This morning, in Benoît's living room, I did a yoga practice and then sat and meditated for 20 minutes. Om shanti shanti shanti. Afterwards, I marvelled, rather unyogically, at my AWESOME ability to centre myself amidst the clutter of somebody else's life, amidst the obsessive-compulsive chatter of my brain, and despite the ache of a bruised heart. I AM SO THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE!
Then Benoît and I sat together over coffee and made each other feel better about life.
I told him the story of my midwives during Junhong's birth and was comforted myself:
During the transition between the labour and the active pushing - that very difficult place called The Transition, I remember being in the bath crying and feeling panic-stricken that I was going to be stuck in this place for the rest of my life. That I wasn't going to transition. In the midst of this fear, I heard the sound of cards being laid on the table in a game of patience by the very calm midwives. I remember thinking, what the fuck..? What the hell do they think they're doing playing cards when I am in crisis here? Then one of them came over and said, don't worry, the baby always comes out in the end.
Well, she was right.