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Rebirth: What We Don’t Say

A new self did emerge. This is what women do not tell each other. I want to say it here: You will die when you become a mother and it will hurt and it will be confusing and you will be someone you never imagined and then, you will be reborn. Truthfully, I have never wanted to be the woman I was before I had children. I loved that woman and I loved that life but I don’t want it again. My daughters have made me more daring, more human, more compassionate. Their births have brought me closer to the earth and they have helped me pare my life down to its essentials. Writing, quick prayers, good food, a few close friends, many deep breaths, love, plants, dancing, music, teaching-these are the ingredients of my/this new self. I waited for this new self in the dark, in the bittersweet water of letting go, in the heavy heartbeat of learning to be a mother, against the isolation, I grew and emerged laughing and crying and here I am, sisters and brothers. Rebirth: What We Don’t Say | The Sage Mama.

One of my favorite songs to listen to after my miscarriage experiences had a refrain of, “it is dark, dark, dark inside.” While previously not connecting to “darkness” as a place of growth or healing, during these experiences I learned that it is in the darkness that new things take root and grow.

As I’ve shared before, one of my favorite quotes about postpartum comes from Naomi Wolf, A mother is not born when a baby is born; a mother is forged, made. The quote I shared above from this “Rebirth” article touches that place in me—that motherhood results in a total life overhaul and a new, enriched identity. (This article also made me think of first postpartum journey which I wrote about here.)

In a previous post, I wrote the following about the idea that giving birth and mothering leaves permanent marks:

I’ve also come to realize that despite the many amazing and wonderful, profound and magical things about birth, the experience of giving birth is very likely to take some kind of toll on a woman—whether her body, mind, or emotions. There is usually some type of “price” to be paid for each and every birth and sometimes the price is very high. This is, I guess, what qualifies, birth as such an intense, initiatory rite for women. It is most definitely a transformative event and transformation does not usually come without some degree of challenge. Sometimes to be triumphed over or overcome, but something that also leaves permanent marks. Sometimes those marks are literal and sometimes they are emotional and sometimes they are truly beautiful, but we all earn some of them, somewhere along the line. And, I also think that by glossing over the marks, the figurative or literal scars birth can leave on us, and talking about only the “sunny side” we can deny or hide the full impact of our journeys.

During Pam England’s presentation about birth stories at the ICAN conference, she said that the place “where you were the most wounded—the place where the meat was chewed off your bones, becomes the seat of your most powerful medicine and the place where you can reach someone where no one else can.

(I’m experimenting with PressThis for this short post)

Picking Stuff

This is purely a personal post to share pictures of my babies picking stuff 🙂 We have a tradition of taking a picture of each sitting in the grass picking grass, leaves, and flowers. When writing about Lann’s birthday and choosing pictures to use, I came across his “picking stuff” pictures and I wanted to share the series!

Lann picking stuff

Zander picking stuff

Alaina picking stuff

Can you tell they’re related? I think they all have nice-shaped little heads. Different hair configurations, but same color. I love how Alaina’s hands were capturing in enthusiastic picking motion 🙂 Putting these pictures together gives me a weird, nostalgic sense of collapsed time.

Eightmonthababy!

I don’t know if it simply because we’ve said she is the last baby, or, because she is such an awesome baby, or what, but Alaina makes me want to never not have a baby. Maybe I have a different perspective this time around because my oldest is now 8, so I can see right in front of me every day how quickly it goes by—or, maybe I am literally able to enjoy her more completely than I was with the older two. The adjustment to motherhood with the first was emotionally complicated. The adjustment to having two was easier, but the juggling of the needs of an infant and an almost-three year old, made some of the days very difficult to cope with. Life isn’t perfect now and I do get maxed out feeling (talk to me on a day when she doesn’t nap as I’ve come to expect!), but I just really, really, really like life with this baby in it! I was trying to explain it to Mark this week, saying that this is the last time anyone is ever going to love me like this. I know that might sound weird and that we think of parents as the ones having unconditional love for their babies, not vice versa, but the depth of the mother-baby attachment is extremely profound and incomparable. It is also simple and uncomplicated. I had the same depth of attachment with my other children, but I also felt more “oppressed” at times by the level of dependence and attachment. Now, I feel more aware of how short-lasting this period of intensity is and I just love how much she loves me. While we’ll always love each other deeply, right now we are a motherbaby—a single psychobiological organism and there just isn’t anything else like it.

