Aplysia

In another life, I was a student. Not a good one but I can remember the odd lecture. Here I feel I should add that if you want to know any accurate facts about the topics mentioned here, I would look elsewhere. My memory is not what it once was.

Today I remembered a poor little creature called Aplysia. I think he is a type of sea slug if my memory serves me well. Hmmm . . I've just googled him and apparently my friend belongs to the genus of sea hares. Sea hares? I have to admit that I didn't know that there were such creatures.

When something nasty, like an electric shock, happens to Aplysia he withdraws his gills by reflex. Sadly for him, he was used in a frequently cited experiment to illustrate classical conditioning, where one stimulus is substituted for another. By pairing something nasty with a light touch to Aplysia's siphon you can, eventually, work the poor little guy into such a state that a light touch to the siphon will cause the gill withdrawal reflex. No nasty necessary, just the light touch to the siphon.

I remember feeling a bit sorry for him at the time. A nervous wreck of an animal, reduced to quivering jelly everytime something harmless brushes his siphon.

I feel even more sorry for the innocent little sea hare now.
I feel as though I have been used in a classical conditioning experiment myself. Seemingly innocent stimuli now trigger whatever the human equivalent of Aplysia's gill withdrawal reflex might be.

Anne Geddes photographs - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Pictures of smiling healthy babies on nappy packets, infant formula tins, baby wipes - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Pregnant women (particularly heavily pregnant women) - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Double buggies, which must first be approached and checked due to my peculiar inability not to do so, but when found to contain two children - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Discussions of how painful labour is, how many stretchmarks you have, how you need to get rid of that last bit of pesky baby weight - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Babycentre poll questions 'if you could choose to have twins, would you?' answer yes or no - argh, withdraw, withdraw

How many children do you have then? - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Is she your eldest? - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Wouldn't you love to have twins next time? (yup, someone has actually said this to me in all innocence) - argh, withdraw, withdraw

How old is she? - argh, withdraw, withdraw

How much did she weigh? - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Newspaper stories about 'miracle babies' - argh, withdraw, withdraw

Twins, especially twin girls - argh, withdraw, withdraw

So I can only conclude that this experience has indeed turned me into a sea slug. Or a sea hare. Whatever the differentiating factor might be. Slug? Hare? Whatever. A quivering mass of jelly which can be scared into pulling its gills in by a touch to the siphon.

None of these things are done to get at me, to hurt me, put there on purpose to rub my nose in what I can never have. Both my daughters. The experience of giving birth at term. Bonding with my baby. That first skin to skin contact. Nursing my baby when my milk came in.

These things, in and of themselves, are not painful. They are not the electric shock. The electric shock came sometime in August last year. These are just the reminders, the light touches to the siphon. The things that were formerly either a source of pleasure or indifference. Now paired up with the most painful experience that I have ever been through.

All of these things are just other people, living their lives. I probably cause someone else to 'withdraw their gills' as I waltz through the world with Jessica. I look as though I haven't a care in the world.

I just wish I hadn't been through that conditioning process. Anything associated with babies, pregnancy or birth has a slightly sickening, jarring association for me now.
I know what you're thinking. You don't need to be coy with me. Yes. Even that.
Even Jessica's own nappies, toys, little outfits. Not Jessica herself. I don't think so anyhow. I hope not. But when I look at her sleeping in her cot, I can't help but think of the other cot. Dismantled. In the attic.

And I used to take so much pleasure in babies, those chubby little limbs, those gummy smiles, in imagining my own babies, buying little gifts for other people's babies, celebrating pregnancies or new babies (it was a bit of a joke in the office where I work how excited I used to get whenever there was a pregnancy announcement).
I can never have that back.