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summahsunlight · 4 years

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All For You, Part 11

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.6k+

Pairing: Poe Dameron X Pilot!Reader

Summary: Your life in the Resistance was not easy, being married to Commander Poe Dameron and a skilled pilot yourself. When you unexpectedly get pregnant, your life is forever changed. Raising a child on base is hard, but never having parents of your own as a child, you are determined to love your little girl and give her the best life. Poe is equally as devoted to you and your daughter, vowing to keep you both safe from the impending threat of the First Order.

Taglist: @thescarletknight2014, @elmoakepoke, @xxidontwikeitxx, @liadamerondjarin, @marvelofwitch, @blushingwueen, @april-14-blog, @agents-assemble, @paintballkid711, @softly-sad, @badbitxhbuckybarnes

Taglist is still open! Just let me know if you want to be added! I didn’t get the chance to proof read it (I’ll go back later and do that) I just really, really, really wanted to get some more writing out there to you guys! Happy reading🥰❤️

Emmy gurgled, happily, while sitting in the sink for her bath. Poe smiled at her when she began to wildly splash and you were quickly covered in soapy water. “Troublemaker,” you grumbled at your daughter, “just like your daddy.”

Poe glared at you, but only half-heartedly. He could never get mad at you when you were taking care of Emmy, when you were just being a mom. He would imagine his own mother taking care of him as a child when he looked at you with Emmy.

Taking the baby out of the bath water, you gently wrapped her in a towel. She hated being cold and whimpered. “Here, take her for a second,” you instructed your husband, handing him Emmy. “I left her clothes on the bed.”

“C’mere sweetheart,” Poe said, sweetly to the baby. “Daddy will keep you nice and warm while Mama gets your clothes.”

“Daddy will keep you warm because he’s a human furnace.”

“Don’t let her fool you--she likes how warm I am.”

Emmy smiled, broadly at him and he felt himself falling in love with his baby girl all over again. Poe pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. He’d been gone for a long time this last mission, and while his daughter had settled down when he did leave, it still broke his heart every time. He just wanted to be here with you and Emmy--but he knew in order to keep you both safe, he had to leave from time to time.

Returning with Emmy clothes, you offered to get her dressed, but Poe wasn’t ready to give her up yet. “I’ll do it,” he said, softly. “We have a lot of time to make up for since I’ve been gone.”

You stood back and watched as Poe took care of the baby. “She missed you, Poe,” you simply said. “It’s crazy but she has this...sense...that you’re not around.”

“I wish I didn’t have to leave so much.”

“There are times that Leia is going to let you say no.”

Poe shook his head and sighed, finishing up dressing Emmy. He gathered the baby back into his arms and gently hugged her. “I can’t, sweetheart, you know that. I want this galaxy to be safe for you and Emmy.”

Softly you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed an even softer kiss against his shoulder blade. “I know,” you said, holding back tears. You loved this man so much for his dedication to you, to Emmy--to making the galaxy a safe place for your daughter. It hurt how guilty he felt leaving, knowing that he had no choice. “Someday, she’ll understand.”

Emmy sighed and snuggled against Poe’s shoulder. He rubbed her back and smiled. “Someone is sleepy,” he stated before moving out of your embrace and heading towards the baby’s crib. He softly sang to her, her little cooed of content filling the quarters. In no time, Emmy was fast asleep.

“She still hates it when I sing.”

“Sorry, baby, I’m not sure that will ever change.”

“That’s probably true.”

He pulled you close to him, his lips seeking yours out in a lingering kiss. Often times when he kissed you like this, you liked to tease him that this was how they ended up with Emmy--but not tonight. He’d been away for so long that you were just longing for his touch, his arms around you, and even if this only led to him cuddling with you in bed while he worked on his latest report. You’d missed him.

You hummed in contentment as effortless carried you to your bed. Placing you down, Poe brushed his lips across yours once again. “I’m gonna go get started on that report--you go to sleep, sweetheart.”

Pouting, you pulled on his arm. “I was hoping you’d work on your report here in bed, that way I can cuddle with you and you can keep me warm.”

Poe smiled at you and grabbed his data pad. Once the two of you were situated underneath the thin sheets, he proceeded to get his work done while your head rested on his chest. He noticed that you were trying to stay awake and talk to him, but your eyes kept growing heavier and heavier. “Baby, please sleep. You must be exhausted from having to care for Emmy all by yourself while I was away.”

“I had help from Rose,” you said, yawning.”

“Sweetheart. Sleep. Now--that’s an order,” he teased.

There was no argument from you--you had already fallen asleep.

-------

At some point in the middle of the night Emmy woke up screaming. It wasn’t her normal cry, it sounded like she was in pain and when you stumbled to her crib you horrified to find her covered in sweat and running a fever. “Poe!” you gasped, carrying the hysterical infant to your bed. “Poe! Something’s wrong! Wake up!”

Poe groggily opened his eyes and blinked the sleep from them when he saw you standing there with Emmy in your arms. “What...what’s going on?”

Emmy continued to scream over your own hysterical cries. “She’s got a fever! And she’s...maker, Poe, she sounds like she’s in pain!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, sweetheart,” Poe said, scrambling out of bed.

“Calm down!” you shouted at him. “Our baby is sick!”

“And we’ll take her to see the medics.”

“What if something is really wrong?”

Sighing, Poe reached out and took Emmy from you. Wiping the baby’s tears, he rested her against his shoulder and rubbed her back. “Babies get sick. The medics can probably give us something to help with the fever.”

You chewed on your lower lip. Emmy had never been sick and she had been perfectly fine when she had gone to sleep that night. “I just...”

“I know,” Poe said, softly. He gazed at you lovingly. “Let’s go to the med bay. Okay? It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart.”

“Are you talking to me or the baby?” you quip with a sniffle as he leads you down the corridor towards the med bay.

“Both of you, actually. One of us has to be calm.”

“I am calm.”

Poe threw you a look.

You adverted his gaze. “I’m calm now.”

The nurse knew you were coming--the entire base could probably hear Emmy crying. She tried to coax the baby to come to her but Emmy only sobbed louder if it was even hinted at her father having to release her. “Commander,” the nurse finally said, “maybe you can sit on the examine table with her.”

Watching as Poe sat down, you nervously rocked back and forth on your heels. Every time the nurse got close to your daughter, poking and prodding her, you grew even more anxious--especially when Emmy reacted so terrified. Poe did his best to comfort her but she was having none of that. “Is she okay?” you finally sputtered when you could no longer take the nurse’s silence.

“She’s teething.”

“Teething?”

“Yep. Looks like she’s cut two teeth.”

Poe kissed the baby’s tears away. “Aw, my poor princess. Is there anything we can give her?”

The nurse handed him a cold teething ring and then suggested giving the baby some pain reliever to help her with her fever and help her sleep.

You weren’t convinced it was just teeth coming in. “Are you sure it’s just teeth?”

“It’s just teeth,” the nurse laughed as she coaxed Emmy to swallow the medicine. “Give her that teething ring to chew on when she’s awake. You can keep it in a chiller unit to keep it cold--if you need more just come see us. Doctor Kalonia ordered some on the last supply run in anticipation that this was coming.”

“I told you it was going to be fine,” Poe said, rising off the cot. He thanked the nurse and giving the teething ring for Emmy to chew on, he headed back towards your quarters.

Emmy wasn’t screaming anymore; that was a positive. It was still obvious that she was in pain and not feeling well. Upon returning to your quarters, Poe offered to lay with her so you could sleep. You wanted to argue but knew that Emmy would want her father right now--so you let him lay down on the small couch with the baby--but you didn’t sleep.

Poe softly spoke to Emmy while he continued to rub her back, soothingly. Emmy’s screams and cries had turned into small whimpers. “I know it hurts,” Poe whispered, “I promise, baby girl, it won’t hurt forever. Daddy is gonna take care of you, okay? We’re gonna get through this together.”

Shifting in the bed, you called out to him, “Poe, if we’re in this together...come lie in bed with me.”

“She’ll keep you up.”

“She’s keeping me up already.”

Carefully, Poe rose from the sofa and went to lie down with you in the bed. He gently laid Emmy between the two of you. She fussed for a bit and then eagerly chomping on her teething ring, began to fall back to sleep. And while it took Emmy only a few seconds to fall back to sleep once the medicine had kicked in, it too you and Poe much, much longer.

--------

“Don’t take this the wrong way--but you look terrible.”

“Thanks, Snap.”

Snap quirked an eyebrow. “Rough night?”

Karé nearly choked on her caf. “Rough night? You didn’t hear Emmy screaming last night?” When Snap shook his head, she rolled her eyes. “Maker you’ll sleep through anything.”

He ignored her comments and looked concernedly at Poe. “Is everything alright with Emmy?”

Poe nodded and downed his third cup of caf. “Yeah. She’s teething. Who knew that it was so painful for babies. I just kinda thought they appeared one day! She’s miserable, Snap and it breaks my heart.”

“Being a father had made him a big ole softy,” Karé teased.

“True. He never cared when I had a toothache,” Snap joked.