Alaina has experienced lots of changes since my 6 month update post. She has four teeth now! (Brushes them herself before naps and at bedtime.) She crawls all over the place, mainly as a means to get to the next place where she can pull to stand. She pulls to stand on just about anything, sometimes letting go and just holding on with one hand. She can transfer between two surfaces, but does not yet “cruise.” We experiment with solid foods—she’s interested in everything, but doesn’t like many of the things she tries. I forgot what it was like to be in this stage of motherhood where I perpetually have weird substances stuck to my clothes and can never stay “clean” (or, keep her clean). Just this month she seems to have figured out how to move food around in her mouth and swallow it, vs. just tasting it and then letting it ooooze back out. She like broccoli (defrosted florets, not mushed up) and those little, too-expensive Gerber baby puffs. Still weighs about 20 pounds and fits most comfortably into size 18m clothes. She is just starting to wave and will—sometimes—say “hi” or “bye” accompanying the wave. She says “mama,” seemingly purposely and has also seemed to say, “brother” and “Baba” purposely as well. She will give high fives. She is working on clapping and on raising her arms in response to, “how big is Alaina?!”

She still does an adorable face-stroking gesture and has also added back/chest patting into her repertoire. When I pick her up or take her from someone, she gives an extra launch kick with her legs that is really cute. She will then pat me on the chest (like I pat her back). Really cute!

I really think she is my most mouthy baby. Everything goes into the mouth. She is always after my computer mouse and my phone, trying to eat them all up. I also feel like she is my quietest baby, spending more time looking and watching than talking about it. She loves to ride along checking out the world from my hip, sometimes with a solemn and contemplative expression, sometimes with leg-kicking enthusiasm. She is still a really happy and content baby—I frequently get comments about her being the, “happiest baby I’ve ever seen,” or, “she just seems to have a really pleasant temperament.” She does get bumped/bonked more often than she used to, primarily by crawling around and getting stuck under tables and things like that, and so she will cry about that. I always find myself a little startled when she cries and not so sure what to do about it (nursing usually works). She remains a night owl—preferring to stay up until around 11:30 and then waking up for the morning at around 11:00. Her hair is looking a little less thin and occasionally I think I catch a hint of curl in it, but that might just be my imagination! It still looks red outside, but then sandy inside (just like the boys). Recently she has started to “dance” when music comes on and sometimes will actually tap her foot in time with music. I think the origin of the tendency to say, “mmm” about tasty food as a lifelong habit that originates in nursing babyhood, as she usually says, “Mmmm! Mmmm! Mmmm!” when she starts nursing 🙂

She is very mama-centric recently, wanting to spend most waking time with me or held by me. I’ve been teaching three college classes this session (two in-seat) and I was offered the opportunity to do so again next session. I opted to turn down the second in-seat class and just teach one. While part of me feels like I’m turning down something that would be good for our future, after a lot of thinking and back-and-forthing, I decided it is too much to expect of Alaina, of my mom (who comes with me to watch Alaina so that she doesn’t have to be separated from me on teaching nights), and of myself. I’m handling it this session, but it has been a challenge and I’ve had several freak out moments about the demands (mainly during grading times—another of which is rapidly approaching). She is becoming more hesitant about the separation—reaching after me, that sort of thing, and above all else, I want to honor her need for me. Regarding the overall workload, I explained to my husband that most of the time everything is going great, but that the balance and my personal emotional equilibrium is very fragile. I rely on everything unfolding “perfectly” in order for me to fit everything into a day that needs to happen. If something disrupts my anticipated schedule (like early naptime wake up, or nap refusal), I go into a tailspin and feel like my life is in a terrible state, etc., etc. I’m looking forward to a break and then to only teaching one in-seat class in the fall. While I feel like I’ve been doing a great job taking care of Alaina and also doing a pretty good job as a professor, I feel like I’m not doing as good of a job as I could be with my boys or with my husband or with my friends.

Now, for a whole row of update pictures! (I do posts like this primarily for my own “memoirs,” rather than to be particularly exciting for anyone else to read!)

She spends a LOT of time in this pouch!

On the go!

Pulling up on mama!

Standing baby!

Showing toofs! (that is my hair behind her, not hers!)

Pensive pondering

My baby companion!

Look at those eyes!

Uh oh! Located a remainder of mama's protein bar and is sucking off the chocolate part...

Showing her findings!

Mama is funny!

Matching hats!

On Lann's birthday, ready for fall!

