Soleia 0.2
How is a star born?
"A star is born when atoms of light elements are squeezed under enough pressure for their nuclei to undergo fusion. All stars are the result of a balance of forces: the force of gravity compresses atoms in interstellar gas until the fusion reactions begin. And once the fusion reactions begin, they exert an outward pressure. As long as the inward force of gravity and the outward force generated by the fusion reactions are equal, the star remains stable."
Light elements - a seed from your mother and a seed from me. 2 nuclei. Fusion - the fire that comes from two things being pressed so close together that they become one...Outward pressure - one cell turns to two, two turn to four. A few months later, you've certain expanded. Suddenly you're pressing against your mother's bladder. She has to pee every 5 minutes.
There was a time before you existed. I barely remember it too.
You'll go on Youtube and watch the video for Justin Bieber's 'Baby' and look at the date it was posted and understand that the universe existed before you did. Honestly it wasn't all that interesting. You weren't really missing anything.
Your mother is trying to wrestle her nipple into your mouth. She makes a strange face - the burning pain of nursing you. You've bitten most of the skin off of an already sensitive spot. But she loves holding you to her body and I feel the same way when I hold you against my skin.
Your mother is playing the first song that you've ever heard: 'You are the Sunshine of my Life' by Stevie Wonder. She says that Stevie Wonder is a black person - like you. Your mom thinks herself quite funny.
The Sun ignited on June 6th. We thought that it would light on June 5th. Your mother was induced around 8pm and went a couple of hours without an epidural. A couple of unpleasant hours. The hospital only had one anesthesiologist on call and he was up in surgery. The moments ticked by and your mother's agony grew. We should have known better.
By the time the doctor came around 10 pm, your mother had already dialated to 8 cm. Most of the hard work had already been done. The lovely nurse there, Samira, took a look and saw that you were ready to arrive. Dr. Mayo (who was pregnant herself at the time) came and your mother got ready. She started to push at 11:59 pm and it turned out that she was very good at pushing. Four pushes and 6 minutes later you were here.
I stared at it as it happened. I watched as you emerged from the cocoon of her body and into the light, crying at the sudden cold. And I remember thinking at the time: I didn't know the Sun could get cold.
You were smallish - 2.639 kg (5 lbs, 13 oz) - and the nurse immediately asked if you were a sugar baby. You were born in your 38th week but you were sized as if you were 36 weeks. Your mother and I were worried - the ultrasound estimates that you were already above 6 lbs were badly inflated.
They'd need to keep you at Centenary for a 36 hour glucose monitoring observation to make sure you were okay.
We were exhilerated, tired. Your mother said hello and then the doctor saw to her (apparently passing a baby's head through such a small opening can cause some havoc in a woman's lady bits). You cried right away and let us know that you were here.
So strange, those moments with you exterior to your mother, for the first time. Not what I expected. I expected tears - from myself and from your mother. Your mother was tired - just overjoyed that everything had gone smoothly. As for me, the tears wouldn't flow. I think it was the stoic in me, the rational part of me. There was just this overwhelming sense of 'now': now is serious, now is important, now finally matters. So much of my life, 'now' was a pleasant diversion. 'Now' was trivial. And then, there you were, in my arms, and they said that you only weighed 5 lbs. But I could just feel the weight of you. I could feel the weight of your whole life. It was like I could feel the weight of every second of your life at the same time and all of sudden, 'now' was incredibly urgent.
You weren't just this wrinkly, squiggly 5 lb bundle of joy. You were the 5 lbs in that second plus the 6 lbs of you at 2 wks old plus the 10 lbs you were at 7 weeks, plus the 25 lbs you'd be at 2, the 50 lbs you'd be at 4 and all the other weights you'd weigh everytime I lifted you from the Earth. You were the heaviest thing I'd ever lift and I had to make sure that I never, ever dropped you and thinking about all that looking into your little face, imagining the synapses forming in your brain that very moment as I held you...I just couldn't cry. All I could think was: "I don't have time to cry. I should be asking the doctor a question, clarifying something with the nurse, checking on your mother." Crying wouldn't make your life better. And, effective that moment, your life was my mission. Programming you was my ultimate job.
I hope that as you read this you say to yourself that my mission was accomplished and that my job was a job well done.
There are other details that will bubble up. But we have so much time to tell the stories of you, of us. My darling - my sunshine - we have all the time in the world.
