My First Rock

College taught me so much more than curriculum. It gave me insight into my being and my family's opinions of such. Much to my siblings' delight I often refer to myself as a dingle-berry attached to my mother's backside. I do this because my mother has never pretended to be happy about my coming to be. I am simply an unpleasant appendage, if you will, of which she cannot rid herself (maybe I should send her some wet wipes?) She reminded me time and again throughout my childhood that when she became pregnant for me her youngest was about to begin kindergarten and she was not happy about starting over with a new baby. She was never mean to me, she just usually denied my presence--as did my three older siblings. My father always seemed smitten by my presence but, hell, he was crazy. No, really, bi-polar, hiding-in-closets crazy.

So early on in college I was given an assignment for one of my child development courses in which I was to write an "infant autobiography." This was basically a chronicle of my mother's pregnancy and my first year of life. I was going to have to ask mom for this information. I was intrigued but also a bit nervous. Mom has always been a woman of few words when it comes to any kind of feelings or memories. As it happened there was no need to be nervous or intrigued as she told me what I already knew; she just put it in such a way as to drive the point home (she's always been very good at this--short and to the point). Her sole asnwer to my query for information, "If abortion was legal, you wouldn't be here."

Turns out the first rock in my brook was in place as I divided into cells forming the body that would house my very old soul. There was barely enough water to maneuver that one, so I became the trout finding the only life sustaining water in a dried up stream, then using that water to push past my new life's very first obstacle.
Jen;-)