“You are not a baby and you’re not my kid,” Poe threw at him.

“Speaking of the little lady--where is she now?”

“Y/N took her to get more pain reliever.”

Karé’s gaze softened. “Poe, she’ll be okay.”

Poe sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I know... it just...I felt helpless. I couldn’t take the pain away. All I could do was hold her and rub her back.”

Snap grinned. “Which I’m sure she was fine with. Come on, Poe, you did what you could do. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“You sound like my wife.”

“Well, we’ve flown with each for a long time now...it was bound to happen.”

“Hey!” Jessika suddenly yelled across the mess hall. “The General wants us!”

Poe, Karé and Snap exchanged glances before scrambling to their feet. If General Organa wanted to see them so soon after returning from a mission something big must have happened.

#my writing #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfiction #200 followers celebration #all for you #poe x you

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kkintle · 4 years

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Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy; Quotes

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

“I always loved you, and if one loves any one, one loves the whole person, just as they are and not as one would like them to be.”

“Is this life? I am not living, but waiting for an event, which is continually put off and put off.”

Then, for the first time, grasping that for every man, and himself too, there was nothing in store but suffering, death, and forgetfulness, he had made up his mind that life was impossible like that, and that he must either interpret life so that it would not present itself to him as the evil jest of some devil, or shoot himself.

“Some think marriage a game; for others it is the most serious business of their lives.”

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” (...)

“Vengeance is mine,I will repay.”

“Yes, she won’t forgive me, and she can’t forgive me. And the most awful thing about it is that it’s all my fault—all my fault, though I’m not to blame. That’s the point of the whole situation,” he reflected.

There was no solution, but that universal solution which life gives to all questions, even the most complex and insoluble. That answer is: one must live in the needs of the day—that is, forget oneself.

They were fond of one another in spite of the difference of their characters and tastes, as friends are fond of one another who have been together in early youth.

He had heard that women often did care for ugly and ordinary men, but he did not believe it, for he judged by himself, and he could not himself have loved any but beautiful, mysterious, and exceptional women.

He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking.

“Why, of course,” objected Stepan Arkadyevitch. “But that’s just the aim of civilization—to make everything a source of enjoyment.”

Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled. He so well knew that feeling of Levin’s, that for him all the girls in the world were divided into two classes: one class—all the girls in the world except her, and those girls with all sorts of human weaknesses, and very ordinary girls: the other class—she alone, having no weaknesses of any sort and higher than all humanity.

‘Forgive me not according to my unworthiness, but according to Thy loving-kindness.’

“All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.”

There are people who, on meeting a successful rival, no matter in what, are at once disposed to turn their backs on everything good in him, and to see only what is bad. There are people, on the other hand, who desire above all to find in that lucky rival the qualities by which he has outstripped them, and seek with a throbbing ache at heart only what is good.

(...) If one forgives, it must be completely, completely.

Anna was unmistakably admiring her loveliness and her youth: before Kitty knew where she was she found herself not merely under Anna’s sway, but in love with her, as young girls do fall in love with older and married women. Anna was not like a fashionable lady, nor the mother of a boy of eight years old. In the elasticity of her movements, the freshness and the unflagging eagerness which persisted in her face and broke out in her smile and her glance, she would rather have passed for a girl of twenty, had it not been for a serious and at times mournful look in her eyes, which struck and attracted Kitty. Kitty felt that Anna was perfectly simple and was concealing nothing, but that she had another higher world of interests inaccessible to her, complex and poetic.

“So now you know whom you’ve got to do with. And if you think you’re lowering yourself, well, here’s the floor, there’s the door.”

“With friends, one is well; but at home, one is better,” (...)

“Well, there’s nothing to be done. . . . It’s not my fault. But now everything shall go on in a new way. It’s nonsense to pretend that life won’t let one, that the past won’t let one. One must struggle to live better, much better.”

“Every heart has its own skeletons, as the English say.”

She had no need to ask why he had come. She knew as certainly as if he had told her that he was here to be where she was.

As though tears were the indispensable oil, without which the machinery of mutual confidence could not run smoothly between the two sisters, the sisters after their tears talked, not of what was uppermost in their minds, but, though they talked of outside matters, they understood each other.

“ (...) ‘No one is satisfied with his fortune, and every one is satisfied with his wit.’ ” The attaché repeated the French saying.

He felt what a murderer must feel, when he sees the body he has robbed of life. That body, robbed by him of life, was their love, the first stage of their love. There was something awful and revolting in the memory of what had been bought at this fearful price of shame. Shame at their spiritual nakedness crushed her and infected him. But in spite of all the murderer’s horror before the body of his victim, he must hack it to pieces, hide the body, must use what he has gained by his murder.

“ (...) There, do you see, you know the type of Ossian’s women . . . Women, such as one sees in dreams . . . Well, these women are sometimes to be met in reality . . . and these women are terrible. Woman, don’t you know, is such a subject that however much you study it, it’s always perfectly new.” “Well, then, it would be better not to study it.” “No. Some mathematician has said that enjoyment lies in the search for truth, not in the finding it.”

In the pauses of complete stillness there came the rustle of last year’s leaves, stirred by the thawing of the earth and the growth of the grass. “Imagine! One can hear and see the grass growing!”

“Count the sands of the sea, number the stars. (...)”

“The great thing’s to keep quiet before a race,” said he; “don’t get out of temper or upset about anything.”

He was angry with all of them for their interference just because he felt in his soul that they, all these people, were right.

This child’s presence called up both in Vronsky and in Anna a feeling akin to the feeling of a sailor who sees by the compass that the direction in which he is swiftly moving is far from the right one, but that to arrest his motion is not in his power, that every instant is carrying him farther and farther away, and that to admit to himself his deviation from the right direction is the same as admitting his certain ruin.

(...) like a man who, after vainly attempting to extinguish a fire, should fly in a rage with his vain efforts and say, “Oh, very well then! you shall burn for this!”

(...) “we mustn’t forget that those who are taking part in the race are military men, who have chosen that career, and one must allow that every calling has its disagreeable side. It forms an integral part of the duties of an officer. Low sports, such as prize-fighting or Spanish bull-fights, are a sign of barbarity. But specialized trials of skill are a sign of development.”

“Who are you? What are you? Are you really the exquisite creature I imagine you to be? But for goodness’ sake don’t suppose,” her eyes added, “that I would force my acquaintance on you, I simply admire you and like you.” “I like you too, and you’re very, very sweet. And I should like you better still, if I had time,” answered the eyes of the unknown girl.

“Perhaps so,” said the prince, squeezing her hand with his elbow; “but it’s better when one does good so that you may ask every one and no one knows.”

“But time’s money, you forget that,” said the colonel. “Time, indeed, that depends! Why, there’s time one would give a month of for sixpence, and time you wouldn’t give half an hour of for any money.

“ (...) I’ll be bad; but anyway not a liar, a cheat.”

“(...) while you have at your disposal a means of helping them, and don’t help them because to your mind it’s of no importance.” And Sergey Ivanovitch put before him the alternative: either you are so undeveloped that you can’t see all that you can do, or you won’t sacrifice your ease, your vanity, or whatever it is, to do it.

“I imagine,” he said, “that no sort of activity is likely to be lasting if it is not founded on self-interest, that’s a universal principle, a philosophical principle,” (...)

Those joys were so small that they passed unnoticed, like gold in sand, and at bad moments she could see nothing but the pain, nothing but sand; but there were good moments too when she saw nothing but the joy, nothing but gold.

Hypocrisy in anything whatever may deceive the cleverest and most penetrating man, but the least wide-awake of children recognizes it, and is revolted by it, however ingeniously it may be disguised.

“No,” he said to himself, “however good that life of simplicity and toil may be, I cannot go back to it. I love her.”

He experienced the sensations of a man who has had a tooth out after suffering long from toothache. After a fearful agony and a sense of something huge, bigger than the head itself, being torn out of his jaw, the sufferer, hardly able to believe in his own good luck, feels all at once that what has so long poisoned his existence and enchained his attention, exists no longer, and that he can live and think again, and take interest in other things besides his tooth.

“It is a misfortune which may befall any one. And this misfortune has befallen me. The only thing to be done is to make the best of the position.”

And it was not the necessity of concealment, not the aim with which the concealment was contrived, but the process of concealment itself which attracted her.

“To sleep well one ought to work, and to enjoy oneself one ought to work too.”

Every man who knows to the minutest details all the complexity of the conditions surrounding him, cannot help imagining that the complexity of these conditions, and the difficulty of making them clear, is something exceptional and personal, peculiar to himself, and never supposes that others are surrounded by just as complicated an array of personal affairs as he is.

“The manner of life you have chosen is reflected, I suppose, in your ideas.”

When Sviazhsky had finished, Levin could not help asking: “Well, and what then?” But there was nothing to follow. It was simply interesting that it had been proved to be so and so. But Sviazhsky did not explain, and saw no need to explain why it was interesting to him.

“I work, I want to do something, but I had forgotten it must all end; I had forgotten—death.”

