just {speak}

We broke out the home movies tonight. It was the first time each of the boys saw their own birth - and don't worry, it was G-rated :)

It was weird though - experiencing those moments - and then watching them on TV. It felt like an out of body experience completely. My eyes were glued to the tube and I kept thinking, "Wait a minute...that's not how I remember it".

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Like when JD's mom told me that a '10' on the pain scale was "getting your arm ripped off" when really it was 'tears'. I was wondering why the graphic next to a '10' was a sad face, and not a person in hysterics, missing an arm. Turns out, I could have had that epidural like 9,000 hours earlier than I got it. The video missed that.
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Like every time JD slapped the cam in my face and said "whelp...what do you have to say?" and I lay there muscling my way through contraction after contraction.
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Or like the part when after the doc said it was 'time', I threw up for 1/2 an hour.
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It missed the part when our nurse stopped mid-delivery, stood from her stool, and lectured me about worrying...practically grabbing me by my fish cheeks and insisting that, "nothing bad is going to happen to this baby, now PUSH". Yup. The video missed that endearing moment.
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What's weird is what the video DID capture.
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I said absolutely nothing.

Nothing.

Nada.

I did.not.speak.a.word.

Through two deliveries...countless nurses...one great doctor...and a loving (and seemingly annoying narrator) husband...I said not.one.word during the laboring and delivery of both my sons.

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So what does that 'say'?
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Ryan caught on quick. While we were watching, he turned to me and said "Wow, mom. You were scared". He's a pretty observant lil bugger. And of course, Gage echoes a "yeah...scared". Perhaps the most insightful, though, was that annoying narrator of mine. :)

"This is your trauma, Lis. I think you were in shock for most if it."
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Um, yeah. (palm to forehead)
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What I thought would get me all geared up and confident that I can do this again, turned out to send me right back into that shell of a quiet place. The place with no words. The place where everything happens in super slow motion. It's a place where it's hard to speak and even harder to breathe. I'm knocking on the door of that place asking if I can come in and what I want to hear is, "No...you're not needed here".
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Hoping in faith is my first step. Goal #1: speak this time.