Affordable Fetal Model

Two things to know about me:

1. I love dolls.

2. I love bargains.

For quite a while, I’ve wanted a realistic baby model to use in my birth classes. My ideal model could be used both for demonstrations of fetal positioning in the pelvis and also for demo’ing newborn care and possibly breastfeeding. Most fetal models sold by CBE supply companies range from $60-150. I usually use a Bitty Baby doll to demo newborn care and breastfeeding (a third thing to know about me is that my love of bargains makes an exception when it comes to American Girl dolls. I have an embarrassing number of AG dolls and vast quantities of accessories. I’ve had this Bitty Baby for over 10 years, I didn’t buy her to use in class). In my knitted uterus, resides a cute little baby doll I bought at Target for $5. Neither of these dolls works at all for fetal positioning or with my demonstration pelvis.

Look at this cute baby!

So, imagine my delight when I found a nearly perfect model newborn at Kmart yesterday while my son was picking out his birthday presents. I named her Sasha AND, get this, she was $20. In a bonus twist, unlike 99.9% of the dolls in the store, she did not come with a bottle! (There is a bottle pictured with a different doll on the back of the box.) She did come with a little cloth diaper, a onesie, a band to cover her cord stump (yes, she seems to have one, but it could just be a dramatic “outie”!), a little outfit, a hat, and socks. Called La Newborn (nursery doll), she is made by Berenguer.

Legs and arms straightened out a little

The only drawback is she is not very flexible and so would be hard to use comfortably for things like practicing putting on diapers. Her fairly flexed permanent body position does make her absolutely ideal for use for fetal positioning and even for swaddling or babywearing practice. I originally planned to take her arms and legs off to fill with plastic pellets to add weight, but I’d don’t think I’m going to bother. While nothing near the weight of a real baby, she is made from good quality vinyl.

After looking these dolls up various places online, I’m now thinking I should have bought the remaining one or two that they had at K-Mart. They don’t seem to be widely available for the $20 price.

This morning, my older son helped me take all kinds of pictures of my new toy—I mean, teaching aid!—today (yet another of the many benefits of having an 8 year old in the house!). So, this is a photo-heavy post!

See what I mean about well flexed for fetal positioning information?!

And now my Christmas pelvis gets in on the demo…

If the demo pelvis had a coccyx joint, the baby would fit perfect through. As it is, her head does get stuck on it (good teaching moment about the importance of active positions for birthing!)

Bitty Baby Noelle and Target Baby are less than impressed with this interloper…

Alaina helps take care of baby Sasha…

For sizing purposes—while I think she appears to be the perfect, realistic size when held up to my belly as a fetal model for positioning, when held in arms, she is more the size of a preemie baby (maybe a 31 weeker or so). She is about 15 inches.

Lann wanted me to take this one—“make them guess who’s the real baby!!!”—conveniently, Alaina closed her eyes for this picture, making identification of the real baby even trickier…



Edited to add, Baby Sasha later experienced an unfortunate accident and had to be replaced. See Fetal Model Update post for pictures.

Eight is Great!

Eight years ago today, I became a mother for the first time when I gave birth to a magical baby boy. Born at sunrise on a Saturday morning, he surprised us all by weighing over 8 pounds and by crying when only his head was born! He had lots of dark hair and a tan complexion and he took to “nursies” like he was born to breastfeed. He was my highest need baby and in some ways remains the most complicated one to parent—perhaps because he is the first and so always more of an “experiment.” Now, at 8, he is getting tall and is super skinny. He is still tan, but his hair is light brown now—and out of control wild if it gets more than an inch long (and even then it is crazy—he has a double crown and a super weird, uneven hairline in front! No matter how his hair is cut, it looks like we went crazy and hacked it all off). He is losing teeth like crazy and finally has learned how to read—and, more importantly, to have a thrill of discovery about it, rather than acting like it is a chore. He has been cautious and careful since birth—at 10 months old, he would babysign the word “nervous” when scared about something and he is still likely to hang back in new situations.

Pre-pregnancy, I always envisioned myself having girls, but my Lannbaby quickly showed me that being a boymom is a great thing to be and I felt content to remain exclusively a boymom if that was my destiny.

He is amazingly creative and is constantly bubbling with ideas and projects. He draws all the time and does things like make books titled, “Impossible Things to Do in Your Own Back Yard.” He is highly verbal—always has been—and is maturing in his outlook/grasp on the world. For example, just last night Mark was telling me about wanting to buy some new exercise equipment (as I told him, there are some things in life I don’t believe in, and buying exercise equipment is one of them!). I said to Mark, “sure, fine. Go ahead and buy it. It’s totally okay with me for you to spend all our money on something that will just sit in the corner. I’m fine with it, really!” Lann was lying on the bed watching us and he said, “Gee, Mom, you are really bad at guilt tripping, aren’t you?” It cracked us up!

