Motherhood

"How is your older daughter doing?" -

Inevitably the question comes up. People that know me, people that begin to know me,  I am quick to remind them that although my youngest daughter is often the topic of my thoughts and posts and conversations, "I also have an older daughter". Its something I am bound to say. Because although our relationship consists of an occasional text and not much else, I refuse to let her become irrelevant to my life. I want people to know, I have an older daughter, who I love with all my heart.

Simply expressing this brings tears to my eyes and makes my chest ache. I sob. I must pause in my writing to wipe the tears.

"What happened?!" you may wonder, or "What's wrong?".

Nothing. Nothing that I can put my finger on anyway. Something I guess. Mostly a mystery to me.

My older, my first born. Can I tell you how much I adored this baby. How much I wanted her. I fought for her, I risked everything I knew to have her. I said "yes" to this unexpected pregnancy. At 28 years of age, only having dated her father for 3 months, I said no to what seemed the more practical choice to abort this child. I said yes to becoming a single mother. Because I felt I owed it to this life. Lest you misunderstand, I am strongly "pro-choice". And for me, at 28 years of age, I felt it was the right thing to do, to be responsible for my choices, and to welcome this baby into my life.

Her father and I had long pined for each other. When we finally got together after 4 years and a misguided marriage on his part, it was with the misguided notion that somehow this pregnancy confirmed that we "were meant to be". I suppose in the scheme of life that was ultimately true, because it "was". He and I were not "meant to be" spouses, but he and I were meant to bring her into the world.

He hesitated. I understood. Friends warned him no. I told him he could go. But I was choosing a different path. I was choosing to say yes.

And she was cherished. Our first 5 years together, although she witnessed much too much fighting between us, as far as I knew...I made up for it in my devotion to her. This child was breastfed, she wore organic cloth diapers. She ate organic baby food and drank soy milk. Her vaccinations were postponed. Nothing related to this child was done without having been researched and thought out. We played together, visited the different parks of New York City. Weekly visits to the green market for her favorite spinach pies and sheep's milk yogurt. Later it would become squid salad at the french bakery and market. How many 5 year olds do you know who like squid salad?

Then came the second pregnancy, unexpected and unplanned, again.  I know what you're thinking. Here's the answer: A diaphragm, and miscalculations.

At first it was a routine gyno appointment. Then there was the discovery of an ovarian cyst. At the check up a few weeks later, the doctor told me to sit down. Fearing the worst, the news was somehow a relief, but not entirely. I was pregnant.

I called my husband. OK. Pregnant. OK.

Because you see there was the fighting. There was my strong feeling that our marriage would not make it. And now we were going to add another baby to this mix? Those were my feelings...mixed.

As the baby grew, so did the cyst. It had a life and blood vessels of its own. They couldn't be sure it was benign. The doctor said it had to come out or it could burst and cause premature labor.

We had to wait till after I got through the first trimester, when the baby would be in less danger from the risk of the surgery.  I was permitted to listen to Gregorian Chants on my headphones while going into surgery. I felt pretty sure that day that everything would be OK. Although from what they told me, I didn't know if I would come out with everything or nothing. I named her Samantha that day. I told her to just hold on, it would all be OK. We'd make it through together.

And we did. Samantha became Olivia, a little fierce fireball of a baby. She would spend the next 5 years being the center of attention and a challenge to her older sister. Whereas Olivia was fierce and determined, Noelle was kind and thoughtful. Olivia would leave Noelle stunned with her selfishness and wit. She was just a child, but she knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. It wasn't fun for Noelle.

Just prior to Noelle's 6th birthday we left Manhattan for Hollywood, FL. The production company my husband and I had taken over from his partner the year before fell apart. Karma. It wasn't a pretty split between them. Bad advice led to bad choices. We would have been better off following our hearts than our accountant's head.

Within a 3 month period we went from possibilities to vacancy. Things simply dried up. Projects that were to happen in January were pushed to March, and then to May, and then indefinitely. By June, I needed a plan. I got to the second level of an interview, but ultimately they chose the guy. Without a job, without work. We were left with few options. I saw an ad in Shoot magazine for a Director/Cameraman wanted in Florida. I sent a letter on behalf of my husband. He was called for an interview and got the job.

We visited in June, moved in August. Sold our stake in Manhattan. Yes, its a regret although I know I shouldn't have those.

That's the last I can say for sure of what happened between Noelle and I. The last I can say for sure that it was good. The first year after moving down I was lost. Didn't know what to do, where to go. Took the city girl and stuck her in a suburb of South Florida. Yeah, you might say it was a bit of a culture shock.