Oh, yes, I am laid bare, my abscesses gaping. Self-pitying, melodramatic as well. Yet there is a truth forming within me, and though it is hurting I cannot reject it. Should a mother refuse the pain of labour? I will not hide from this mysterious being who is myself, about to be born. To do so would leave me haunted and anxious forever. I have only two options: to accept my innate poverty or become the slave of bitterness. I suspect that this will be the struggle for years to come.