I’m amazed at how awesome it is to have an 8 year old and a baby at the same time. He is so much help and is a great big brother to both of his siblings. It is excellent to have someone who can stand by the cart while I use the bathroom at the store, or who can play with the baby while I take a shower, or who can carry the baby out to the carseat for me so I don’t have to make two trips. I find myself feeling completely weirded out by the fact that as his baby teeth are steadily falling out, hers are coming in. Where does the time go? It spins so fast and life just keeps rolling along, each stage so vibrant, real, all-encompassing, and normal, and yet *blink* there I am with my newborn son in my arms, feeling my heart crack wide open and my boundaries becoming stretched beyond all imagining. Feeling my way along as we are birthed into our new roles together, triumphant and tender all at the same time. Challenged beyond belief in the adjustments required to my sense of self, awed by my own ability to give and to adapt, shocked by the magnitude of the changes wrought in my life by one tiny soul. I’ve said it before and I’ve said it again, in the words of Naomi Wolf,  A mother is not born when a baby is born; a mother is forged, made. Lann was the first babysmith of my life and the forging of my new self in the flames of motherhood was, and is, a potent, powerful, intense, transformative, and irreplaceable rite of passage—body, mind, heart, and soul. Thanks, baby!

Here we are, tender and new:

Listening to a harmonica being played

Family hug

Crawling

Mohawk boy...

Peeking out!

First birthday cake!

**Blink!**

Missing teeth!

Getting ready to play laser tag for family birthday party fun!

Birthday cash this morning!

With brother and sister (here, she's trying to escape)

And, yes, I cried while I was doing this…

Being Succulent

From the The Bodacious Book of Succulence by SARK:

We are succulent with our shredded fantasies, our unread books, our misguided perfectionism, our hiding in bed eating rows of cookies, or neurotically running to and away from things. We are succulent just like this. Just the way we are NOW!….

I like the way this book emphasizes that you are succulent right NOW—you don’t have to do anything special to be it (of course, I still get the “do something and you’ll finally be wonderful” message anyway!).

I had a rough weekend in which I felt overwhelmed by to-dos and “shoulds” and was crabby and snappy at my family and then extremely hard on myself about being crabby and snappy and so on and so forth in an endless spiral of ick. I have known for a long time that I honestly think that if I just read the right book and did the RIGHT thing, I would finally be PERFECT!!!! And, it just sucks when I remember…again!…that I’m not and that it isn’t possible and that the pursuit of doing it all “right,” really ends up making me less than in many respects in the end. I also feel like all the reading I do can mute my own intuition—how can I know what I truly feel and believe, if the words of 5 dozen self-help authors are chasing around inside my brain and each making the “most sense”? (I feel similarly about parenting books—I try so hard to parent the “right” way and wonder if I’ve lost touch with my own sense of what the right way is, by always reading and trying to incorporate other people’s right ways…?) Seriously, there was so much messy should in my brain this weekend I honestly could not distinguish what I really wanted to do from the shoulds—right down to, “I should be having more fun and being a more delightful person.”

P.S. The spellcheck attempted to change, “neurotically” in the quote above to “erotically.” ;-D

Tried to get a family picture of all our succulence—and, fittingly, it turned out kind of blurry ;-D

 

Milk, Money, & Madness

In early August, I received a press email from Evenflo about their “in-law feeding frenzy” video. While I recognized they were attempting to be playful and funny, I chose not to share the video with my readers because I found several elements of it problematic. Rather than recognize the opportunity to create an internet stir over the video, I just wrote back to the company and told them, “I try not to encourage the notion of other people having a chance to feed the baby, so I do not plan to use the video myself—I would have been more pleased with it if somehow mom stood her ground and helped in-laws see that there are other ways to be involved with the baby other than by feeding it expressed milk. I don’t promote the idea that mothers need to pump, ‘just because.’” Considering what a controversy has now boiled up this week over Evenflo’s “funny” breastfeeding video, I confess I sort of feel like I missed my opportunity for a major wave of blog traffic by exposing the ad and expositing on the problems therein when I received it in August! 😉  However, when considering the controversy, I thought of some wonderful quotes I’d saved to share from the book Milk, Money, & Madness and so I’m sharing them instead.