The position was one of misery for all three; and not one of them would have been equal to enduring this position for a single day, if it had not been for the expectation that it would change, that it was merely a temporary painful ordeal which would pass over.

By gymnastics and careful attention to his health he had brought himself to such a point that in spite of his excess in pleasure he looked as fresh as a big glossy green Dutch cucumber.

She laid her two hands on his shoulders, and looked a long while at him with a profound, passionate, and at the same time searching look. She was studying his face to make up for the time she had not seen him. She was, every time she saw him, making the picture of him in her imagination (incomparably superior, impossible in reality) fit with him as he really was.

Then he had thought himself unhappy, but happiness was before him; now he felt that the best happiness was already left behind.

He looked at her as a man looks at a faded flower he has gathered, with difficulty recognizing in it the beauty for which he picked and ruined it. And in spite of this he felt that then, when his love was stronger, he could, if he had greatly wished it, have torn that love out of his heart; but now, when as at that moment it seemed to him he felt no love for her, he knew that what bound him to her could not be broken.

“It is old; but do you know, when you grasp this fully, then somehow everything becomes of no consequence. When you understand that you will die to-morrow, if not to-day, and nothing will be left, then everything is so unimportant!

(...) no difference is less easily overcome than the difference of opinion about semi-abstract questions, (...)

“What is horrible in a trouble of this kind is that one cannot, as in any other—in loss, in death—bear one’s trouble in peace, but that one must act,” said he, as though guessing her thought. “One must get out of the humiliating position in which one is placed; one can’t live á trois.”

“One may save any one who does not want to be ruined; but if the whole nature is so corrupt, so depraved, that ruin itself seems to her salvation, what’s to be done?”

“What do they want to argue for? No one ever convinces any one, you know.” “Yes; that’s true,” said Levin; “it generally happens that one argues warmly simply because one can’t make out what one’s opponent wants to prove.”

(...) he had firmly decided in his heart; but he could not tear out of his heart his regret at the loss of her love, he could not erase from his memory those moments of happiness that he had so little prized at the time, and that haunted him in all their charm.

“Doubt is natural to the weakness of mankind,” (...)

“There’s some sense in this custom of saying good-bye to bachelor life,” said Sergey Ivanovitch. “However happy you may be, you must regret your freedom.”

In reality, those who in Vronsky’s opinion had the “proper” view had no sort of view at all, but behaved in general as well-bred persons do behave in regard to all the complex and insoluble problems with which life is encompassed on all sides; they behaved with propriety, avoiding allusions and unpleasant questions. They assumed an air of fully comprehending the import and force of the situation, of accepting and even approving of it, but of considering it superfluous and uncalled for to put all this into words.

The thought of the harm caused to her husband aroused in her a feeling like repulsion, and akin to what a drowning man might feel who has shaken off another man clinging to him. That man did drown. It was an evil action, of course, but it was the sole means of escape, and better not to brood over these fearful facts.

Never did he work with such fervor and success as when things went ill with him, (...)

And the most experienced and adroit painter could not by mere mechanical facility paint anything if the lines of the subject were not revealed to him first.

He knew that Vronsky could not be prevented from amusing himself with painting; he knew that he and all dilettanti had a perfect right to paint what they liked, but it was distasteful to him. A man could not be prevented from making himself a big wax doll, and kissing it. But if the man were to come with the doll and sit before a man in love, and begin caressing his doll as the lover caressed the woman he loved, it would be distasteful to the lover. Just such a distasteful sensation was what Mihailov felt at the sight of Vronsky’s painting: he felt it both ludicrous and irritating, both pitiable and offensive.

At every step he experienced what a man would experience who, after admiring the smooth, happy course of a little boat on a lake, should get himself into that little boat. He saw that it was not all sitting still, floating smoothly; that one had to think too, not for an instant to forget where one was floating; and that there was water under one, and that one must row; and that his unaccustomed hands would be sore; and that it was only to look at it that was easy; but that doing it, though very delightful, was very difficult.

But it is hard for anyone who is dissatisfied not to blame some one else, and especially the person nearest of all to him, for the ground of his dissatisfaction

“He’s just one of those people of whom they say they’re not for this world.”

He was nine years old; he was a child; but he knew his own soul, it was precious to him, he guarded it as the eyelid guards the eye, and without the key of love he let no one into his soul.

One may sit for several hours at a stretch with one’s legs crossed in the same position, if one knows that there’s nothing to prevent one’s changing one’s position; but if a man knows that he must remain sitting so with crossed legs, then cramps come on, the legs begin to twitch and to strain towards the spot to which one would like to draw them.

She had prepared everything but the words she should say to her son. Often as she had dreamed of it, she could never think of anything.

(...) and slightly turning, was saying something to Yashvin. The setting of her head on her handsome, broad shoulders, and the restrained excitement and brilliance of her eyes and her whole face reminded him of her just as he had seen her at the ball in Moscow. But he felt utterly different towards her beauty now. In his feeling for her now there was no element of mystery, and so her beauty, though it attracted him even more intensely than before, gave him now a sense of injury.

“You think he can’t fall in love,” said Kitty, translating into her own language. “It’s not so much that he can’t fall in love,” Levin said, smiling, “but he has not the weakness necessary.... I’ve always envied him, and even now, when I’m so happy, I still envy him.” “You envy him for not being able to fall in love?” “I envy him for being better than I,” said Levin. “He does not live for himself. His whole life is subordinated to his duty. And that’s why he can be calm and contented.”

“I don’t think anything,” she said, “but I always loved you, and if one loves any one, one loves the whole person, just as they are and not as one would like them to be....”

“It’s our Russian apathy,” said Vronsky, pouring water from an iced decanter into a delicate glass on a high stem; “we’ve no sense of the duties our privileges impose upon us, and so we refuse to recognize these duties.”

But her chief thought was still of herself—how far she was dear to Vronsky, how far she could make up to him for all he had given up. Vronsky appreciated this desire not only to please, but to serve him, which had become the sole aim of her existence, but at the same time he wearied of the loving snares in which she tried to hold him fast. As time went on, and he saw himself more and more often held fast in these snares, he had an ever-growing desire, not so much to escape from them, as to try whether they hindered his freedom.

“But you say it’s an institution that’s served its time.” “That it may be, but still it ought to be treated a little more respectfully. Snetkov, now ... We may be of use, or we may not, but we’re the growth of a thousand years. If we’re laying out a garden, planning one before the house, you know, and there you’ve a tree that’s stood for centuries in the very spot... Old and gnarled it may be, and yet you don’t cut down the old fellow to make room for the flowerbeds, but lay out your beds so as to take advantage of the tree. You won’t grow him again in a year,” (...)

But, as he told her, the more he did nothing, the less time he had to do anything.

“If you look for perfection, you will never be satisfied. And it’s true, as papa says,—that when we were brought up there was one extreme—we were kept in the basement, while our parents lived in the best rooms; now it’s just the other way—the parents are in the wash-house, while the children are in the best rooms. Parents now are not expected to live at all, but to exist altogether for their children.” “Well, what if they like it better?”

(...) felt a great weariness from the fruitless strain on his attention.

Anna had come from behind the treillage to meet him, and Levin saw in the dim light of the study the very woman of the portrait, in a dark blue shot gown, not in the same position nor with the same expression, but with the same perfection of beauty which the artist had caught in the portrait. She was less dazzling in reality, but, on the other hand, there was something fresh and seductive in the living woman which was not in the portrait.

Anna talked not merely naturally and cleverly, but cleverly and carelessly, attaching no value to her own ideas and giving great weight to the ideas of the person she was talking to.

If you knew how I feel on the brink of calamity at this instant, how afraid I am of myself!”

There are no conditions to which a man cannot become used, especially if he sees that all around him are living in the same way.

Yet that grief and this joy were alike outside all the ordinary conditions of life; they were loopholes, as it were, in that ordinary life through which there came glimpses of something sublime. And in the contemplation of this sublime something the soul was exalted to inconceivable heights of which it had before had no conception, while reason lagged behind, unable to keep up with it.

But as he looked at her, he saw again that help was impossible, and he was filled with terror and prayed: “Lord, have mercy on us, and help us!” And as time went on, both these conditions became more intense; the calmer he became away from her, completely forgetting her, the more agonizing became both her sufferings and his feeling of helplessness before them. He jumped up, would have liked to run away, but ran to her. Sometimes, when again and again she called upon him, he blamed her; but seeing her patient, smiling face, and hearing the words, “I am worrying you,” he threw the blame on God; but thinking of God, at once he fell to beseeching God to forgive him and have mercy.

In order to carry through any undertaking in family life, there must necessarily be either complete division between the husband and wife, or loving agreement. When the relations of a couple are vacillating and neither one thing nor the other, no sort of enterprise can be undertaken.

She was jealous not of any particular woman but of the decrease of his love. Not having got an object for her jealousy, she was on the lookout for it. At the slightest hint she transferred her jealousy from one object to another.

This irritated Anna. She saw in this a contemptuous reference to her occupations. And she bethought her of a phrase to pay him back for the pain he had given her. “I don’t expect you to understand me, my feelings, as any one who loved me might, but simple delicacy I did expect,” she said.

