Then when the time comes, we warrior through. Our bodies opening, stretching, contracting, pushing – painful and raw. Or sliced open through three layers of flesh, then stitched up, and stapled. Or our hearts are stripped down to one overwhelming want and in that pain we wait and wait and trust and pray to one day have empty aching arms filled with the child of our heart rather than our bodies. We all bleed; we all weep; we all hurt for the consuming joy to come.
We are birthed into mums. A whole new creation blind and mewling and amazing.
We keen to share these stories, these universal mothering stories – from the painful and heartbreaking to the funny and silly – down to the blood and guts of the matter. We, listeners, laugh and cry and wince all at the right moments. We are mums – these are our war stories –this our pain – our bliss – our heartbreak.
Birth, however, is not done with us. Instead we move onto the long process of birthing babies into toddlers, into preschooler, into children, into tween, and teen and hopefully finally into strong, happy, wise, loving young adults. These are pregnant days, in which, we are again transformed.
This long journey comes complete with stages and transitions and pains – waves of anguish, frustration, fatigue, sweet anticipation, lament and joy. We breathe in the joys and out the lament and inner wailing. But these are not always the champion stories of our first births. These stories can be full of our disgraces, discouragements, and shame. Because these are the moments when we face our own weakness, our own blindness, our own sin. We fail to prepare for these moments. They are the stories which twist in the gut and lead us to repent. These are our second birth stories. We are reluctant to share these tender stories, but untold they remain the deeply held pain of our spirits. Because birth is not done with us.
Because He is not done with us.
Today the #wholemama word is: Birth. Follow me over to Overflow to read more stories from lovely #wholemama storytellers.