I remember holding her up as the morning wore on in what would become Beatrice's room, Mama leveraging gravity to bring Bea into our world, summoning a spiritual strength no man has ever experienced nor understood.
Exhausted, helpless and I frustrated, I selfishly channeled anger at those who judged us for not wanting children.
Unproductive as it was, I couldn't help it; then there was the flip-side of the red hot coin bouncing from ear to ear, those who judged us for wanting children.
Her labor welled again and echoed around us, bringing me back to the moment of Mama, midwives and the arduous journey babies have to make.
Now on the briefly serious side. Star Wars hit the big screen when I was 12 years old. Those who read my blog know that was when monsters roamed my realm and running from my blue genes had only just begun.
Star Wars freed me to roam in a galaxy far, far away and to swashbuckle with villains, heroes and hope.
My Vader is me, but I am not him, yet we are one.
For fathers who break the cycle of violence and abuse: May the force be with you. Always.
Poor Beatrice has got a bad cold and it's wracking her our very foundation. Sweet little bug is struggling to sleep and last night I spent another night snuggling the rumbling snot-fest so Mama could sleep (while Bryce tap danced in her belly).
Bea's only had a couple of bouts of snot-ness in her short life, and what exacerbated the one before this one was the teething, as it's doing again.
Oh, what big teeth you have baby, erupting along the gum faults while you buck, roll and shake and olfactory volcanoes spew and spew. We're sure there are some severe allergy storms in the mix as well.
But this too will pass; we've only just begun to experience the bittersweet ill-cicles of parenthood.
Once you get past the "God, I really need to sleep, baby" -- which always passes quickly -- then it's about you nursing and wishing your child to be better.
It's so hard to witness their misery, especially for a toddler who still can't quite articulate the pain, only the seemingly infinite sharing of the seismic.
We try to limit the baby Tylenol and ibuprofen, and right now Mama's giving her a bath for relief.
A major function of this mucus is to protect against infectious agents such as fungi, bacteria and viruses. The average human body produces about a litre of mucus per day.
Wait, this is America and we don't do the metric thang. How much is a friggin' litre?
A little over a quart?
Holy moly.
How much mucus from Bea-quake?
Enough snot to retrofit the entire west coast.
(Which is what this picture of mucus cells looks like, or at least the Bay Area.)
I remember one night in particular, the monster step-father calling her all sorts of names, and then:
"I will shoot you right now, you f$#%^ b%##^!"
"Just shoot me then. Get it over with."
I imagined I heard the trigger click -- I was completely paralyzed; I had no voice.
Then there was silence. Then crying.
Thank God he didn't do it, but we're pretty sure he succeeded with his previous wife and had tried with the one before that.
No, we never had hard evidence, just enough circumstantial to piece it all together. We never did anything about it; we only got ourselves out of the situation to safety. (My mother is convinced he had tried to poison her as well at one point.)
I can't imagine now where my sister and I would've been if he had succeeded. The gradual verbal and sexual abuse we experienced was enough to know that any escalation would've been been darkness infinitum.
Again, we got out and had an ally that not many people have in this situation: the police department.
My mother was the dispatch supervisor at the time and my soon to be adoptive step-father was a police detective, and when we moved out of the monster's house, we had at least 10 officers there as our protective safety net.
Not everyone makes it out alive with law enforcement by their side. One of my dear friends, Kim Wells, shared Telling Amy's Story on her blog Friday. Kim is the Executive Director of the Corporate Alliance to End Partner Violence (CAEPV) and a champion of the fact that domestic violence is "everybody's business".
Telling Amy's Story follows the timeline of a domestic violence homicide that occurred in central Pennsylvania on November 8, 2001. Amy's parents, co-workers, law enforcement officers, and court personnel share their perspectives on what happened to Amy in the weeks, months, and years leading up to her death. (Facebook page is here.)
I can't wait to watch it. The documentary will be available on Public Broadcasting Stations beginning June 1, 2010.
I'm with Kim when she says, "I hope you will share and learn."
I know not many people read my blog and most are more comfortable with my loving daddy posts about Bea and Bryce and Mama and family.
But if one person is affected for the better and finds his or her voice to help stop the cycle of violence, then it's a win.
Help give a voice to those who never found their own.
Two nights in a row with Beatrice not sleeping well, calling out for Mama and standing in her crib crying.
We're not exactly sure why, only the fact that her teeth are still erupting faster than the Eyjafjallajokull Volcano and is probably a big part of it.
The night before I tried to help calm Bea down, but Mama had to end up sleeping with her, as she usually ends up doing when Bea's upset, but last night I just had to give Mama a break.
So I gave it another try. I pulled her out of her crib and snuggled with her on the other bed we have in the room.
And this time me and Bea both fell fast asleep quickly. Early morning came and I woke early as I usually do. I turned to Bea.
Watching her sleep soundly is profound; I long for that peaceful mindful presence in waking moments.
I could almost see her breath, so soft and still so new.
The silky breeze of angels, above the morning dew.
"Life must be understood backwards; but...it must be lived forward." ~Soren Kierkegaard
