I tried tonight to tell Jack the story of his birth. I didn't know where to start or which bits to leave out. So I tried to tell him how I felt six years ago tonight, when I was holding him in my arms and Babes and I were trying to understand that we had become parents. How happy we were. How amazed we were. How all of a sudden we were a family. How I cried. I think I may have freaked him out a little by crying again. I told him it was a happy cry. That boy knows to his bones that he is loved. Which makes me happy to my bones.
I fully intended to celebrate my own birth-day today as well, as so many of you do. I couldn't. I don't know why. I think I felt that it would be selfish to make this day about me as well as him, even if he was at school while I did. Catholic guilt runs deep. When we were talking together tonight, Jack told me he loves me, which he doesn't often do. I think that's all I could have wanted for my birth-day anyway.
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Ah yes. I told my mother in law that Ms Moon gives herself a present on her daughter's birthday, and before I could explain anything about it, she interrupted me with total and utter disgust, muttering about 'these women' etc. I was also thinking today about the horror she evinced when I mentioned how we are meant to love ourselves. Catholic Guilt indeed...
ReplyDeleteI don't celebrate my first's birth, as such, though I always wish my husband had recognised what it meant a bit more, for me and for us. But I do think it's deeply significant, and no harm recognising what becoming a mother means to you.
Congratulations and happy birthday to Jack :)
Aww...
ReplyDeleteI think we still look back and feel staggered, conflicted and a bit sad about dudelet's birth and how it went-we both failed in different ways (mostly me) to connect with it in the way we should. The empty gas cannister that supermum sucked on for three hours wondering why it didn't seem to be working didn't help.
ReplyDelete@Jo - The disgust runs deep. I try to shake it off, because I love the significance of it. For other women. It's always harder for myself.
ReplyDelete@Steph - :-)
@dadwhowrites - That is precisely the reason why I couldn't work out what to tell him about his birth. With us, it was the empty epidural.
I'm so grateful for Marie's birth, because that healed a lot of the hurts of the first birth for me. Somehow I am much more at ease with the story now. But I still don't want to saddle Jack with the FULL story.
I have been talking to Hannah about her own birth a lot lately, since she is of course coming closer to having HER first one, and I intentionally glossed over the worst of it-because it did change my life so completely, in SO many ways, to be a mother, that the messy, ugly, SCARY and painful bits don't need to be told, at least not to her.
ReplyDeleteHappy birthday to the both of you.
Whooo, entering dangerous territory here for me. My birthday has always been more a celebration of my mother's birthgiving than my birth. She rarely fails to turn up on my doorstep and require congratulations. We don't have a good relationship. As a result, I dread my birthdays.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure it would be diferent between a mother and child with a good relationship, a sharing. Yes, a sharing would be nice, if you had something to share.
What a great birthday present...I would love to share my birthday with Finn!
ReplyDelete1st birth a complete nightmare and the repercussions continue today 21 years on. I will never celebrate it for me and I won't tell him the story unless he asks.
ReplyDeleteMy birthday (three days ago) is kind of a non issue for me, but my daughter's birthdays leave me shaken to the core. With both, and for totally different reasons, I nearly didn't get to keep them, so on their special days I can't help but imagine if things had gone wrongly and how much I love them and I am just a big snotty ball of tears.
ReplyDeleteThat's an amazing gift that you have given him. He knows more than ever now, how much he was wanted. I think all kids, including grown-up ones like me, can never get enough of the you were the special first baby story. I love it when my mummy says "you made me a mummy, sweetie". Hope my daughter doesn't make fun of me when she grows up :-)
ReplyDeleteAww Happy Birth-Day to you and happy birthday to your wee boy. xx
ReplyDeleteBirthin' babies is hard work. Loving them is too!
ReplyDeleteHappy birth days to you two!
Look- it's a birthday AND a birth-day. It is not selfish to celebrate both. How can they be separated? I think it is honoring the child to honor the mother it is honoring the mother to honor the child.
ReplyDeleteWell, those are just my thoughts.
Happy birthday to your boy and happy birth-day to you.
@Kori - I know what you mean, and I would gloss as well. But then I wish I'd been a little more prepared for the scary bits. Actually, there's probably no way you can be prepared for something like that - you just have to go through it.
ReplyDelete@Pueblo girl - I'm sure I'm not turning into THAT kind of mother. :-) He got spoiled rotten yesterday - picnic in the park and a hand-decorated throne for breakfast and everything. I'm sorry you hate your birthday too - perhaps moving it to a different date like me would help? It has for me.
@Kate - Ehm, no. Sharing a birthday sucks. And we don't. I was probably not very clear - it's my birth-day because six years ago I gave birth to him.
@Countess - I'm sorry about that. x
@GingerB - Their birthdays must be hugely significant to you. If I tear up already...
@nmaha - I was a bit worried about that in the car tonight - he was telling me how I must have been so much happier with him than with the others because he was my first. Not the way I told it, but he drew his own conclusions.
@Mad Woman - Thank you!
@All This Trouble - Hard work indeed, but sometimes so lovely.
@Ms. Moon - I don't think in my mind it's selfish - it's baked into my core. But I'm fighting it. And I liked dragging up the memories because it reminded me how special the day really is.
Happy Birthday and Happy Birth-Day! I love not being Catholic. I know nothing about guilt.
ReplyDelete