I've just noticed that my linea nigra (you know the brownish streak hiding amongst your twice as thick stretch marks) has faded somewhat already. I'm a bit sad about it as it was my constant reminder of being pregnant, kind of like a souvenir.
I like having something tangible to keep as a memory of a fun or exciting time in my life. My husband is notorious for buying shabby things from theme parks or "attractions" in a small country town to remind him of life's adventures. I am currently decluttering and have raided the tupperware cupboard and secretly thrown out two sea world cups and one Australia Zoo cup that they use for softdrinks. For me though I like to have a different kind of reminder.
Things that arouse my senses are my favourite...a certain smell or a certain song can cause me to feel so sentimental it brings tears to my eyes. Enya's songs are my favourit. Her music can bring me so much peace. I've played her songs during "bubby" moments of my life...she helped me relax when I had my third trimester naps when pregnant with both children, she lulled Woo and Lou to sleep as a newborn...and again I listened to her wonderful songs while pregnant with Lou...dreaming of how he was growing inside and imagining what it would be like to experience that sacred rite of passage of giving birth to him.
Do you have a souvenir that almost brings tears to your eyes?
Thursday, 12 January 2012
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
A day without tears
I am amazed. I survived today, this past week and this past month without falling into an emotional hyperventilating heap over the anniversary of the death of my dearest friend five years ago.
I am used to death. I've worked as a palliative care nurse and have washed dozens of lifeless bodies. I realise that we don't belong here on this earth and that our true home is heaven. When Beck died I knew that this knowledge and experience that I had would help in some way; but each year as January came around I found myself locked away in the bathroom crying in hysterics over how I miss her dearly.
This year has been different. Maybe it is because I have a 12 week old baby to keep the sadness at bay or maybe I have just come to accept that she is gone. It does feels good though.
I am used to death. I've worked as a palliative care nurse and have washed dozens of lifeless bodies. I realise that we don't belong here on this earth and that our true home is heaven. When Beck died I knew that this knowledge and experience that I had would help in some way; but each year as January came around I found myself locked away in the bathroom crying in hysterics over how I miss her dearly.
This year has been different. Maybe it is because I have a 12 week old baby to keep the sadness at bay or maybe I have just come to accept that she is gone. It does feels good though.
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