AfterBirth Tracy Breathnach
Sleep 2am. Drowsy still. And exhausted. Dad’s gone. It’s been 26 hours since it all began. But I was awake all day before that so that’s 44 hours. Apart from when I was out. Exhausted. But drowsy too. You’re crying. I am trying to latch you on. But I keep falling asleep. The midwife comes and tells me off for falling asleep with you in the bed. I’m too tired. I hadn’t noticed I’d fallen asleep. What time is it now? You’re crying in your cot and I can’t move to get you. I am talking to you. I tell you I want to pick you up. I tell you I’m sorry I can’t get to you. It doesn’t help you to go back to sleep. What time is it? 3am, 8am, that’s 5 hours before Dad can come back. 5 hours. Ok. He has to go. Catch the last bus. What time is it? 7pm. 8am, that’s 5 plus 8, that’s 13 hours on our own. I hope you sleep. I hope I can sleep. Not so drowsy now. My body is still exhausted. I still can’t move. 11pm. You went down at 8.30, so that’s two and a half hours. Maybe you’ll wake in another 3 hours, 4 if I’m lucky, so that’s 2am or 3am. And maybe one more block after that so 6am or 7am. That’s not too bad. So 8.30pm, 11pm, 3am and 7am. 4 feeds, or 2 in the night, plus 1 before bed and 1 when you wake. Not too bad. I am afraid to go to sleep. I ask Dad to hold my hand. An anchor so I can’t disappear again. It doesn’t stop the sweating though. Every morning I wake and I am dripping with sweat. And shaking. I’m scared by it. I can’t say it’s even nightmares because I go into such a deep sleep I can’t remember anything I see or hear once I wake. How long was I out for? You go off so easily. Sleeping, waking, sleeping. There’s no effort in moving between the two. You make a little grunting noise when you’re asleep. Like a little animal. It’s not quite a snore. I love listening to you sleeping. I sit and watch you, waiting for you to wake up again. Some days I spend hours with you sleeping on my chest. Today, it felt like your breath on my chest was performing open heart surgery, as my tears fell on your soft head. Part of me stays awake every night, listening to you sleeping, waiting for you to need me. I start to feel tense about 9 o’clock. I want to stay up and watch a film, but I know you’ll be awake again in a couple of hours, and if I don’t get some sleep now I mightn’t get any ever again. Half past 9- maybe 11, that would be four hours, so that’s one and a half hours from now. I better get to sleep.
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Waking Up Tracy
So maybe think about things you remember
Gwion
Crying, shouting […] it was weird […] weird because I just like woke up, the midwife woke me and Kris up and then all we heard was ‘wah’ ‘wah.’ Then we went downstairs, saw you, and you were going [makes sound of heavy breathing].
Tracy
So I was breathing…
Gwion
Yeah.
Tracy
What did I look like when I was breathing?
Gwion
Like [makes physical gesture] Like an animal.
Tracy
So on all fours was I?
Gwion
Yeah. Shall I do a picture?
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What you Saw Tracy
What was the first thing you saw when you came in the room?
Gwion
I just saw your leg with all blood down it, that was the first thing I saw
Tracy
Was that scary?
Gwion
Yeah.
Tracy
And what could you see then after you saw my leg?
Gwion
The baby.
Tracy
And what did he look like?
Gwion
Bleeding.
Tracy
He had blood on him as well. And were you worried when you saw the blood on him?
Gwion
No.
Tracy
And what did you think when you first saw him?
Gwion
I thought cute.
Tracy
Did you? Did he look a bit funny?
Gwion
Yeah.
Tracy
What kind of words would you use to describe him?
Gwion
Weird.
Tracy
What shape was his head?
Gwion
Like a skeleton,
Tracy
That’s good cos in the show if we have shapes and pictures of what things looked like we can use them.
Gwion
Yeah like in the Crystal Skull- that is what it looked like.