For an instant she had a clear vision of what she was doing, and was horrified at how she had fallen away from her resolution. But even though she knew it was her own ruin, she could not restrain herself, could not keep herself from proving to him that he was wrong, could not give way to him.

“(...) What’s so awful is that one can’t tear up the past by its roots. One can’t tear it out, but one can hide one’s memory of it. And I’ll hide it.”

“He thought he knew me. Well, he knows me as well as any one in the world knows me. I don’t know myself.”

“We all want what is sweet and nice. If not sweetmeats, then a dirty ice.”

“Yes, of what Yashvin says, the struggle for existence and hatred is the one thing that holds men together. No, it’s a useless journey you’re making,” she said, mentally addressing a party in a coach and four, evidently going for an excursion into the country. “And the dog you’re taking with you will be no help to you. You can’t get away from yourselves.”

Then she thought that life might still be happy, and how miserably she loved and hated him, and how fearfully her heart was beating.

“Yes, I’m very much worried, and that’s what reason was given me for, to escape; so then one must escape: why not put out the light when there’s nothing more to look at, when it’s sickening to look at it all? But how?”

“There’s no one I should less dislike seeing than you,” said Vronsky. “Excuse me; and there’s nothing in life for me to like.”

And all at once a different pain, not an ache, but an inner trouble, that set his whole being in anguish, made him for an instant forget his toothache.

And he tried to think of her as she was when he met her the first time, at a railway-station too, mysterious, exquisite, loving, seeking and giving happiness, and not cruelly revengeful as he remembered her on that last moment. He tried to recall his best moments with her, but those moments were poisoned forever. He could only think of her as triumphant, successful in her menace of a wholly useless remorse never to be effaced. He lost all consciousness of toothache, and his face worked with sobs.

Levin felt suddenly like a man who has changed his warm fur cloak for a muslin garment, and going for the first time into the frost is immediately convinced, not by reason, but by his whole nature that he is as good as naked, and that he must infallibly perish miserably.

(...) something had happened that seemed extraordinary to him. He, an unbeliever, had fallen into praying, and at the moment he prayed, he believed. But that moment had passed, and he could not make his state of mind at that moment fit into the rest of his life. He could not admit that at that moment he knew the truth, and that now he was wrong; for as soon as he began thinking calmly about it, it all fell to pieces. He could not admit that he was mistaken then, for his spiritual condition then was precious to him, and to admit that it was a proof of weakness would have been to desecrate those moments. He was miserably divided against himself, and strained all his spiritual forces to the utmost to escape from this condition.

“Without knowing what I am and why I am here, life’s impossible; and that I can’t know, and so I can’t live,” Levin said to himself. “In infinite time, in infinite matter, in infinite space, is formed a bubble-organism, and that bubble lasts a while and bursts, and that bubble is Me.” It was an agonizing error, but it was the sole logical result of ages of human thought in that direction. This was the ultimate belief on which all the systems elaborated by human thought in almost all their ramifications rested. It was the prevalent conviction, and of all other explanations Levin had unconsciously, not knowing when or how, chosen it, as any way the clearest, and made it his own. But it was not merely a falsehood, it was the cruel jeer of some wicked power, some evil, hateful power, to whom one could not submit. He must escape from this power. And the means of escape every man had in his own hands. He had but to cut short this dependence on evil. And there was one means—death.

Whether he were acting rightly or wrongly he did not know, and far from trying to prove that he was, nowadays he avoided all thought or talk about it. Reasoning had brought him to doubt, and prevented him from seeing what he ought to do and what he ought not. When he did not think, but simply lived, he was continually aware of the presence of an infallible judge in his soul, determining which of two possible courses of action was the better and which was the worse, and as soon as he did not act rightly, he was at once aware of it. So he lived, not knowing and not seeing any chance of knowing what he was and what he was living for, and harassed at this lack of knowledge to such a point that he was afraid of suicide, and yet firmly laying down his own individual definite path in life.

“Then she recovered, but to-day or to-morrow or in ten years she won’t; they’ll bury her, and nothing will be left either of her or of that smart girl in the red jacket, who with that skilful, soft action shakes the ears out of their husks. They’ll bury her and this piebald horse, and very soon too,”

“Yes, all the newspapers do say the same thing,” said the prince. “That’s true. But so it is the same thing that all the frogs croak before a storm. One can hear nothing for them.”

“The people make sacrifices and are ready to make sacrifices for their soul, but not for murder,”

“Were you very much frightened?” she said. “So was I too, but I feel it more now that it’s over. (...)”

“What is it? you’re not worried about anything?” she said, looking intently at his face in the starlight. But she could not have seen his face if a flash of lightning had not hidden the stars and revealed it. In that flash she saw his face distinctly, and seeing him calm and happy, she smiled at him.

“No, I’d better not speak of it,” he thought, when she had gone in before him. “It is a secret for me alone, of vital importance for me, and not to be put into words. “This new feeling has not changed me, has not made me happy and enlightened all of a sudden, as I had dreamed, just like the feeling for my child. There was no surprise in this either. Faith—or not faith—I don’t know what it is—but this feeling has come just as imperceptibly through suffering, and has taken firm root in my soul. “I shall go on in the same way, losing my temper with Ivan the coachman, falling into angry discussions, expressing my opinions tactlessly; there will be still the same wall between the holy of holies of my soul and other people, even my wife; I shall still go on scolding her for my own terror, and being remorseful for it; I shall still be as unable to understand with my reason why I pray, and I shall still go on praying; but my life now, my whole life apart from anything that can happen to me, every minute of it is no more meaningless, as it was before, but it has the positive meaning of goodness, which I have the power to put into it.”

#Anna karenina #Leo tolstoy #classic fiction #fiction #quotes #literature

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thebestworstidea · 5 years

Text

Illogical Fear

(Read on Ao3)

It was a fairly quiet morning in the Mindscape; and they’d settled down to a ‘together breakfast’ which wasn’t a frequent thing. Their differences in approach to sleep schedules meant the Sides were very rarely awake together in the morning. And when they were, it was just as likely that they’d all be awake while Thomas was still asleep, which led to a sleepy, friendly atmosphere, like they were cozily tucked up in bed still while sitting at the table.

Logan seemed a little grouchy, but that was just something that happened sometimes. The wincing however was new.

“Lo? You okay there?” Patton asked.

“I’m fine.” Logan said and went to take another bite of his toast only to wince again. He tried his coffee with a similar effect.

“Yeah, Fine. I can tell.” Virgil rolled his eyes, attention having been grabbed from his phone.

“Very well, I seem to have a toothache.” Logan admitted. “But it’s fine, it will go away in a bit.”

“Logan.” Patton said sternly. “That’s a pretty lackluster approach to the tooth of the matter.”

“Yeah, Lo. I’d think you’d be all over dental health.”

“I brush twice daily as recommended.”

“If you didn’t we’d have to exchange some words, my dear nerd, starting with hypocrisy.”

“You even used the word correctly, Roman, I’m very impressed.” Logan said dryly. “But I am careful about my dental care.”

“Obviously not careful enough.” Roman came around the table and grabbed a hold of Logan’s face, producing another wince, and a flashlight from thin air. “Say Ahh”

“I will naaaaa-” Roman forced Logan’s mouth open further and peered in with aid of the light.

“Logan, I can see a cavity there.” Roman admonished. “You need to see a dentist.”

“That’s ridiculous.” he reclaimed his face and swatted the flashlight away. “We’re anthropromofications of abstract mental constructs, I do not need to see a dentist. I do not have a cavity, and there is nothing wrong.”

The fridge shut, and they all jumped.

“Wow.” Said Deceit, his arms full of fruit that he’d taken from the fridge. “That is an awful lot of words to only have one true thing said, Logan. I commend you.”

“What are you doing here?” Virgil demanded. Deceit plucked an apple from the array cradled against his chest, and tossed it up and down.

“Shopping?”

“Stealing.”

“Isn’t all property theft?” Deceit asked, running a gloved thumb over the apple’s skin. “Your produce is better.” Virgil gave and awkward shrug of acknowledgement. “But I was attracted by lies, as I am, and just to lay this out straight-”

Roman snorted automatically.

“Logan has been lying to himself about this for a while.”

“I have not!” Logan protested uselessly. From under his cape, Deceit produced a jar of jam, and Logan surged to his feet. “Now we are going to have a problem, Deceit, that is mi-” Logan’s tirade was cut off by a spoonful of jam being shoved in his mouth, and he winced harder, hand going up to his cheek. Deceit snorted.

“And with that, my work here is never done.” he sunk out, fruit, jam jar and all.

Mouth covered with one hand, Logan swallowed heavily, swishing his mouth around to try and get the preserves away from the sore tooth. Virgil took pity on him and handed him a glass of water.

“I … might… have a toothache.” Logan admitted. “But it should repair itself after Thomas’s next checkup, and at any rate, where would I even see a dentist.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s one in the figment suburb.” Patton said thoughtfully.

