Inspirational

It's been two years. Two years of holding my son close to my heart and feeding him from the milk that flowed forth from my body. Two years of sleepless nights and exhausted days...

The pregnancy flew by and I found myself in labor. Frida Tamar, my daughter, was born, another blessing, another miracle. Why then did I find myself crying every night?

I have made a communion with my body and my soul. They are functioning as one whole. Every movement I make and sound I emit comes from a place so deep and innate, so primal, I know I have crossed worlds...

I listened, said goodbye, and then thought about it. Was I trying to control the situation because of my strong views and adamant stance towards natural childbirth?

My nausea often renders me incapacitated for hours, even days on end, to which vomiting provides no lasting relief. My days are stained by actual or anticipated smells, and opening the refrigerator has become an act of bravery...

What I encounter is a matter of life and death. Not death as an end, but as non-life, a state of dormancy. The potential for life is unexpressed. It is curled up, head lying lifeless between its knees. Complete in formation, but inactive and unthinking...