Tracy
D’you know what, last night I said to Dad that is exactly what I thought. I said isn’t it strange how in movies the pictures we get of aliens is actually what babies look like when they’re born, cos their heads are really long at the back…
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Listening… Listening again… He’s in the other room now. But I can hear him. I mean I am listening to him. I am listening out for him. When it goes quiet, I pause, I hold my breath for a second. There is always the instant worry, concern, but if I allow my breath to travel out again, to stop holding it in, I move past this. I wonder at him, my son, this glorious intimately familiar stranger. I marvel at his strangeness and his growing familiarity to himself. His growing comfort and confidence to be present to himself. He is there now, without me. Apart from me. Once, a part of me. I can hear him in the other room. I surround myself with the sound of him. I move to the first mp3 player and press play. Adjusting the sound level so my own voice now speaks alongside the sound of him. I am talking to myself about his birth. When he was born I didn’t hear him cry. I don’t even know if he cried. What was the first sound he made? I hear him now and the sound of him fills the gaps in the old story. He was always there. I couldn’t hear myself, so I couldn’t hear him. He is there now. He is here now. The second mp3 player: a drone. I recorded this at home, with him. I first played it when I realised I had been lost. Caesura. Alone in the gap. Waiting for someone. Others came. All I could offer was this sound. This sound of my body. Of my beingness. I was present to them, only because I had begun to hear myself. The crystal bowl sings in D. The sound of the body. The physical flesh and bones and blood. My body hears the drone. It resonates with it. It is moving me. In the tiny movement of cells, I sound myself. I am sounding. I can hear myself. I can hear them when they come. I didn’t expect that they would sound different. I hear them around me now too. Some are louder, others quieter. Some are so quiet I can’t hear them. Can they hear themselves? I press play on the third mp3 player and hear balloons being blown up. Three balloons, over and over. It is the breath. It is the breath returned. I can breathe deeper now. Past my diaphragm, where it had all been locked before. The listening breath. The fourth track is playing and I hear myself pushing my second son out of my body. It’s the cry that comes afterwards that tells the full story. One single cry from my body that sings joy, relief, grief, forgiveness, awe, gratitude, love. One sound that expresses my deepest emotions. All at once. There are no words. My baby does not make a sound. He is listening to me. I press play on the final track, and I hear Gwion’s voice. We are talking about what sound he thinks he might have made when he was first born. He thinks he didn’t cry. He is remembering what his father first said to him. His father spoke to him before I did.
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Now he’s singing. He’s talking to himself. He must be 5 or 6. He used to record himself in the car when we were driving, or at home on his own. Capturing the sound of himself. I hear him as he sounded then, and I hear him now. I fade the tracks in and out. I have no aim, but to listen. To open myself to listening to all of this. To all of me. To let it all in. It is all here. I am all here. The listening will never be complete, but when I press stop on the recording device I am complete. I speak my letter to myself trying to hold myself open. Full on myself, I have no need for another to fill me. I am letting my son go. I am grateful that he has stayed with me, as part of me, for this long. I trust that this is what he has needed too. We are moving apart. We are separating again. The first time, I didn’t feel him leave. Now I let him go. With gentleness. With tenderness. I return to him again. We begin again. Only now, slightly further apart.
To begin, to cut open, to open up. I cut myself open. I stretch myself open. To you. For you.
Going towards him makes it easier to go towards myself. Stretched between us: a space in which we mingle.
Listen anew to speak anew to listen deeper to speak deeper to listen to speak to listen to speak.
Is there ever an end to the listening to the speaking?
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Collaboration (1) Tracy
What was it like working with me to make it?
Gwion
Easy.
Tracy
Yeah? Why do you think it was so easy?
Gwion
We know each other very good, very well, and I didn’t have to do a lot, so I didn’t have to remember any words.
Tracy
Yeah. Do you feel like I helped to make it easy for you?
Gwion
Yes.
Tracy
And did you notice any changes in me when you were working with me, say when we went to Aberystwyth to the studio, in comparison to when I’m me, when I’m at home with you? Was I different?
Gwion
No you weren’t really, but you can be.
Tracy
Yeah? Can you describe that?
Gwion
ammm…you’re more concentrated.
Tracy
When we’re in the studio?
Gwion
Yes.
Tracy
And does that effect you in any way then?
Gwion
No, I just want to be free- just to get this thing over with.
Tracy
And when I’m concentrated does that mean I treat you differently?
Gwion
Yeah, you try and get things done quick.
Tracy
Yeah, but what does that do to you because that means I’m concentrating on the things we’re doing. Like, does it mean that I ignore you?
Gwion
Nah, you just try and get it done.
Tracy
…what are you doing while I try and get the thing done?
Gwion
Stay out of your way.
Tracy
Why do you feel like you need to stay out of my way?
Gwion
Don’t want to interrupt you.
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Collaboration (2) Tracy
How do you think I would respond if you interrupted me?
Gwion
Not too bad, but like, I don’t want to interrupt you.
Tracy
Why not?
