October and Apple Butter

Every October I suffer a little bit of depression. Not without reason, as some pretty traumatic things happened so long ago in October, always Octobers. So this year I am going to try and write through it.

This time at the park a discussion that has been in my draft box over and over in the past year came up again: perfect birth obsession. Not just wanting, planning, and hoping for a "perfect" birth, but to the detriment of the baby. I could have held out with Lil'Bug or with Blueberry but to what end? To what harm? With Blueberry I know that I went to great lengths to ensure a healthy pregnancy, baby, and mama, and this paid off in my recovery and in her health. It was one day. I'm the mama to these babes for their lifetimes.

So the discussion veered toward, get over it it is just one day.

But, you know, I get it. I do. One day of feeling helpless, victimized, ect. can really haunt you. One day is enough for years of nightmares, depression, and life changing consequences. One day.

On the other hand, the lifetime outweighs the one day, especially if you can fill it with joy.

For me, I'm not talking about the births of my babies. I am talking about my own liberation from a childhood of hurt. A separate traumatic event slammed my world into something else, like a tornado destroyed my world and set me down somewhere else. Something somewhere someday. From there I was new, afraid and fragile. Soon after I was blessed with meeting my husband (again, since we were introduced several times that year) and he helped me heal as a person and then blossom. But it was just a day, right?

I don't know. It's October.

Also, October means more of this:

Spoons to lick.

Mmmmmm, apple butter.