“Oh no.” Logan looked upset, and pulled up a planner. “When is Thomas’s next cleaning scheduled, perhaps I can wait…”

“What’s wrong with the suburb?” Patton demanded. “It’s a lovely place!”

“It’s full of nonsense!”

“Well too bad, we’re going right after breakfast, mister.” Patton said sternly.

Logan, as might be inferred, did not like the figment suburb. While it held a common border with the imagination, it was a repository of random characters and repeating ideas. It was less unpredictable than the imagination, and somehow that made it worse. The imagination was more honest, somehow with it’s usual fantasy aesthetic. It didn’t pretend to be the real world, which the figment suburb did, however badly.

“I do not need you all to accompany me.” Logan mumbled petulantly.

“You want Deceit to show up again?” Virgil asked, slumping along behind him, headphones half on.

“I cannot help but feel that you would abandon this quest without your party, my friend.” Roman had his hands tucked behind his head, walking beside Virgil. He waved as a group of four walked past in the opposite direction, single file for no discernible reason and bearing weapons more suited for the imagination. Only the one in front, a Thomas face, waved back, the others didn’t seem to react at all.

“I think you’ve convinced me I don’t have an option at this point.” Logan tried to reason, and pull his hand free from Patton’s. Patton squeezed harder, and kept walking. They passed by a field, a strip mall, a few fast food places of burry logo, an eerily accurate CVS and a likewise accurate Starbucks, where Sleep was dosing off at an outside table. Clearly, Thomas had not awoken yet.

“Oh there it is! I thought I remembered it was on the way to the dog park.” There was a cheerful sign adorned with a depiction of an only moderately accurate tooth, outside a low white-painted building. “I think I can handle it from here, so why don’t you two go off and have fun okay?” Patton smiled at Roman and Virgil, who shrugged at each other but waited until Logan and Patton were at the door before abandoning their honor guard.

Logan tried not to feel trapped as they entered the reception area. This was fine. This was normal, there was nothing wrong with going to the dentist. Patton spoke to the receptionist, and Logan pretended he wasn’t contemplating backing out the door. A glance out the glass door, however, showed that Virgil had, instead of leaving, taken a seat on the low retaining wall, now with both headphones on. He gave Logan a vague salute and an all too knowing smirk. Logan returned to standing next to Patton.

“Good news!” Patton told him brightly. “They just had a cancellation, and the doctor can see you right away!”

“How convenient.” Logan said stiffly. They sat in the waiting area, and Logan perused the magazines, trying to find something to distract himself.

“Good morning!” Said a high, cheerful voice. Logan looked up to see a short, slender blond man whose face was not pulled from any of Thomas’s friends, wearing a doctor’s coat and a vest that was cheerfully patterned with cartoon teeth.

“Of course.” Logan grimaced, jaw hurting. “Any dentist in Thomas’s head was bound to be a pediatric one.”

“Oh no-” the dentist shook his head. “I’m a general dental practitioner, I just like this vest. It was a present. I wore it today because I felt the day was going to include something special, and here you are. I’m Doctor Hermey Noel.” he offered his hand to shake and Logan took it reluctantly. “I hear you have a toothache. Shall we have a look?”

Logan was not particularly convinced at Dr. Noel’s manner that he wasn’t a pediatric practitioner.

“Really, I think that everyone is overreacting-”

“Then having a look won’t hurt anything will it?” he gestured to the doorway.

“Patton,” Logan glanced back at the other side who was… putting together a children’s puzzle.

“It’s okay, Lo. You’ll be fine.” He said encouragingly.

“I’m afraid of doctors Pat.” he burst out. There was a brief awkward silence, and Logan felt the need to explain. “There is so much we don't know about the human body and the professional guidelines are loose and depend entirely on personal moral codes, often populated with bullies and money seekers, the education process is archaic and barbaric and does not encourage the acquisition of new information as it is learned, not to mention an arrogance which leads to lack of communication with the patient!”

The second awkward silence dragged a bit longer.

“Well, that’s a bit of a handful.” Dr. Noel said cheerfully. “And a bunch of perfectly rational concerns.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Logan grated. “I am aware my fear is illogical.”

“That was fairly well thought out for an illogical fear.” he offered gently “Would it help if your friend came with you?”

It was ridiculously reassuring to be able to see Patton out of the corner of his eye. After the initial examination Dr. Noel just sat down to talk to him.

“Well you have excellent dental hygiene, Logan.”

“Clearly not.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. There are lots of reasons people can get cavities. Genetics and stress are more often to blame than any kind of failure to take proper care of yourself. In fact, over brushing can be almost as much of a problem as under brushing. However,” he looked at Logan seriously. “Your particular situation aside, ignoring a problem is very much inappropriate. It really does need taking care of for your own health and comfort. I’m sure you’re more than aware of the potential problems it can lead to?”

Logan sighed.

“Yes, I am aware.”

“You’re doing fine.” the dentist assured him. “And you only seem to have the one, so it won’t take long at all.”

Logan still groaned.

It didn’t take long, and Patton didn’t even mention that Logan held his hand while it happened.

Virgil unfolded himself and got to his feet as they came down the path to the sidewalk.

“Everything fine now?”

Logan nodded.

“Cool. Princy texted me, he’s bothering Sleep over at Starbucks and says we should join them there.”

“Sounds nice!” Patton grinned, and started contemplating what kind of sweet to get. Virgil nudged Logan gently as they started, barely a knocking of their shoulders together while they walked.

“Fears don’t have to be logical.”

Logan glared at him.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” He smirked. “I mean, c’mon, you were reeking of it, I’m surprised no one else did.”

Logan contemplated this, looked at Patton’s back as he was pulling ahead of them, then carefully brought one hand up between himself and Virgil, displaying what he felt about that statement. Virgil choked on a stifled laugh.

“Love you too.” he sniggered.

“Is there a love fest back here I’m missing out on?” Patton asked, turning around to walk backwards.

“Nah, you’re included.” Virgil said, hands in his hoodie pockets, then he leapt forward and grabbed Patton’s hands to keep him upright as he tripped over a curb and nearly fell over. “Watch where you’re walking, sheesh!”

Patton kept ahold of Virgil’s hand, and grabbed up Logan’s again, swinging them both as he walked in between them.

“Aw, but then I couldn’t do this!”

Shaking his head, Virgil looked around as they backtracked, but he didn’t pull his hand loose. Patton leaned up against Logan’s shoulder.

“And don’t think I didn’t see that, mister.”

Logan made a small noise of surprise.

“I’ve got Dad-ly premonition, Logan. It’s like Santa, only with more barbeques. I’ve got eyes the back of my hoodie.”

Logan just sighed.

Roman had taken over the table they’d seen Sleep at earlier, and was brushing his coat off with furious flicks of his fingers, removing brownish stains.

“Ah, welcome back!” He waved a hand beating the last couple of stains off his sleeve in puffs like dust. “Everything go well?”

Logan nodded.

“You just missed Remy, he said Thomas was finally waking up, so he had to jet.”

Logan looked quietly appalled, making a show of checking his watch.

“Well sometimes you just have to rest to shine your brightest.” Roman smiled. “So, tell me how did it go?”

Logan shrugged.

“What, are you suddenly at a loss for words?”

Logan furiously signed at Roman who snorted.

“And miss this opportunity? Never!”

“Now, Roman, don’t tease. It can’t be any fun to have your face half numb from novacaine.”

“I’m sure it’s not that big a deal. Logan’s just being Logan, in his stuffy, self important way.”

“Wow, when Prance-a-lot thinks you’re self important…” Virgil started, but then stopped himself and headed inside instead “I’ll go grab us some drinks, the usual good for everybody?”

“Well I’m glad you think that, Roman.” Patton said cheerfully. “Since while we were there I made appointments for everyone!”

“What.”

“I mean, if it snuck up on Logan, who knows what might be going on with the rest of us!”

“Patton.” Roman whined piteously.

Logan smiled, not caring that it was a little droopy in that moment. That almost made the ordeal worth it.

#Willow is writing #Sanders Sides Fic #TS Logan #TS Patton #TS Roman #TS Virgil #TS Deceit #moraly neutral Deceit #dentists

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t4tbruharvey · 4 years

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5, 12, 14, 21, 34, and 36 to end it!!

TY OWL YOU CONTINUE TO BE A REAL ONE

5 - top five formative books?

hmm i think I'm gonna have to go with what was for the longest time my list of favourites. please mind in bear that some of these have questionable themes/authors and I'm always mostly in it for the prose.

