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January 03, 2006
untitled
To claim that I was conscious of my being and surroundings during my birth might sound much unrealistic, but I am not obliged to see it through your eyes. I am the story teller and this might be a tall tale. My mother has always been amazed of what I claim to remember, and she does have her own theory about my claims. She knows that most of what I say has many aspects of truth to it. She believes that I do have a very good memory and a keen sense of listening. So most of my memories are recorded inside my mind of what others have said and remembered. However she does enjoy when I use old words in my tales and how I do make them memorable.
I was born yellow, my skin was yellow , not Canary yellow, but to the skilled eyes of the obstetrician who had the pleasure of welcoming me to the world I was jundas. I could see the expression in her blue eyes and puffy sweet face, as she thought, well he would not last long. And I would also like to claim that it was that expression that made me more aware of my situation and pushed me into survival mode. I knew immediately that I had to try harder to live through this. Once they washed me and wrapped me, they put me back in my mother's arms and suddenly I felt in familiar territory. I looked deep within my mother's eyes and I knew well that those eyes will be with me for a long time.
My mother had looked exhausted, her hair still wet by the sweat, but the expressions on her face was all of love and happiness. So in a very short time I had come to experience the expressions of surprise and doom by my obstetrician's face and love and hope by my mothers. It looked like a good start and since I was the second child of my mother, she was a pro in breast feeding , so soon I was holding to her like dear life and her life was coming through me, spiked by hope and love what she was feeding me was heavenly . It was the warmth of the fluid that was running through me and the touch of her breast on my face the promise of the life that was within her, and the scent of her, all and all cradling me in bliss, and soon I was sleep.
I don't remember how impressed I was upon my introduction to my father. I could imagine that his touch would not have been as soft and his arms did not smell of milk and he would have been in a hurry to go somewhere or do something, and our introduction would have been short. Realistically, my birth would not have had as much novelty for him since he already had a son, my brother who was two years older than me, and I was not a fresh discovery, and later on we found out how stale was my introduction since he has had a busy schedules and many secrets to keep. I immediately should had known and maybe I did, that this relationship with my father would not amount to too much, and maybe as my analyst has told me recently, there is the base for my ever fascination with women and my dismay for men.
Posted by Idinraha at January 3, 2006 11:29 AM
Comments
Don't worry - I'll vouch for you. I remember it well since I was standing in the corner of the room, but I was too short for you to notice me, as you were perched way up there in your mother's arms...
Posted by: cycho ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.idinraha.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at January 5, 2006 11:50 PM