Motherhood

The maid was frantically knocking on my door when I was roused from sleep this morning. She said that mother slipped from her seat while taking a bath. I sprung up from the bed and when I arrived at the bathroom, I found her slumped on the floor. She was visibly shocked at what had happened.

I approached her with eyes half-closed and head still groggy from being rudely awakened earlier. Had the slip happened when I was in full control of my senses, I would be as frantic as the helper who woke me. I bent my legs and leaned closer to clutch my arms around her hips. It was an awkward sight, I tell you, for I was still on my boxers when the slip happened. With a deep breathe, I was able to lift her back to her seat with one pull. The helper who witnessed everything was as relieved as my mother, who was now tucking her tapis around her body.

Going back to bed, I suddenly remembered a friend's entry about motherhood. Indeed how time flies. Twenty six years ago, it was she who carried me inside her tummy despite her disability to lift herself with her two feet.

This morning, it was me who lifted her with my bare hands.

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My nipples even cracked, but this was no reason to stop. When my baby started crying of hunger, I started crying of pain too. My hubby woke up in the middle of the night several times, witnessing two girls cry. Our baby cried of hunger. I cried of pain. I cried of desperation. I cried because my butt hurt, my vagina was sore, my breasts were painful, my areolas were big and dark, and so was my bellybutton and the skin around it, my abdomen was cramping, my back was aching, I was sleepy, tired, wasted,cold (the engorgement of the breasts goes with fever at times)...