1. the great gatsby (prose, characterisation, yearning)2. the book thief (prose, introduction, something that happened while i was reading it that i don’t want to get into)3. how to kill a mockingbird (intro again)4. the picture of dorian gray (prose and plot and that bit where it breaks off and describes jewels for like five pages)5. ....*deep sigh* it was jekyll and hyde. i really really liked and still like the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde. the descriptions of the settings and the main character (UTTERSON THE MC IS NOT JEKYLL) is very well done. he has nuance and you have to be told that on the first page and yet he does prove it. stannable.(bonus 6. the secret of platform 13 bc I'm OBSESSED with the idea of a distinct supernatural world interacting with ours through specific passageways)

12 - which story of yours do you like best? why?

i think at the moment it’s magic salem 100%. i think there are elements of other wips i’m very attached to –– style with venice fairytale, characterisation with toaster and sleeby peebles, plot with reese’s pieces and setting with the 20s one –– but magic salem has the fun of creating my own world and rules within it, as well as having a brilliant cast that i can apply to pretty much any situation (it got me back into sophie ellis bextor, not that i ever was into her) AND there are werewolves in it.

14 - what does it take for you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?)

okay so here’s the thing. i’m still not ready? i’ve done a ‘dump doc’ which is just songs and ideas and world building for magic salem, i’ve done a bit of research for venice fairytale and bough many many postcards with pictures of venice on them (the aesthetic is great so i’m killing two birds), i have a basic plot for sleepy peebles and reese’s pieces which is more than i can say for the rest of them, and i’ve done literally everything possible for toaster. i have a massive colour-coded folder on my computer with aesthetics for all the main cast and clothes and stuff, and many side aus, but no plot? so maybe that’s it.

so, to answer the question, research and outline mostly. but playlists add some fun to it.

21 - what aspect of your writing are you most proud of?

absolutely extended metaphors and lexical fields. they’re the most fun thing to write, possibly ever. also character development. i know all of my characters inside fucking out, even background ones.

34 - unpopular writing thoughts/opinions?

if your grammar’s off i’ll be immediately taken out of the story, unless it’s a continued stylistic choice. like, maybe that’s mean, but it applies to me too: if i make a typo and DON’T find it before showing someone i’ll want to hurl myself into the void.

also cliches about light are so good!! they’re so fun!! i don’t CARE if they’re overused i WANT to know how the light is streaming in through the curtains of our YA protagonist’s room!!!!

36 - post a snippet

aaaa you know i will!!!! i love spoiling my own stuff!!! also do you know how long it took to find this. sigh.

The toddler is still downstairs, crying. Good. If it’s crying, it’s awake.

Mal considers bringing soap, but it’ll probably leak, and anyway. Space. So they get toothbrushes and toothpaste because Ophelia once said that toothache can make you go blind, and while they don’t really believe that, they don’t want to risk it. And then another thing Ophelia said fights its way through their other thoughts, shoving itself to the forefront of their mind.

Ophelia, cooing and awwing over the toddler, bouncing it on her lap and saying thank you for the tea Mrs Jani and letting the toddler pull her hair.

“It’s a nightmare,” Mal had said as soon as their mum left the room. “It’s always up in the middle of the night, screaming and shit.”

“He’s lovely.” The toddler had its hands in Lia’s hair, trying to pull it out of the french plaits she’d put it in. “Aren’t you? Yes you are!”

“You’re using the pet voice.”

Ophelia ignored that and went back to bouncing the toddler. “If he bothers you that much when you have to watch him, just give him some toys to play with. I do it all the time with my cousins.”

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starsaboveyouadoption · 4 years

Text

love comes in layers - 1 year, 4 lessons

Originally, I had intended this entry as a reflection on my first 100 days as an adoptive parent. At the time of writing, as a bank of entries ready to start Stars Above You with, it felt an apt starting place. With Covid and Lockdown and the haze of limbo in between, the months rolled on, and before I knew it, we made it to an even bigger milestone – one year together as an adoptive family, or as we call it, our first “Family Day”.

Post-adoption, it’s amazing how you enter a strange dual-edged time warp, where time simultaneously seems to be racing away from you and you can’t believe how far you’ve come as a family, whilst also being able to recall some of the really raw moments early on as if they were yesterday. With that in mind, I thought I’d revisit the half-finished draft of this post, and inject some “1 year on” lessons into it as I went along. So what follows are my reflections on adoption 1 year on, for whatever they may be worth to you as someone starting out (in which case I hope they serve as a heads up to what you may go on to feel/experience yourself, though every road is different), or as someone walking along the same path as me now, still a relatively newly formed family with a lot of miles still to travel, but at least some of the road behind.

________________________________________________________________

It was around the time of the juncture that I mentioned, as I was lying down on the floor of Little Star’s nursery waiting the obligatory 5 minutes after they’d nodded off for their morning nap to make my ninja-esque escape out of the small crack in the door left ajar, that a realisation struck. We’d survived our first 100 days of adoptive parenting. Somebody else looking at the scene may have read this as a parenting fail. At 16 months, Little Star still needed the reassurance of me lying on the floor next to their crib, playing the same lullaby tune on our white noise machine that we’d been dependent on since only a few weeks after they came home, while they fell asleep. They still needed (up until pretty recently) a dummy to soothe them, a specific comfort blanket made by my Mum given to them in introductions to snuggle up to, lots of quite prolonged winding down time ahead of going upstairs, and for me to wait at least 5 minutes, if not longer, before attempting my escape lest they wake up again, scream their head off and refuse to go back down, leaving a very grumpy toddler (and Mummy) for the rest of the day.

But to us (and especially to me), this was an absolute win. We were no longer having to rock endlessly to sleep, dependent on TV programmes for Little Star to understand it was sleep time. We were no longer spending the first 20 minutes of what would usually be a 45 minute nap anxiously hovering over the monitor to check if they were going to jolt awake any minute and hear that angry battle cry, or getting through umpteen bottles of Calpol in our guesses as to whether their restlessness was linked to toothache, tummy pain, reflux, or just general toddler stubbornness and FOMO. We were finally (finally) able to put Little Star to sleep through a short series of little rituals that worked for them, taking far less out of our down time than before – able to put them down in the cot to (semi) self soothe without too much fuss, and at last able to sleep most nights and enjoy most nap breaks without the constant feeling of anxiety and exhaustion from second guessing what might happen next. In short, we’d found a system that was working for us.

I thought back to the immediate fortnight after Little Star moved in, probably some of the toughest days of my life. The moments of joy and awe at having this little bundle sleeping upstairs on good nights felt like winning the lottery, but for those first weeks and months, more nights than not were spent feeling drained from a whole host of pressures – trying to “read” Little Star (but, if babies don’t come with a manual, trying to read your adoptive baby’s cues when you’ve known them for a matter of days or weeks feels like trying to interpret hieroglyphics). Trying to “keep up” with the Mummy world’s expectations of what Little Star “should” be doing at their age (you know exactly what I’m talking about I’m sure). Trying to build up some semblance of a routine amidst the chaos. Trying to mourn our old lives (even though Little Star was so wanted). Trying to be the parents we’d told ourselves (and others) we’d be. And everything in between. Trying to be perfect.

If someone asked me the overarching word I would use to describe our first month at home with Little Star, I would either say “mind-blowing” (in all the right ways), but also, without a doubt, “isolating”. The loneliness was palpable. We’ve talked about this in a previous blog but as a reminder, in adoption, the general wisdom is that when you bring your child home, you need a period of several weeks to establish yourselves as a family, and for your child to settle before meeting any visitors, even close family. This is referred to as “cocooning” and is a vital step of the moving in process (I can now see how important this was with hindsight). However, with all of the benefits this brings for bonding as a family unit, it does rob you of the opportunity that most new parents get of seeing a friendly face amongst the stress, being able to accept a helping hand in their care when days get rough, and maintaining perspective. You feel (and pretty much are) living in a bubble, and while usually this bubble actually only lasts a few weeks, at the time it feels so intense. And to top it all off, I put myself under so much pressure. Pressure that I can now see in retrospect I had no business putting myself under. So for those of you considering adoption, or maybe especially those of you who may be in the period leading up to meeting or bringing your child home, for what it’s worth, this is my learning from our first 100 days (or 1 year!)…

Let go of conventional parenting wisdom

We had this drilled into us repeatedly throughout our assessment, but somehow, it never really sticks. When you’re new to being a parent, and in our case going in “cold” to a toddler with an established personality, who wasn’t carried by you, hasn’t spent the first year of their life growing up in your home environment, doesn’t know how to read you nor you to read them, and hasn’t had the same stability, security or opportunities as other children to start them off in life (not to mention an added dollop of trauma, grief and loss) – I can tell you now that most of what you read in baby magazines and online articles, how your friends and relatives parent their babies, what the health visitor, GP, or especially bloody Mumsnet says about what your baby “should” be doing by now, categorically will not apply (at least for some time). Many adoptive parents come up against the myth (which we will explore soon!) that if they adopt a baby who is relatively young or from birth, that child will not be affected by their adoption and will largely be “normal” – and thus should you notice any differences these are all in your head as an over-protective earth Mum type. I’m here to tell you that any child development or adoption expert will confirm that the evidence suggests this is absolutely not the case and even babies adopted from birth will already have had experiences, traumas and risks associated with their early and in-utero development that mean conventional parenting wisdom will often not apply.

