Caesaria
I am lying on the gym floor. I try to lift my legs up, simultaneously, but I can’t. I had my abs cut in two. A small detail I tend to forget. I think of Caesaria and Poor Things, and I remember that I should be grateful to be alive. A labour like mine in another century and I would be writting from beyond the grave, like Caesaria herself - perhaps. Does she? Write from the beyond, that is. I never read a review that suggests she does, but I always got that feeling. Perhaps because of Caesaria’s close relationship with death. Her dead mother. Her semi-alive existence. Her defiance to death. Like with Frankenstein, I tend to forget who is who, or what is what.
Caesaria’s mother didn’t lie on a gym floor; she lied in a grave. That is a hell of a difference yet gratitude doesn’t come to me easily. Frustration does. It was an unwanted intervention yet it saved my life. And so, my journey into motherhood started, as it should, with its first contradiction.
Lol... I'm not sure they ever go back to what they were! 😅
Its incredible to me how taken for granted childbirth is when really its so violent an entry for the child into conscious life, but also for the mother into motherhood. When I think about that, I realise what powerful goddesses we actually are! I hope your abs have recovered! 💕 Also, I really loved Caesaria, it was wild and sad and beautiful.