Friday, 15 July 2011

Little Man

Sometimes, when I have a really big poo to do, I remember giving birth. Just on the cusp of plopping, it teeters, and you wish once it came out, that someone would have told you to push harder in the beginning while you still had the strength. Just like life. Push til you think you'll rip. It saves lots of pain.
Ben wasn't a plop. He shot out with a whoosh. After those nurses showed me the hedgetrimmers, I made the decision. The Little Man wasn't going to get cut out. Blue, he was. A minute of wondering if he was going to live or die, until the doctor suctioned the mucous out. I didn't breathe either until he gave his first cry.
Seven years later. A lovely boy; a little man.

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