember & be traumatized by a bad event, the good things that happened feel as fresh as yesterday.
and i miss that version of dusty.

(in the NICU…& one year later when the neurologist said, “oh…nevermind.”)

just me & my memoir

i put up another page of my memoir in progress, don’t tell, over on tumblr.

like my art journal, this memoir is a way for me to exorcise some demons. right now it is not really formatted…i am just ranting about what is on my mind for the day. connecting it all together, in the way i think it fits.
so it’s a mess. which is true to my history.

in this self-portrait, i have long hair. fun fact, for my first child, before my second pregnancy, i was guilty of having the mom bob. i had long hair for my first pregnancy because i just always pictured it that way…plus dusty wanted the long hair on me.
but then i had a baby that wouldn’t stop pulling my hair.
i freak out when my hair is pulled.
so i got a mom bob.

then i got pregnant again. had an identity crisis about being a stay-at-home mom. started wearing doc martin boots and shaving off my hair.

but for a brief time in my life. i did have long hair.

tomorrow’s child

this is what i started with

tomorrowschild1

so i found the mama first.
man, she looks sad. the weight of the world, right?
i found her imaginings of her unborn child around her.
fairy creatures by her feet.
i wonder…with all that is going on in the world. it is a tough decision to bring new life. the weight of all that is wrong, balanced with what all could be.
that is my drawing today.
despair and hope.
all mixed together.

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