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/ by Dr Margaret Aranda /

One of the most wondrous and marvelous events in a lifetime is being a mother.
Bringing home your first, very own newborn is anything but calm.
No need for a  “Mom” or “Newborn” or a “Parent”
– The entire world goes about, not making logical sense.
When my mom had my sisters and brother,
I remember she went to the hospital
To actually have the baby.
She disappeared.

This dependent tiny being is dropped off by the stork,

entering your table just like a fork.

~Dr Margaret Aranda
Age 4:
Age 1. When the Stork Delivers. When I was 4, I actually pondered…

But wait!

The Stork takes the Baby to the Uhmmm…. Hospital? What?

…how this could be?

…wondering simultaneously:

Then … Wait!

Why do we have to go to the hospital to bring home the babee?

Did the stork take the wrong fork, like a dork?

(I was only 4)

How do they trust a dork stork to deliver babees if he can’t take it to its own parents?

How? How could that be true? No, something’s wrong with the stork story.

“Is it ok for people to make this kind of mistake?

… with a real babee?


~Dr Margaret Aranda

I’m so confused!

Tepidly and distinctly, I so much recall leaving the hospital, a new mom rolling down that hall. The wheelchair braced my arms so the infant of my charms was held tight to me.
Like a wall.
Moments turned into days, days into years, both ways joys and tears.
One innocent morning, all my visions of fears culminated in abrupt mourning as my ears were filled with screams that were never in my dreams.
I had just polished my nails.
Age 4: Image 2. The Pink Nails Poised to Derail. Something was happening, and it wasn’t good.
My breast milk was going to start to leaking uncontrollable milk for the love of the newborn that she used to be.
Reflexively, my body reacted to her screaming as if she was four months old, not four years bold. The “mother” in me longed to run to her skin, to hold her within.
I needed to feel her skin:skin contact so my brain could release endogenous endorphins, satiate my body exactly like morphine.

The ‘Mommy:Daughter Bond’

Personal brand of a pond

Filled relevant content

Keep my smile, content

And kitty-corner to that

Nothing fulfills gap

If lost to mishap.

So cherish

Don’t perish

The pond.

~ Dr Margaret Aranda

The dreaded wails made my forehead pale.

~Dr Margaret Aranda
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sobs and screams came
Behind the door shame
I ran to the sterile white
Tall with madness spite
My hand flew check it again.

Age 4:     Image 3. The Great Wall of a Locked Door. It separated us like never before.

Kneel on the carpet outside
Forage brain coax pillar aside
Second stork hoax
So need to coax
“Get us out of this situation.”
It seemed so simple to instruct her through the lock unlocking, so my voice was talking.

I saw my tongue was a key to set her free.

But my hands were sweating and I was fretting.

Wailing like she was dying, my hands were stickily crying as I searched for the right words to say. 

“Don’t panic!”
I said, with my mouth by the doorknob, squishing my lips in the tiny airspace therein.
Her reply, “Waaa! MooOoooMmyyYYYY!”

I said, “Use your head!”

~Dr Margaret Aranda
Nothing. She was dead.

“I’m sure she’s dead.”


~Dr Margaret Aranda
Then, despite all, the screams arose from the still pose.
And another stage was uncaged:

” Level II Crying: Wails.”

Wails hurt your heart from the start.

~Dr Margaret Aranda

Worse than screams,

Imagine how that can seem.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wails hurt your heart from the start.

The primal scream in a bad dream,

The alley dog lost in the fog.

Sucking you in, they pin

Your neck to your chin. 

Then, to my great chagrin:


“Level III Crying: Dread.”

Dread heats your eardrums with no beat. 


~Dr Margaret Aranda
The “Mo-mmy!”
Turned from the inside
…to the outside

“I NEED you!”  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The grizzly bear was there

While you are picking your pear,

And you shouldn’t move or run,

Or surely you’ll be done.

Believe me, something is really just so wrong.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I cried,  “Don’t panic! Use your head!”

Finally, finally, finally,

When we were both so spent that it hurt to be breathless,

She grew less restless.

This is the grand transition, the point of juxtaposition.

The reality of knowing that you don’t know.

~Dr Margaret Aranda

The purpose in asking for help while tasking

Needless shrieks moments gasping

Reaching up in the air

Because you suddenly dare

The mother hand is going to lift you out of the mire.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At Level III Dread,

She went outside her own head,

Meeting me up on top

Of the rock in her sock.


Oh my!


The time was finally here!

Get Excited ok!

It’s ok to get Excited!

She’s calm!


On the ground

I calmed down.

I told her to put her fingers on that thingie to unlock the lock.


It had to turn ‘sideways’ instead of ‘up and down.’

I felt so stupid

Explaining this

To a 4-year old

Who should only know bliss. 

~Dr Margaret Aranda

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Age 4:

Image 4. The Puzzle to Unfold.  How was she to know the way to go? I …


The door opened.

~Dr Margaret Aranda
She flew heap my arms
Along nature’s harms
Recovered from the blast
That now was simply past
I wasn’t recovered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sunshine happy room
Hit face mixed doom
Sweaty heaving
Face bereaving
Covered in a shroud of a crowd.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Pattering battering
Inside a chattering
No more cloud
She was proud!

“You did it!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I couldn’t help but to shout,
“YOU did it!”
“YOU figured it out!”
Each whimpering shake continued to consume every breath at stake
Now they rose and stood tall from the pillar of fear’s impending fall
That had rendered her so alone
To be rendered inert as a stone.




Now, her fears were gone.
Banished under the spooky beds of ghosts and now into the torn shreds of dark shadows, her fears were forever jailed.

Self-esteem was re-railed.

~Dr Margaret Aranda
Her fears were forever jailed
Unsight led to being bailed
Find the bridge
Hide the singe
She knew how to overcome.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~