It seems that writing one’s birth story is a little like looking at a piece of Pointillism art, something along the lines of Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. The closer you stand (to the painting and the birth experience), the more raw, unfinished, discrete, and incoherent the separate pieces are. The farther back you stand from the painting (and the more time and emotional distance you put between yourself and the birth), the more it starts to blend into a cohesive whole. By writing about the experience so soon, I worry that I haven’t given myself the distance and space I need to smooth out the experience. … Read More