My Mom didn’t live to say these words to me for the 43rd time…what would have been her birthday greeting on the occasion of my 43rd birthday, which fell on Mothers’ Day this year.
Oh hell in these hard times of disease & fear.
I have turned my focus to meditation. Mindfulness & mantra meditation. The mantra brings you into the moment & keeps you there.
Sat Chit Ananda.
Existence. Consciousness. Bliss.
I am blissed out that I am alive. Living through hard times but surviving. Appreciating the little things, like a bar of chocolate or a new toothpaste.
I gave a big push too.
Just once…
And nowt came out but a speck of poo. Which landed on the attending obstetrician’s chin.
She didn’t blink an eyelid.
My baby had to be carved out. Me, under general anaesthetic & under the knife & blissfully unaware of the proceedings.
Baby’s father, wielding his fucking Canon camera, was whisked away from the melee.
Baby was born cycling her little legs, God bless her little cotton socks!
At first, the hospital staff present feared that Baby was somehow retarded…as they later reported to me.
Baby was simply making her very first dramatic entrance!
She has 10 fingers & 10 toes!
These were the words of Baby’s father, the first words I heard when I awoke from my anaesthetised slumber, attached to a morphine drip no less!
I was painlessly rubbing my hands with glee!
So I didn’t have to ask…
It’s a girl!
Baby’s name remained Baby for days. I simply couldn’t think straight & my list of favourite baby names was only stored in my head.
Then her father thought to buy a book of popular baby names.
He opened the book & pronounced ‘Isabel’.
Oooh do you like it? He asked of me.
It has a ring to it! I replied……
Then: I love it! She’ll be my little Tinkerbell!
Is A Bell Necessary On A Bicycle?
Her Grandad the Great demanded to know this whenever he heard mention of Isabel’s name…the same question he always used to ask of his spritely younger sister Isabel, back in their childhood days.
Like Grandad the Great, my Great Auntie Isabel was by then rocking her spirited self into her 90’s.
Nobody lives forever…
Grandad the Great met his maker at the ripe old age of 99, the very same age as my maternal grandfather, who died when Isabel was still a baby.
Both Isabels rock on!
Without me.
My teensy weensy baby is now an absolutely obstinate teenager.
So I have come to believe.
She gets her obstinance from her father.
No, she didn’t inherit it, it’s a behavioural thing…
In increasingly more & more frequent family rows, Isabel would be appalled at my very occasional displays of anger towards her father.
What about his?
What about the time he bashed me by the butt off the kitchen presses while I had my back turned washing the daily God-damned dishes?
And made to fucking strangle me?
Isabel came running from her bed to rescue me from the wrath of her father!
Angry angry angry motherfudger!
My drug addiction counsellor, who counsels in ‘harm reduction rather than abstinence’, advised me not to go tripping down Memory Lane when I blog & here I am, blogging to bits about ancient history.
Well it’s historical but true!
Almost Faith No More!
Never…
Utter…
Never……
LOVE:
Faith
Faith In The Ripple Effect 