The Space Between Contractions

Brianna Randall because i said so

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I want to tell you about the calm in the center of a storm. About a timeless place of softly swirling nothing. About drifting weightless across eons that span mere moments. About a galaxy inside of each of us that is filled with peace and trust and so much depth. 

This is the space between contractions. It's Nirvana, I think. I wonder if that is the space you occupied before birth, little one—a weightless, cloudy, soft place where voices are distant yet comforting. Where touch is just across a soundless, spongy wall. 

Time has no beginning or end in this space. The only mark of its passage is the cresting wave of another surge of pain building, tightening, pulsing, pushing you into this world. And then the wave falls away under my bow, releasing me back to the vast swirling drift.

I miss that space. Already, one week after your birth, I yearn for its beauty, it's plush cushions of quiet.  The space between contractions was a more complete meditation than any I've ever known. A full release of thought, emotion, worry. 

How can I return to that galaxy of extravagant nothingness? Will I ever feel such calm again?

And yet.

And yet it is enough to know that space is possible. That it is ever-present inside of each of us, flirting elusively at the edges of our daily vision. 

Thank you, little one, for showing me that absence can be an absolute fullness.


About the Author

Brianna Randall

Brianna Randall lives in Missoula, Montana where she toggles not-so-deftly between chasing her young son, running her own business, and fantasizing about sailing off to a deserted island (again). Her work has appeared in Scary Mommy, Outside, Backpacker, and several travel magazines.

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