My beautiful lost children looks at my near-fatal and extremely difficult birth through photographs, whilst also addressing each ‘lost’ egg that leaves my body.
I was scarred from birth and I find a certain comfort in that. It’s some form of proof of something I can never hope to remember. I wonder how many babies’ first sensation from the outside world is pain. Probably quite a lot of them, even the ones that aren’t difficult to deliver.
Apart from my mother and I, the only other ‘thing’ that experienced that painful, traumatic event are the eggs inside me. I do find it slightly ridiculous how I seem to attach these eggs with an identity but it’s always a painful monthly goodbye to a potential that was never going to be realised.
It’s fascinating that in that blink of a second with that specific sperm getting through to the egg at that very moment, there lies the moment that made you exist. Without that moment, like every period, we would not have existed, at least not as we are today…