Gwion
Not bothered.
Tracy
And what about when we’re at home, do you mind interrupting me then?
Gwion
Sometimes.
Tracy
You’re happy to interrupt me here?
Gwion
Yeah sometimes.
Tracy
Ok, how, why do you think that’s different?
Gwion
ammm…it’s homeground…
Tracy
Homeground, yeah, so it’s your homeground as well. So do you feel like we’re more equals when we are at home?
Gwion
Yeah.
Tracy
And when we’re in the studio, how is that?
Gwion
You’ve been there more than me, so I’m like the away…
Tracy
You’re the away team, and I’m the home team.
Gwion
…yeah.
Tracy
and what if we were somewhere else…I don’t know…like somebody else’s house, so it’s neither of our hometeams but we’re both away, how do you feel about interrupting me then?
Gwion
Depends on whose house it is.
Tracy
Give me an example…
Gwion
If it’s your friend’s house then I wouldn’t but if it’s my friend’s house, then I would.
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Collaboration (3) Tracy
So what do you feel like your role is then? Are you like my son, or are you another performer?
Gwion
Sidekick.
Tracy
You’re a psychic? So what is your role then, if I’m not hands on being your mum?
Gwion
Sidekick.
Tracy
You’re my sidekick? I thought you said psychic! (Laughs)
Gwion
Well I am psychic anyway.
Tracy
You’re like my team mate?
Gwion
Yeah.
Tracy
And that feels alright?
Gwion
Yeah.
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Collaboration (4) Tracy
So, the question is, would you do another show with me sometime?
Gwion
Maybe.
Tracy
What would it depend on and what kind of thing would you like to do?
Gwion
It would have to be a 30 second one.
Tracy
A short one! (both laugh)
Gwion
And, maybe, a bit like the same, but obviously not the same because…
Tracy
Well. Let’s have a think, what kind of a show can we do next? We could do something with Oscar…
Gwion
Pool of Wisdom.
Tracy
Pool of Wisdom? Right, that’s what it’s called. And what are we doing? Is it about sound again or do we do more visual stuff, or…
Gwion
I’m the pool, cos my name means wisdom.
Tracy
Ok.
Gwion
Oscar’s the swimmer, and you’re the…what...narrator…
Tracy
Yeah…
Gwion
And you say everything. Oscar just plays with me, in the pool of wisdom!
Tracy
Ok, great, and do we have a kind of design that looks like a pool or not?
Gwion
I am the pool.
Tracy
You are the pool? So Oscar is swimming in the pool of wisdom. And what am I narrating? What kinds of things am I saying?
Gwion
A story!
Tracy
I’m saying a story? Any particular story, or are we making that up?
Gwion
Making it up.
Tracy
Any props that we’re using?
Gwion
The pool of wisdom.
Tracy
Yes, ok! Any other objects?
Gwion
…A book, so you’re reading it out of a book, I’m not sure…
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Tracy
Yeah, I like that! And have I got a microphone?
Gwion
Ye…No
Tracy
No microphone this time…And how do we get it so that Oscar isn’t coming over to me all the time? That he stays in the pool? (pause) Or is he allowed to get out of the pool and come over to mum?
Gwion
He’s allowed.
Tracy
And what do I do when I’m talking and he comes over to me, cos he’s interrupting me then isn’t he? (both laugh) Do I stop?
Gwion
You stop and he’ll go “yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah”
Tracy
So I let him come and talk over me?
Gwion
Yeah.
Tracy
Until he’s finished and then he goes back to you and I carry on?
Gwion
Yeah. So basically all I do in the whole show is just lie down!
Tracy
And roll around is it?
Gwion
What, no, I’m just the pool…a normal pool…
Tracy
Yeah, but the water moves doesn’t it? So you want to do a show where basically you do nothing? (both laugh) That’s what you’re saying…
Gwion
Yeah!
Tracy
“I’ll be in it, but I don’t want to do anything, I just want to lie still with my eyes closed.”
Gwion
Ahhhh [relaxing noise](both laugh)
Tracy
Cool, alright! Let’s get started!
