I had a multiple choice question presented to me this morning. It just appeared in my mind as clear as day while I cuddled with my youngest after being awakened way too early.
The question appeared like this:
Which is the most difficult?
My answer woke me up. I responded instantaneously: Birth. Hahahaha
I am not 100% sure that the middle two options are accurate. I have no doubt about options A and D.
I honestly think we never really get over being born, at least I never really did. I am still adjusting. My mom likes to tell the story of my birth because I was her most difficult delivery. Why? I was born breech and back then they didn’t just automatically give a c-section. They had my mom deliver me and it was no easy task. Apparently my butt came out first. LOL I like to say in response to my mom’s story, “I changed my mind and tried to crawl back in.”
Unlike most people, I have memory of my birth. The main memory of it is the pain of being squished. I got a horrible charlie horse. My left foot cramped up when I re-experienced my birth and did not settle down until I had gone over it several times. I remember the bright lights hurting my eyes. Then the cold and the warmth as they wrapped me in a blanket. Then the most beautiful sky blue eyes and an instant calm. I was later told my grandmother was the first to hold me. Her eyes were the color of the sky.
Though physical birth is difficult, it is far from the end.
I look forward to death. Just saying. I think of all of the options, death is the easiest. We get to go Home. We get to rest and celebrate our life accomplishments. Every time someone in my life dies I am jealous. I don’t grieve their passing like everyone else. I celebrate their homecoming. They are the lucky ones. I hope that when I leave this body and return Home my family and friends will celebrate with me rather than grieve for me.