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Friday with a Side of Relief
Feb. 6th, 2009 09:46 amHad a small scare yesterday, baby wise. I had spotting. Blood for those of you who don't know what that means, a very, very tiny amount. Why is this bad? In third trimester, any, and we do mean *ANY* blood is what they call "abnormal".
In human speak, it means freak the fuck out and call your doctor.
So I did.
Turns out, I have a small tear down there (I'll give details to those who aren't squeamish) on the exterior as it were. Diagnosis: it's fragile from all the blood and water of being pregnant and I was stupid. Overdid it or scratched myself or wiped too hard, whatever, I was stupid. Have been ordered to quit stressing myself out and knock it the fuck off, though in much nicer language than that. Dr. Schneider, my OB, is AWESOME. I am so damn grateful to be in her care this time around.
The husband gets mad props by the way for ditching work and going in with me.
So. I'm fine. Bean is awesome.
But it was not how I wanted to spend my day yesterday.
And then there was the fact that we got into a discussion of higher philosophy in the evening on child raising vs. religion, magick, philosophy and paradigm and, damn, I was exhausted by the end of it, but looking back on it, as tense as the conversation became at times... I am filled with utter gratitude that I have a family that includes *three* very disparate viewpoints and belief systems in regard to G-d(dess, s), perception of the world/reality vs. objective fact/gravity will always win, human interaction, etc. Short version being, how do you answer the simple question of, "Is magic real?" when the house holds a Witch, a Jew and a Christian, and be respectful and tolerant of all that entails.
Answer: you answer very damn carefully, and in my case, pull out textbooks, starting with Aleister Crowley (since that's where I started and so what if she's four) and answer as best you can, while including the caveat that this is merely *one* of *many* ways of viewing this question.
And I pray that she doesn't grow up to be a die hard fundamentalist of any stripe who thinks I'm going to hell for being a Witch. LOL
But, that being said, even if she does, I will always love her and be there for her. That's the job I took when I became the Momma. There's no dodging that one. Any more than there was any guarantee that she would love me. The fact that she does right now is a gift, and I mean to cherish it for what it is. A gift, and not a right.
Love is always a gift.
Intense as yesterday was, today I am filled with this huge heart. My family is brilliant and weird and *thinks*, gods, above all, they *think* about what they believe and they will debate it and defend it and not fall into straw man arguments or name calling. And at the end, we come to consensus and above all, tolerance for each other and our experiences of this world. My daughters will grow up enveloped in an environment where this will be a virtue and not some sign of weakness that you want to talk about things. Where tolerance is not only expected, but demanded. If I'm lucky, they'll grow up like me, having no clue why gender or skin color mean a damn thing. (I found that out later and still think people are crazy for making that demarcation). If I'm lucky, they'll only see humans. Messy, lovely, horrible at times, but utterly, utterly simple humans.
I am blessed. Thank you, Goddess. Just, thank you.
In human speak, it means freak the fuck out and call your doctor.
So I did.
Turns out, I have a small tear down there (I'll give details to those who aren't squeamish) on the exterior as it were. Diagnosis: it's fragile from all the blood and water of being pregnant and I was stupid. Overdid it or scratched myself or wiped too hard, whatever, I was stupid. Have been ordered to quit stressing myself out and knock it the fuck off, though in much nicer language than that. Dr. Schneider, my OB, is AWESOME. I am so damn grateful to be in her care this time around.
The husband gets mad props by the way for ditching work and going in with me.
So. I'm fine. Bean is awesome.
But it was not how I wanted to spend my day yesterday.
And then there was the fact that we got into a discussion of higher philosophy in the evening on child raising vs. religion, magick, philosophy and paradigm and, damn, I was exhausted by the end of it, but looking back on it, as tense as the conversation became at times... I am filled with utter gratitude that I have a family that includes *three* very disparate viewpoints and belief systems in regard to G-d(dess, s), perception of the world/reality vs. objective fact/gravity will always win, human interaction, etc. Short version being, how do you answer the simple question of, "Is magic real?" when the house holds a Witch, a Jew and a Christian, and be respectful and tolerant of all that entails.
Answer: you answer very damn carefully, and in my case, pull out textbooks, starting with Aleister Crowley (since that's where I started and so what if she's four) and answer as best you can, while including the caveat that this is merely *one* of *many* ways of viewing this question.
And I pray that she doesn't grow up to be a die hard fundamentalist of any stripe who thinks I'm going to hell for being a Witch. LOL
But, that being said, even if she does, I will always love her and be there for her. That's the job I took when I became the Momma. There's no dodging that one. Any more than there was any guarantee that she would love me. The fact that she does right now is a gift, and I mean to cherish it for what it is. A gift, and not a right.
Love is always a gift.
Intense as yesterday was, today I am filled with this huge heart. My family is brilliant and weird and *thinks*, gods, above all, they *think* about what they believe and they will debate it and defend it and not fall into straw man arguments or name calling. And at the end, we come to consensus and above all, tolerance for each other and our experiences of this world. My daughters will grow up enveloped in an environment where this will be a virtue and not some sign of weakness that you want to talk about things. Where tolerance is not only expected, but demanded. If I'm lucky, they'll grow up like me, having no clue why gender or skin color mean a damn thing. (I found that out later and still think people are crazy for making that demarcation). If I'm lucky, they'll only see humans. Messy, lovely, horrible at times, but utterly, utterly simple humans.
I am blessed. Thank you, Goddess. Just, thank you.