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A Letter to Gwion I wrote you a letter for your birthday. This is what it says: My beautiful Gwion, It’s the 18th March 2016. Tomorrow you will be 9. You were born just down the hill from here 9 years ago. That’s 3285 days! On this day, 9 years ago, it was a Sunday- Mother’s Day. And I was wondering if you might arrive so I could celebrate being a mother for the first time. But you waited until midnight to start your journey, which meant that I had to wait a whole year for the next mother’s day! I love being your mum. You make being a mum very easy for me. You are so gentle and kind and generous with so much love to give. And being your mum means I get to learn how to be more like you too. I’m definitely better at listening since you arrived in my life. Some adults tell children that babies are brought by a bird called the stork- that a big stork carries a cloth in its beak with a tiny baby tucked inside, and drop it off at their parent’s door. Imagine waking one morning to find a new baby outside! I wonder where the storks get all the babies from? Where do babies come from anyway? After hearing Oscar being born I think you know that this isn’t exactly true! But what I do think is true about this story is that having a baby is like receiving a gift. When you were born, Dad and I felt like we had been given the most beautiful, precious gift in the world- you! I think a baby also gives their parents a gift- nothing wrapped in paper, nothing you can actually hold, but a new experience, a new way of seeing the world. Giving birth to you was the biggest gift I’ve ever received. Nothing else in my life has changed me more. You taught me about what being alive means in a way that nothing or no-one else has. I can’t imagine my life without you now. Gwi comes from a Sanskrit word- that’s an ancient language from India. The word is vid and it means wisdom. Wisdom, I think, comes from our hearts, when we know things very deeply. Not like facts, but other things like knowing about love and how to be kind to others. One time you asked me what was the most important thing in the world and I said “love…and poetry”, and you said “I think it’s people, because without people there would be no one to love and without people there would be no poetry”. You were only 6 or 7 when you said that. I think you are very wise.
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I see it in the way you treat people every day. You always put other people’s feelings first. You listen so carefully to what people need and very gently you offer what you can. When you were younger you bumped into one of the children at school, and they were fine and they didn’t cry, but you did, because you thought you had hurt them. It’s like you can hear other people’s feelings. That is such a special gift my love. Obviously when you have a baby your body hurts for a little while afterwards as it heals. I wonder if you could hear my pains when you were a tiny baby. I know that holding you close always made me feel better anyway. Just like how your cwtches always make me feel good now. Not that I can hold you in my arms anymore when you’re almost as big as me! And of course you are also brilliant fun to be with. You are the best big brother any little boy could wish for and I know Oscar loves you completely. I am always amazed at how you just seem to know what to do when you are playing with him. You are patient and kind and helpful when he needs that and then the next minute you are loud and energetic and bouncing around the room when he needs that. I wonder how you know what he needs, when you’re still so young yourself? I wonder what Oscar, your little brother gives you? Apart from a bash in the face everyday! I think about how you will be together when he is 9 and you will be 18. I think about what kind of adult you might be. And my birthday wish for you – cos I’m your mum and I reckon that means I can have a wish too- is that you will always feel loved and safe. AND that you know I will never forget you! On the night you were born, I was so sad when I woke up from the anaesthetic and you weren’t with me. I think the hardest thing for me was being asleep when you were born. I wanted to be the first person to hold you. Of course you were fine, having cwtches with Dad. And I know that just because I was asleep doesn’t mean I wasn’t there with you- maybe we met up in our dream worlds…maybe that’s where babies come from anyway… Just like now, when I’m away from you, I still always feel connected to you, even if it’s invisible. I love you Gwi. Happy Birthday darling. Sws.
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A Song for Oscari 1 The sun is setting, the blackbird is singing, The moon is not risen, the waters have broken, The mother is smiling, the father and son Are doing their rounds outside. 2 May fever has set in, the garden is wild, Hawthorn and roses, damsel- and mayflies, Swallows and cuckoos, the sun all day shines, Sounds of life loving life. 3 She’s met him already, in a dream or a vision, A stag wanders lonely, on the headland before me, I follow him softly to a grove wooded lightly, Where his mother is birthing him there. 4 Surrounded by snowdrops, the doe pushes gently, Her son comes out legs first, running and laughing, At their side sits fair Brigid, weaving prayers out of song, As the light hits the fawn’s new eyes. 5 The house has grown quiet, and all are asleep. But for you and me darling, and our midwives all three, The waves rush over gently as the darkness sets in, We’re coupled in this midnight hour.
