Lily was induced...and thank heavens for that. The summer she was born was one of the hottest on record in New York City and the thought of commuting back and forth to the hospital for check ups after the 40 week due date because I was elderly (At least that's how it seemed when they kept referring to me as a "mature mother" because I was over 35.) was not appealing to my sweaty underboobs or swollen cankles. Even with all that coaxing and pitossin, Lily still took her time and finally made her guest appearance with a piercing scream after nearly 22 hours of labor. Joy. Some of it brought on by the 1 1/2 epidurals it took to sustain my sanity. Most brought on by my overwhelming sense of love.
I write all of this to say, that Lily, our first, takes her time. It takes her a while to feel safe and comfortable. Once she does, she opens up with so much warmth, love, and chatter, but she wants to be sure first. At the 40 week mark in my pregnancy, I'd had very few contractions and was hardly dilated but Lily did keep kicking and twisting around. Even now, she is a wild banshee close to home, but out in public, she bites her nails, whispers when she talks, gets a sly little smile when she knows she has done something well but doesn't want to brag. She is shy and inquisitive and likes to figure things out for herself. She comes home and regales us with stories about how other kids have behaved (badly) and how well-mannered and behaved she has been. I love talking with her and hearing her views on the world. And she definitely has a lot of views to share.
Virginie is my brawler, shot caller. One of my friends calls her "Roller Derby Girl" because she is such a bruiser, strong and sturdy. Virginie barely gave me enough time to write my name on the admitting form at the hospital before she came barreling into the world. My sanity was momentarily lost as, before I'd even had a chance to slip into that hospital gown, Virginie started terrorizing my body and had me dilated from three to ten centimeters in thirty minutes. I screamed out, while cursing under my breath for Didier to stop trying to put some clothes on me, "Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour, PLEASE have mercy on us!" Seriously. No epidural, no gown, no clothes, no prep. Just suddenly, Virginie, who looked at us first and then started her cry as if first assessing whether she had picked some good ones.
Now, she is only 17 months old, but Virginie is a force to be reckoned with. Still. She comes into a room and takes over. Her personality, her energy, her sense of self is so strong. She is chatty, like her sister, and demanding and daring. Where Lily says, "I don't think I can do that," Virginie charges in and though she might bump her head or fall down, goes for it. Many times I have walked into a room to find Virginie standing on top of a counter or chest of drawers waiting for me to help her down, laughing her face off and grinning from ear to ear. She hugs and kisses all of us with abandon and says, "Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi" to whomever is within earshot. Even in the grocery store.
Lily and Virginie often remind me of my sister and me. Sharyn, though younger, has protected me and guided me sometimes when I was shy or insecure or just a plain old freak. I understand Lily and see her fears and frustration sharing everything with Virginie who appears to be willing to take it all if she had the chance. Lily loves Virginie, but often doesn't want to share with her unless she has decided on her own that she wants to include that little bugger. Virginie, on the other hand, would follow Lily into the classroom and sit at Lily's feet if allowed. She brings Lily her toys and toothbrush and juice and whatever else she knows is Lily's, driving Lily absolutely batty. It will certainly be interesting, and I hope I am still using the word 'interesting' to describe this, to watch them grow and develop into friends. Enemies. Frenemies. Sisters.
(c) Copyright 2010. City Mom in the Jungle.
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