In those early months, and maybe for much longer than that, give yourself a break. Of course, it’s important to identify if your child is not meeting extremely crucial developmental milestones that may indicate additional needs or support requirements. But please do not get yourself wound up about any of the following as I did:

· Whether your child can self-soothe to sleep. This is in my experience of the most dominant narratives within Western parenting advice. That at a mere 4 months old or so, your baby should be capable of settling themselves to sleep with no help from you, and that if you do need to help them, you are setting them up for a life of stunted development, and “making a rod for your own back”. Notwithstanding the rant I could go on about my feelings on this for any baby, for adoptive parents specifically I would really warn against absorbing too much of this messaging. As my intro alluded to, my partner and I were at our wits’ end at times trying to help our elder baby learn how to self-soothe better to sleep, and it was causing us some problems, but we got there in the end, and crucially, the biggest problem of all that we stressed about was that we “shouldn’t” be doing this and that. A lot of the time we realised if we were honest that the things it took to get Little Star to settle to sleep weren’t usually a big deal for us but we were hyper aware of social expectations around it and started tying ourselves in knots to push them before they were ready to be capable of sleeping the way many Western birth children do. Because we were worried what people might think. Which actually as it happened, was largely unfounded as mostly people are too concerned about their own parenting neurosis to contribute to yours, and your loved ones won’t be taking anywhere near as much interest in it as you are. There was the odd comment here and there from certain quarters but nothing I couldn’t usually put down to well-meaning, if misplaced and slightly unsolicited, advice. My take on it is – it is far more important in those early days and weeks to provide your child with some continuity as they ease from their foster placement to your home, than to try to keep up with the Joneses on this one. However, a caveat to this is if it causing you and/or your partner problems, then of course your wellbeing is a priority and it absolutely makes sense to try what you can to make things easier on yourself. Sometimes easier means trying something new. For us, a lot of the time, easier meant keeping to what was familiar for Little Star, and only making very gradual incremental changes over a longer period of time. Something I’ll always remember is our social worker saying to us at one particularly neurotic check in, “you don’t see many 5-year olds needing to be rocked to sleep at night. So, rest assured, Little Star will get there in their own time”. This is a very common issue for adoptive babies, and every adoptive parent I’ve spoken to on this subject has agreed - throw the “rulebook” out the window, and do what works for your child and your family. Any extra soothing time is extra bonding opportunities as far as we are concerned.

· What they’re eating and how they’re eating it. As it happens, we are fortunate that by and large, Little Star is not a fussy eater, with a good appetite, and mostly, will eat what’s put in front of them so we manage to maintain a relatively healthy diet. However, they, like many toddlers, have gone through times of fussiness, food refusal, screaming at the highchair, throwing their food at the cat, and spitting everything out. Many adoptive parents will say that they haven’t always been super on board with the food their little one was fed in foster care, and they would have chosen to do things differently if they’d had their baby from birth, but that by the time they’ve met their child, their eating habits are quite established, and it’s been hard to move them on to a rainbow of 10 a day when they’re refusing everything but chicken nuggets (especially older children!). The main message I’ve picked up from more seasoned adopters in this area is – don’t sweat the small stuff (at least for now). There will come a day you might want to step up those gradual changes I talked about earlier, but usually the more immediate and important emotional need is to offer your child comforting familiarity, a sense of security about food, and not inadvertently create any anxieties around meal times, especially when you are trying to establish meal times as a family bonding opportunity. For older adopted children who may have lived in their birth homes before being in foster care, food can be a very common area for anxiety. Some may have experienced not knowing where their next meal is coming from or food being removed as inappropriate punishment, and sometimes overfeeding is a factor in neglect/abuse (we hadn’t realised this until we did our prep training). Therefore, it is very common for adopted children to develop insecurities about food, hoard or steal food, or develop anxiety about there being enough to go round. This isn’t exclusive to those who have grown up in their birth family’s care – sometimes even the knowledge of poverty in their life history is enough for some children to develop unhealthy attachments. We don’t believe this to be an issue for our Little Star, but many adopters have shared their experiences with this, and the general consensus seems to be, not to make food a battleground, to do what gets you through and to not force major changes upon your child within the first 5 minutes.

Now, what we did have is some commentary about Little Star having not been able to feed themself with a spoon at a slightly older age than the “norm”, having been still used to some “baby food” when they came home, and still taking quite a few bottles at an age where they would probably be expected to have dropped them. These sound like trivial things but when you are continually met with surprise that they are still on the bottle, or haven’t practiced some of their motor skills yet, it can be hard not to feel defensive or worried. The bottle thing really got to me for a while – quite a few well-meaning people questioned why we weren’t changing this, or why we still give Little Star a night time bottle, or why they had it in their crib to get to sleep. It’s taken a lot of blocking this stuff out and trying to stay true to our instincts but thankfully we’ve persevered with what worked for us. And lo and behold, Little Star started feeding themselves one day – with a little bit of practice and praise, they’re doing just fine!

· Walking, talking and other milestones. Should you have reason to believe/know your child has formal development delay, then of course this is not applicable. However outside of this, do try not to worry if your child isn’t as early a blossomer as other children you know. Often adopted children, even those without specific additional needs, can be slightly delayed in starting these things, mostly because they’ve had a level of disruption in their first year(s) which other children usually don’t. Even with all the best encouragement and intentions of foster parents, if a child has had a number of moves, shared their home with other foster children, or even has been in the process of being prepared for their move to you at a crucial time in “typical” development, they may not have had the opportunity to practice key skills as often. Little Star was on the later side of walking – they’d been cruising for ages but our foster parents shared that they’d hung back on encouraging them as they were due to move in with us imminently and wanted us to experience this milestone which we thought was thoughtful of them. It’s worth remembering that for even the loveliest foster parents in the world, they are often balancing the needs of several children within the same home, and with the best will in the world, won’t always be able to provide the intensity of “coaching” around these things as a parent would focusing solely on their one child. Personally, we were bowled over by how conscientious our foster family were in nurturing Little Star’s abilities, but certainly there were things that they just took a little longer to do, because of the impact of transitions. If a child is trying to get used to a whole new life, their little brain may not be able to focus on everything all at once. It’s also quite possible that foster parents will parent differently to how you might choose to – may naturally encourage or not particularly focus on certain aspects of development that you might see as important, and vice versa. I wish I’d been kinder to myself about these things – trust me, it’ll happen in time.

Your child may not be the “same” child you meet in introductions.

Recently I was watching the movie Instant Family and laughing out loud, relating to the moment that the previously smug adoptive parents realise that their well-behaved brood are in their “honeymoon phase” and hell on earth is waiting to be unleashed! So…one consistent thing I have heard almost every adoptive parent I know speak about is that they have been surprised by how differently their child behaved, or presented, once home a little while. This is particularly poignant for older children, but certainly there are some truths with babies. In the adoption community we talk about the “honeymoon phase” and are warned to see this coming on our preparation course (though of course you never really do!)

Little Star came across as a very placid, easy-going baby during introductions with their foster family over the course of a week. They appeared to be a very good sleeper, very adaptable to changes in routine, and quite happy-go-lucky. We also sighed a huge breath of relief when they fell asleep perfectly on the first few nights – maybe we were so in tune with our baby that we had seamlessly transitioned them to their new life…? Fast forward 1 week, not quite so. Little Star was having episodes of waking up screaming for 2 hours at night, refusing naps and/or food, and acting cranky for what felt like endless hours. None of the sleep cues we were told about and actually tried successfully in introductions were working, we had no idea how to soothe Little Star when they became distressed, and it felt like an enigma to work out what they wanted. We had some really low moments in those first few weeks, and if you’re not prepared for that happening, it can hit you like a train. I will also add that a year on as Little Star has grown to an older toddler, we have had multiple sleep regressions where even when we have established key routines, these have then been undone, and to this day Little Star finds it very difficult to self soothe, and still reflects the description of them as a younger baby as a “fractious cryer”. The depressing truth, unfortunately, is that we have yet to find anything that “works”, if they do wake. If there was one aspect of their behaviour that I would see as affected by in-utero development, it would be this.

The first few days were something akin I suppose to those first few days with any new baby. You are so in awe of this new bundle of joy, and they perhaps excited about the novelty of their new surroundings, that you can get lulled into a false sense of security – and so when the inevitable hits you, you can feel like a failure. I’m here to tell you that this will happen at some point, but please try not to beat yourself up, or assume you are useless parents!

When you think about it, it’s actually entirely logical that your child would behave differently. If they’re older, perhaps they’re testing boundaries to see how far they can push you before you’ll give up on them like other adults in their life? Adopted children have left everything they’ve come to know behind. Familiar sights, smells, sounds, routines. The bond they’ve created with their foster family, all those little day to day things that make them feel safe and secure. This point really hit home to me when I tried to imagine, having had Little Star home for nearly 6 months, somebody else now coming along, taking them back to their house and “starting again” with everything. I couldn’t even imagine what they would go through.