Yours,
Papa
How is a star born?
"A star is born when atoms of light elements are squeezed under enough pressure for their nuclei to undergo fusion. All stars are the result of a balance of forces: the force of gravity compresses atoms in interstellar gas until the fusion reactions begin. And once the fusion reactions begin, they exert an outward pressure. As long as the inward force of gravity and the outward force generated by the fusion reactions are equal, the star remains stable."
Light elements - a seed from your mother and a seed from me. 2 nuclei. Fusion - the fire that comes from two things being pressed so close together that they become one...Outward pressure - one cell turns to two, two turn to four. A few months later, you've certain expanded. Suddenly you're pressing against your mother's bladder. She has to pee every 5 minutes.
There was a time before you existed. I barely remember it too.
You'll go on Youtube and watch the video for Justin Bieber's 'Baby' and look at the date it was posted and understand that the universe existed before you did. Honestly it wasn't all that interesting. You weren't really missing anything.
Your mother is trying to wrestle her nipple into your mouth. She makes a strange face - the burning pain of nursing you. You've bitten most of the skin off of an already sensitive spot. But she loves holding you to her body and I feel the same way when I hold you against my skin.
Your mother is playing the first song that you've ever heard: 'You are the Sunshine of my Life' by Stevie Wonder. She says that Stevie Wonder is a black person - like you. Your mom thinks herself quite funny.
The Sun ignited on June 6th. We thought that it would light on June 5th. Your mother was induced around 8pm and went a couple of hours without an epidural. A couple of unpleasant hours. The hospital only had one anesthesiologist on call and he was up in surgery. The moments ticked by and your mother's agony grew. We should have known better.
By the time the doctor came around 10 pm, your mother had already dialated to 8 cm. Most of the hard work had already been done. The lovely nurse there, Samira, took a look and saw that you were ready to arrive. Dr. Mayo (who was pregnant herself at the time) came and your mother got ready. She started to push at 11:59 pm and it turned out that she was very good at pushing. Four pushes and 6 minutes later you were here.
I stared at it as it happened. I watched as you emerged from the cocoon of her body and into the light, crying at the sudden cold. And I remember thinking at the time: I didn't know the Sun could get cold.
You were smallish - 2.639 kg (5 lbs, 13 oz) - and the nurse immediately asked if you were a sugar baby. You were born in your 38th week but you were sized as if you were 36 weeks. Your mother and I were worried - the ultrasound estimates that you were already above 6 lbs were badly inflated.
They'd need to keep you at Centenary for a 36 hour glucose monitoring observation to make sure you were okay.
We were exhilerated, tired. Your mother said hello and then the doctor saw to her (apparently passing a baby's head through such a small opening can cause some havoc in a woman's lady bits). You cried right away and let us know that you were here.
So strange, those moments with you exterior to your mother, for the first time. Not what I expected. I expected tears - from myself and from your mother. Your mother was tired - just overjoyed that everything had gone smoothly. As for me, the tears wouldn't flow. I think it was the stoic in me, the rational part of me. There was just this overwhelming sense of 'now': now is serious, now is important, now finally matters. So much of my life, 'now' was a pleasant diversion. 'Now' was trivial. And then, there you were, in my arms, and they said that you only weighed 5 lbs. But I could just feel the weight of you. I could feel the weight of your whole life. It was like I could feel the weight of every second of your life at the same time and all of sudden, 'now' was incredibly urgent.
You weren't just this wrinkly, squiggly 5 lb bundle of joy. You were the 5 lbs in that second plus the 6 lbs of you at 2 wks old plus the 10 lbs you were at 7 weeks, plus the 25 lbs you'd be at 2, the 50 lbs you'd be at 4 and all the other weights you'd weigh everytime I lifted you from the Earth. You were the heaviest thing I'd ever lift and I had to make sure that I never, ever dropped you and thinking about all that looking into your little face, imagining the synapses forming in your brain that very moment as I held you...I just couldn't cry. All I could think was: "I don't have time to cry. I should be asking the doctor a question, clarifying something with the nurse, checking on your mother." Crying wouldn't make your life better. And, effective that moment, your life was my mission. Programming you was my ultimate job.
I hope that as you read this you say to yourself that my mission was accomplished and that my job was a job well done.
There are other details that will bubble up. But we have so much time to tell the stories of you, of us. My darling - my sunshine - we have all the time in the world.
Yours,
Papa
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