I had started writing a post on the 17th, albeit never getting past the title, contemplating the idea that I was somewhat responsible for my son’s delayed exit/entrance.
I have a tendency to claim unnecessary responsibility, it’s true, but considering anxiety, for instance, is shown to slow labour, I had to come to terms with the fact I may not have been totally passive in the decision of when he was born.
There was certainly an element of fear of the birth process, which I was often able to reframe into excitement, but still lurked there, frustrating me. I wished I had done more to deal with it. Another factor for me, though, was that most of the challenging relationships in my life, particularly with males, have been with Cancers. Meaning there were a collection of dates around my son’s due date that were, to varying degrees, preloaded. Associations, good, bad, and conflicting, that perhaps it was better not to involve a new life in. And maybe I felt like I was navigating a minefield, or negotiating some karmic cycle, even though I told myself both that it didn’t matter and that it was out of my hands.
I didn’t get very far with the post because I started getting regular contractions.
And now I have a week old son, born on a blank canvas day (at least to my psyche).