A Birth Story

The story of my son's birth is a memory that I hold on to like that of the feeling you get when you finish a good book or when a dear friend or loved one says or does something so wonderful your heart bursts. Sometimes at night, when I am lying in bed anxious and cannot sleep, I think about the morning of Liam's arrival and I just feel at peace. Birth, in all of its complexities, is one of the most sacred times in our lives. Prior to having a child, you are only someone's daughter, seeing the world through the eyes of that which has been protected. Upon giving birth, and I like to think we give birth to not just a baby but ourselves as mothers, we come to the realization that we are now the protector, the lioness shielding her cub. I also began to look at others differently; everyone has a mother, we were all part of someone's birth process. A reminder that we are all individually, universally part of something bigger.

In the spirit of this universality, I am honored to have been asked by my friends at Dar a Luz Network to create We Birth, a blog celebrating the amazing finale of the unpredictable journey we as women embark on during pregnancy. This blog space acknowledges the commitment and value of a woman throughout the birth process and encourages women with all birth experiences to share their memories of bringing new life into the world. Our blog's motto is "Every Woman, Every Birth, Every Story" and I hope that inclusive spirit creates a community that is inviting and welcoming to women as mothers. We are changed by birth, in so many ways. Sharing that story can be a wonderfully cathartic way of honoring those changes. I encourage you all to visit and share your story, or stories as the case may be.

The Path of a Wannabe Buddha Mom

I just finished a fabulous book, Buddha Mom- The Path of Mindful Mothering by Jacqueline Kramer which has been on my bookshelf since last summer and completing it made me wonder why I hadn't read it sooner. I felt connected to the pages in the same way I did when I first read Momma Zen early in the mothering days. This book seemed to be more applicable to where I am now, and so many of the authors experiences resonated with me as evidenced by the transparent pink lines that now permanently mark my "a-ha" moments among the pages.

As wonderful as this book is, and I encourage all moms of all faiths to read it, that is not what this is about. Mindful mothering, being in the present moment, these are what I hope my daily path leads me to and books such as these inspire that path. If I am honest, however, it is in the moment that I feel I truly fail when the path gets bumpy. It is the practical verses the spiritual if you will. "It is the attachment to desire that causes suffering, the past and the future are not real, living in the past and the future is living in fantasy; living now is living in reality"- these are all quotes from Buddha Mom, quotes I highlighted. What if the now is not where I want to be, especially when changing a diaper is more like wrestling a crocodile. In the quiet moments of reading about spiritual enlightenment as it applies to motherhood as an experience, I can find the space within me that opens up and invites the lesson in like the welcome advice of a dear friend. When my son throws his food on the floor, AGAIN, it is much more difficult to be present in the moment instead of spiraling down the '"will this ever end" thought process. And while I am in the throws of honesty, it is nothing short of torture, at times, walking at a toddler's pace. I realize these moments do not last forever, but some days they sure feel like it. Maybe part of the struggle for me is that most moments do not feel like my own, but somehow borrowed from the routine my son and I have unwittingly constructed to map out the pattern of our days. He appears to be a creature of habit, perhaps a maternal trait. It is difficult to live in the moment when each moment seems to have an unrelenting effect on the next.

So where does this leave me on my path? Lost, detoured, going in the wrong direction entirely? If "to practice means to make mistakes, make corrections, try again, make mistakes, make corrections, and try again, over and over" then I suppose the path I am on is the correct one.

A journal, a lesson, a gift

A few days ago I found the journal a friend gave me when Liam was born. It started out as the "log journal", the place where a new mom frantically logs every action of her precious babe in an effort to validate her crazed attempts at making sure she is doing everything "right". Early entries read something like 10:15- 20 min right side and 10:30 dirty/wet. However, skipping ahead a few pages I found evidence that those early logs were just the beginning stages of my desperate need to control things and further desperation of my seemingly failure to do so. There was a darkness that loomed in those pages, a reminder of the deep cave I found myself in while trying to hold on to an illusion of what I thought motherhood should be and who I should be in response to that. I did find some validation as well, though not necessarily in the incessant logging, but in the struggles I overcame and the rewards that come from living through difficult times. I seemed to have learned from some of my perceived mistakes.

The entry that struck a cord with me was one I wrote a little over a year ago following a coffee date with my dear friend, Steph, who at the time recognized I had been falling slowly into a very scary place. Our conversation inspired a previous post which you could read here, if you choose. One of the things she said to me was "forgive yourself, you will never be the mother you thought you would be, but allow yourself to be the mother you are so you can channel the best of who she is." This resonated so much with my experience at the time and continues to ring true as my experience changes. I have been thinking a lot about birth lately and the transformation that takes place for women during that sacred time. When a child is born, so is his mother, be it a first or fifth birth. With that birth, however, comes the death of the woman you were before necessitating a grieving process for the loss. I have said before that I am certainly not the woman I was before I became a mom but in so many ways, my life is richer and more fulfilling. It is the attachment to previous expectations and desires that has created suffering for me. Giving yourself permission to be who you are and grieving the loss of who you were can be a powerful gift. Life's journey is not a linear one, enjoy the unexpected curves.

Freedom

Cue the George Michael music here..... It started snowing Friday morning and didn't stop until late Saturday. By snowing, I mean SNOWING, with wind, whiteouts, the whole mix of bludgeoning winter weather that incapacitates you and mother nature reigns. Sort of puts your control issues into perspective, I guess. The thing is, I have been attempting to check my need to control things for, oh, about two years now. From right about the time my labor started, quite unexpectedly, three weeks early and I was SO unprepared in a "oh my god the nursery isn't ready" kind of way, through yesterday when we had to cancel our plans (PLANS!) to go out for the evening because of heaping mounds of snow and no accessible childcare. I was angry, depressed at the unfairness of it all, especially when about 4:30 the sun stared shining as if to say "it's okay, come out and play!" oblivious to the foot of snow on the ground. The fact is, we could have went ahead with our plans to play, if it were just the two of us, but therein lies the above reference. Cue the George Michael.

The lack of freedom has been the most difficult part of mother(parent)hood and one that is somewhat difficult to articulate at the risk of sounding like you do not love, enjoy, appreciate the amazing things a child, and only a child, can bring to your life. I would have really loved, enjoyed, appreciated what drinking a martini with friends while listening to great music could have bought to my life last night, however. So many things are beyond our control in life, but when you become a parent, the control factor is not only out of your reach, but in someone else's hands. You are controlled by things that which you cannot control, thus the lack of personal freedom. This, like many other things, is an opportunity to remind ourselves of the benefits of being present in the moment and appreciating what is, instead of what was or could be. But sometimes, I just want a martini, a glimpse of what was, to remind me of the woman I used to be and how she became the mother I am. I want the snow to stop falling. I want to go out and play.

Sing it, George.

Wonderment, revisited

Wednesday is trash day. Another chore to be completed- taking it out, gathering the recycling, making sure not to step in dog droppings getting the can to the curb. Oh, and the ever present inquiry "did you take out the trash?'. Again, an adult's perspective, one that is heaped in responsibility and task management.

My boy is in love with the trash truck (and strangely trash was one of his first words). He hears it from another room and comes running, "truck, truck, truck!" Every Wednesday morning about 8:45 you can find us in front of our window watching and pointing and giggling as the trash guy does his own collecting and gathering, fully aware of the entranced eyes of his audience. Nothing else takes place during trash time, it is only a time to watch, in wonderment, as a seemingly mundane task is completed by the distracted adults around him. Today the trash guys honked as they pulled away in their big, amazing vehicle. My son turned to me with eyes as big as his smile- "Truck!"