Trauma and loss are so integral to the adoption journey, and your child will exhibit signs of this at some stage in those early days. For Little Star, they went from being a champion sleeper at the drop of a hat, to am anxious, screaming baby who was inconsolable at times, and who didn’t appear to like us very much at others. This was so different to our experience with them in our first week that I think we went into shock, and this can be the time when relationships are really tested. I remember endlessly questioning if I’d made a huge mistake, genuinely believing I couldn’t do it, planning my days hour to hour to get myself through, and sitting sobbing in front of Little Star’s highchair on those dark days with this knot of anxiety in my belly that I didn’t think would ever go away. For me, looking back, knowing what I know now, I would have sought help and talked to people about how I was feeling a lot sooner. I did reach out to a few close family members, but I was so worried about what people would think and say if I admitted I was struggling that I didn’t ask for as much help as I needed at the time. I imagined that I would be met with “what did you expect?” and feel shamed, so I largely said nothing. This is where it doesn’t always help that adoption can be quite romanticised. A lot of well-meaning people comment on how beautiful it all is, how “lucky” your little one is (more of that another time!!), and try to make you feel better with basically saying how “normal” certain behaviours are for babies/children of their age. But there’s nothing normal about being plonked into those behaviours cold, at an age where you child has already developed a personality of their own, and when you have no experience of how babies work, or more importantly much sense of how this baby works! On top of which you are being expected to practically isolate in your home for 2 weeks which is not natural when most people have new babies. You can feel like there’s some invisible parenting manual out there that everyone else is reading and you’ve missed in the post.

Needless to say, these times fade away as your child grows to build attachments with you, and your confidence will increase, I promise you, to the point where you’ll struggle to remember in the future how you ever felt that way. But even though it all seems like a foggy dream now, I know that I did feel that way, and it was really awful at the time. Please know you are not alone. Reach out for support, talk to your support network that you’ll have spent so much time articulating during your assessment (they focus on support networks for a reason!), and don’t be afraid to talk to your social worker for help – everyone is willing you to succeed. And one last thing, don’t try to be “perfect”. You don’t have to pretend every day with your child has been bliss because of a feeling of debt to the universe for this finally happening for you. You can admit you’re struggling, and still be an awesome parent.

Skip the parenting Olympics

I think this point applies equally to biological parents, but perhaps feels more poignant to adoptive parents who may, as I did, be struggling with other layers of complication which can make feelings of guilt more pointed.

When I first became a Mum, I felt really lonely. Although most of my friends actually do have children, many of them don’t live in immediate proximity, many of their children were quite a bit younger or older than Little Star at the time, and on top of that, I was cocooning with Little Star for the first month or so, so couldn’t really have seen people in person. I then had a couple of good months of meet ups where I was gradually introducing Little Star to friends and family, before Covid struck, and lockdown put a halt on any plans to start integrating them into my wider circle and get into any sense of normality with babysitting, play dates, etc. I have one friend who is also an adoptive parent with roughly the same timeline as me who has been an absolute Godsend throughout and who I was texting regularly (as I was with some other friends) but I really felt like a fish out of water in the parenting world.

On the suggestion of a colleague of my partner’s, I joined a few apps for meeting Mum friends in the local area, and I started to make a few online connections with local /online peer groups of other adoptive and biological parents. I also follow a few accounts and hashtags on Instagram I thought might help me feel I was in some company. While in many ways, this has been a positive experience and provided me with much needed peer support for times when I really needed reassurance, positivity and a forum to ask all the questions I had about raising a baby, there have also been times it’s left me feeling woefully inadequate. I always knew that there was pressure on new parents, but it wasn’t until I entered the world of #mumsofinstagram, that I realised how much frankly, bullshit, there is out there in the stratosphere. I now roll my eyes at carefully curated and filtered photos of perfection, but it’s taken (and still takes) work to recognise that my parenting is, as is another saying in the adoption world, “good enough”. So, I now consider it my civic duty to inform you if no-one else has, that to be a good enough parent, your child does not need:

· To be a yoga maestro/baby Mozart/be fluent in baby sign/to have mastered phonics by 12 months

· To have had a cake smash photoshoot, custom-made balloon arch or 100-person party for their first birthday

· To be kitted out in matching pyjamas in a whole-family photoshoot for Christmas

· To be on a daily rota of classes, groups, and Mum and baby Zoom sessions to be making the most of their potential

· The latest in the most recent trend for baby toys and accessories, especially Sophie the bloody giraffe, or £1000 10-part baby travel system from John Lewis

· To join you in an 18-photo montage on Instagram with matching Mum/Dad-and-me outfit in a carefully choreographed palette of neutral pastels

And you do not need to:

· Be eating breakfasts of runny yolked #eggporn washed down with an oat-matcha latte in a Scandinavian mug next to a roaring fire to be a #wintermummy or be making the most of your #metime

· Be wearing a fresh face of makeup and working off the cocooning weight with buggy runs to not have “lost yourself”

· Sacrifice your every waking moment to filling every second of your child’s free time with active play

· Set yourself up to be the sole foundation of your child’s happiness for them to grow up as secure, well-rounded individuals

One thing I’m grateful for (if that’s the right term) from lockdown is that just when I was starting to feel this pressure, the ability to take part in some of these presumed rights of passage was taken away, and in turn, I managed to recognise these things for largely what they are – passing trends and fads that will be replaced with new ones over and over, as part of the persistent narrative of the time about what it means to “give all” to your child. I did grieve and still feel slightly sad about, the loss of being able to socialise Little Star in the same way I may have chosen to without these circumstances but I’ve noticed that there was an unexpected opportunity for plenty of low-key bonding, attachment and gelling as a family unit that we may not have made room for in a parallel world.

Love comes in layers

And finally, I just want to end on a note that I’ll expand on far more in a future post. One of the most counter-intuitive and mind-bending things about adoption is that the typical narrative about how you are “supposed” to feel about your child may well not apply, and for good reasons. And then if you’re not careful, you can end up in an unhelpful spiral of guilt at the time you least need to be bogged down by that.

Think about meeting your partner, or when you first formed one of your close friendships. Did you fall in love with that person instantly, or did you take time to get to know them, grow affection, build intimacy and share life experiences together which became your glue? With exceptions, I would guess that the latter is far more likely. I think this is a flaw in how we as a society talk about our relationships with babies and children, not least even for biological parents, but my feeling is this is a last taboo as a society we are not yet ready to break openly.

I would wager that a huge chunk of parents don’t necessarily feel the immediate rush of unconditional love on meeting their baby or child that we are programmed to believe they do. Because to admit otherwise is a bit of a taboo in our society, and depends upon a whole host of other social issues such as post-natal depression and new parent pressures being discussed in a more open and emotionally vulnerable way, this white lie becomes a self-perpetuating social expectation. With adoption, this pressure can manifest itself particularly pointedly sometimes, because of the added layers of feelings of “less than” that can arise (and sometimes be exacerbated by) the process, and the shame attached to admitting things aren’t rosy from the get-go when outwardly you have wanted this for so long. We can feel we “owe” our child, who may have already been through traumatising experiences and loss, that immediate depth of feeling.

This is where it’s important to remember that it’s not a dichotomy – you don’t either love your child to the depths of the ocean or feel nothing for them. And struggling with new parenthood doesn’t always even equate to post-natal depression. I suspect that there is a whole spectrum of feeling as a new Mum or Dad that allows for all sorts of scenarios. Many new adopters will tell you that they felt a strong affection, and a fierce protective instinct on first bringing their child home, and a deep caring, but not necessarily true “love” for some while afterwards. And just in case nobody else tells you this, I’m here to tell you, that is normal, and that is okay. I would say my “love” for Little Star kicked in after about a month, but some will tell you it took significantly longer than that, and it doesn’t bear any reflection on how well you are caring for your child. Love just takes time.

If I did it all again, there are some things even within the adoption community I would take with a pinch of salt. Some people who I had come across via online forums or WhatsApp groups were painting a very rosy picture of life as ab adoptive parent that I felt to be inauthentic, but it didn’t help me to feel less affected by it when I was in my early days, worrying I wasn’t feeling what I “should” be. If you come across this, my advice would be to turn your focus inward to your family, your child, and your wellbeing. Adoptive parents are not immune to the Instagram filter of parenthood, and like any other human, they make mistakes and can be as guilty of misrepresentation as anyone else.

Some adoptive parents are able to identify something that kick started that feeling for them. Times like the first time their child was ill, or really needed them, or when they had to advocate for their rights, or were frightened of losing them in the ensuing legal processes, were moments of clarity for them where they realised how far their feelings had come. It’s all individual and it’s all okay. There is a saying with adoptive parenting that sometimes you have to “act as if”. For me, this meant acting “as if” in ways such as how I displayed physical affection, eye contact, care and advocacy despite not always feeling totally “there yet” and that at times, these things could feel a little unnatural or even, dare I say it, forced. The outcome being that despite some internal wobbles, what your child receives and knows is still warmth, attention and affection in the bucketloads. You will get there, and sooner than you know, you won’t need to be acting “as if” at all.

And so, I hope this blog is of some assurance to a few people out there. I certainly don’t know it all, and would be lying if I said I embody all of these principles, or remember all of these things every day, but they’ve held me in good stead for the past year, and I pass them on to you, with every hope they’ll help you on your journey.

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