I WAS BOOOORN
Premature, a whole month prior to my expected due date.
This is the story, as I know it by the scant details, of my Mother. Because I'd dare say, she deserves all the credit from hereon in. Of this passage and for some after considering, I was completely to the mercy of two adults. Who spoke an altogether foreign tongue, who in some ways, were still ill-adapted. To this country and this language, this form that I use to communicate.
I was an active child, utterly empassioned and utterly blind to a world that was not myself. Which is why it didn't matter how or which way I kicked. I simply wanted more room.
It was late, dusk would barely crest over the horizon and in a tiny little house with two bedrooms, a kitchen, all on a flat singular floor my Mother was in likely the worst manner of pain.
There was probably fear too, she knew enough I'm sure to realize, had been told, her precious girl, the princess of the family should not be born, not so early not so small.
My parents absconded, without my brother and the brother who was confused and concussed in her own identity. But that is a whole other novel and a much more outlandish title.
They had a babysitter don't worry.
And they were not jealous.
They were not surly.
They welcomed a little sister. They would adore her.
My Mom spent hours in labor as is normal.
Here is, a measure of speculation, my Mother beautiful and warm as she is was in the range of risk. Where the strain of a child may yield complication and risk. And she was four weeks early.
I can imagine there was some scant hour or so of fear. I hope less, it's painful to think, so unbelievably selfish to wonder if she cried. When the doctors had to take her tiny little baby, only just out of her belly and likely screaming already spoiled for her mother's company. Because she was too small.
She was so small that even after pushing ten days worth of formula this tiny little prayer answered and given life, fit in the palm of the calloused, burnt hand. From her Father.
She lived.
She lived and she grew. Grew quiet. For a baby.
Dare it be said she would grow to be contemplative, a little too aware and forthwith for her age.
That said she made wondrous little noises as if casting a spell over those around her.
Her young brothers her knights and vassals often at her beck and call never far from her side.
Coddling with her, entertaining her why she must be special! Just must be!
And her parents well if anything, were weaker to her charms.
What those were I couldn't completely fathom a clue. Especially as her Mother, among eight total siblings herself, soon held another baby in her arms. A boy and the youngest then of one of her sisters.
This boy and this girl, learned in walking and in the enumerated fact that they could, played together quite mischievously and chaotically.
The girl, whose name meant moon, who as a daughter was held in high esteem as if royal, laughed and burbled. She spoke and tended to baby dolls, watched friendly little monsters with a smile on her face.
\\Seven years old//
Some teachers begin noticing.
The small things and the not so small. That though she talked it was... tilted. Somewhat turned in a wholly different direction. Not exactly. okay or right.
Her talk few and far between and never a word for those her own age.
She simply drew and read. Desks placed into four, massive truly for such little children.
And providing quite an excellent amount of room for the girl all her lonesome. Who hardly seemed bothered by that in fact. In fact, as these teachers didn't seem to understand she in some ways liked it this way.
Because she was drawing and she liked drawing.
Could she then-- get back to what she was doing?
These questions, these sudden addresses and attention paid to her, were not normal and so she'd like to not deal with the thought if so acceptable. She'd rather not be treated like she was perhaps in trouble or had done something wrong.
She was about certain she knew the rules.
And she knew it was appreciated to be quiet. She herself didn't mind being quiet all that much either.
So, this entire speech pathologist and three hour test time for easy, already burned to paper material had no basis.
Learning disability? Autism?
"Special" needs.
Well yes, I am quite special.
Yet in this way, well, it doesn't make sense. It really, really doesn't make sense.