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6 His body is lying in a pool in the centre, Where she blessed him, and kissed him, before he could enter, “Farewell, thee, my love, for now you must sleep, I’ll see you again in your dreams.” 7 Two weeks he had lain there, til the waters did part And her body was ready, now she’s calling his name, “Oscar, my darling, Oscar, my love, It’s time to come into the world.” 8 Sweet Kirsty rocks them, while Katie sings softly, Catrin watches over the dance that’s unfolding, Three strong, wise women, bringing themselves, To witness your birth tonight. 9 Now, in most scenes of birth, there’s a moment of doubt, She’s afraid she can’t do it, her body’s too tight, She needs somebody’s hand, somebody’s back To hold on to as she transforms. 10 It’s like climbing a mountain, the world’s highest peak, It takes more than good plans and equipment to meet With the limits of your mind, what you thought you once were, To move beyond into something new.
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11 When you’re losing all hope and your strength has all gone, The tears are falling- you’re sobbing and bawling, You wish it was easy, you wish you were more, That’s when you’re almost there. 12 The dawn is breaking and the chorus begins, She slips into the water to open her heart more, Though she didn’t yet know it, you were soon to arrive, And break her body open with love. 13 It’s okay, there’s nothing to do, It’s okay, there’s nothing to do, It’s okay, there’s nothing to do Nothing to do, but breathe. 14 Just breathe in and breathe out, Breathe in, breathe out, Breathe in, breathe out, There’s nothing to do, but breathe. 15 She held on to each moment and tried not to panic, Gripping time fiercely as it rushed through her body, You wish it were easy, you wish you were more, That’s when you’re almost there.
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16 It’s okay, there’s nothing to do, It’s okay, there’s nothing to do, It’s okay, there’s nothing to do Nothing to do, but breathe. 17 Just breathe in and breathe out, Breathe in, breathe out, Breathe in, breathe out, There’s nothing to do, but breathe. 18 A small purple line at the base of her spine, Had pencilled itself, and upon seeing she cried, For it meant she could push, you were almost here, Her courage restored once again. 19 With each wave she pushed harder, til your head she could feel, Pulsing outside her, yet your face still unseen, In the last closing rushes, silence entered the room, As she breathed you out to the world. 20 You had arrived, my Oscar, my darling, “Hello” and “hello” and “hello” I cried, Your eyes wide open, you knew you were with me, And the women who held us, all smiled.
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21 Dad arrived within seconds and kissed your head gently, And held your Mum softly and whispered “I love you,” There were tears in his eyes made of pure love for you, His Friend of the Deer was here! 22 Next came brother Gwion, who’d been brave through the night, As Mum had been shouting and crying and howling, Though excited to see you, Gwi waited quietly, Then tiptoed to you with a kiss. 23 Now the sun is setting, the blackbird is singing, The moon is not risen, the waters are still, The mother is smiling, the father and sons Are doing their rounds outside.
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A Letter to Myself I wrote a letter to myself. This is what it says:
Where do I begin? Where did it all begin? Does that matter anymore?
To begin, to cut open, to open up. I cut myself open. I stretch myself open. To you. For you. To open to life. To receive life. To be born. To be born again and again. To be reborn.
Tender. Flesh. Tender, torn flesh. Inside. Sliced, weeping, tender flesh. Tender fingers, touching. Tender labia. Stretched perineum, tender, swollen, purple. Tender lips. Swollen. Kisses, soft, tender. Tender: soft, easily injured; soft, delicate. Tenii- to stretch. Stretched. Skin, Breasts, Womb. Thin, weak- tender. Tender maintains. Tender tends another, attends to their needs. The small boat attends to the larger boats. The doctor attends to his patients. The mother attends to her children. She attends to their needs. I attend to my Self. I attend my Self. I present myself. I am present.
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Where do I begin? Origin. Arise, rise, get up; Get up! Become visible, appear!
Attention. Pay attention. Pay attention! Take heed! Observe! Notice! Stretch your mind towards something! Attend me! I need you! I need your attention! I need your tenderness! I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured. I am tender, soft, delicate, soft, easily injured.
Tender breath. Stretching toward you. Attending you.
I am present. I am here.
Where do I begin?
Where do I end?
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AfterBirth ENDNOTES i
In Irish mythology Oscar was one of the greatest Irish warriors in the Fianna. This song was written in the Fenian Lay form, which were originally composed to document the lives of heroes. See Shields (2008). ii Ten- is the PIE root of tender
This pamphlet formed part of my practice-based PhD: Giving Birth to Maternal Subjectivity: Narrative, rhythm and caesura in an autobiographical practice of birth story-telling. (2017). Aberystwyth University. Funded by Arts & Humanities Research Council and Dept Film & Television Studies, Aberystwyth University. www.tracybreathnach.com
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