Dia Michels is one of the co-authors of Milk, Money, and Madness and I’ve actually heard her speak twice—once in 2003 when I was pregnant with L and then in 2007 at the LLL of MO conference. I’m surprised at how thoroughly riveting a book about the “culture and politics of breastfeeding” can be and I highly recommend it to breastfeeding and women’s health activists.

In perfect response to the Evenflo video, we have this quote:

“Babies need holding, stroking, dressing, bathing, comforting, burping, and, within a short time, feeding solids. Dad can do every one of these. The desire to participate should not be confused with the need to give the baby the best of what each partner has to offer.”

I hear from people SO often that they want Daddy to be able to participate in baby care by giving the baby a bottle. There are LOTS of things that fathers can do for their babies, other than feeding—bathing, snuggling skin-to-skin, diaper changes, playing, babywearing, and just plain walking around holding the baby while mom takes care of her own needs.

And, here is an excellent quote with regard to public breastfeeding/breasts as sexual objects:

“When the attitude is taken that a woman’s breasts belong to her and no job is more important than caring for one’s young, the confusion between breastfeeding and obscenity goes away.”

And, then considering the argument that bottle feeding “liberates” women from the tyranny/restrictiveness of breastfeeding:

The liberation women need is to breastfeed free of social, medical, and employer constraints. Instead, they have been presented with the notion that liberation comes with being able to abandon breastfeeding without guilt. This ‘liberation,’ though, is an illusion representing a distorted view of what breastfeeding is, what breastfeeding does, and what both mothers and babies need after birth. [emphasis mine]

I’ve noted before that I am a systems thinker and I think this way about breastfeeding as well as many other experiences—breastfeeding occurs in a context, a context that involves a variety of “circles of support” or lack thereof. Women don’t “fail” at breastfeeding because of personal flaws, society fails breastfeeding women and their babies every day through things like minimal maternity leave, no pumping rooms in workplaces, formula advertising and “gifts” in hospitals, formula company sponsorship of research and materials for doctors, the sexualization of breasts and objectification of women’s bodies, and so on and so forth. According to the book, “…infant formula sales comprise up to 50% of the total profits of Abbott Labs, an enormous pharmaceutical concern.” And the U.S. government is the largest buyer of formula, providing it for something like 37% of babies. (I should have written that quote down too!)

I have a special interest in how women are treated postpartum and Milk, Money, and Madness has some gems to share about postpartum care as well:

An entirely different situation exists in societies where technology is emphasized. The birth process is seen from a clinical viewpoint, with obstetricians emphasizing technology. A battery of defensive practices are employed, some of which are totally irrelevant to the health of either mother or infant. Skilled technicians spend their time and the family’s money on identifying the baby’s gender and performing various stress tests. All the focus is geared toward the actual birth. After the birth, mother and baby become medically separated. The infant is relegated to the care of the pediatrician, the uterus to the obstetrician, the breast abscess to the surgeon. While the various anatomical parts are given the required care, the person who is the new mother is often left to fend for herself…All the tender loving care goes flows to the infant; the mother becomes an unpaid nursemaid. [emphasis mine]

When I do breastfeeding help with mothers, I always make sure I address the whole woman and do not  focus only on the mechanics of breastfeeding. Recently a mother told me, “I don’t know if it was your breastfeeding advice or just the encouragement that helped most, probably both.” Women need both—“technical assistance” and emotional support. Sometimes, all they need is the emotional support and they can figure out the rest with some undisturbed time with their babies. The pendulum in breastfeeding support is shifting from active, “education” based strategies, to the recognition that often the best we can do for mothers is give them time to get to know their babies. Rather than offering positioning “advice” and “breastfeeding management suggestions,” we need to give her space, stand aside, and offer encouragement as she discovers her baby and the biological dance they are hardwired to engage in. The Milk quote continues with:

This may appear to be a harsh evaluation, but it is realistic. In western society, the baby gets attention while the mother is given lectures. Pregnancy is considered an illness; once the ‘illness’ is over, interest in her wanes. Mothers in ‘civilized’ countries often have no or very little help with a new baby. Women tend to be home alone to fend for themselves and the children. They are typically isolated socially and expected to complete their usual chores, including keeping the house clean and doing the cooking and shopping, while being the sole person to care for the infant… (emphasis mine)

According to the U.S. rules and regulations governing the federal worker, the pregnancy and postdelivery period is referred to as ‘the period of incapacitation.’ This reflects the reality of the a situation that should be called ‘the period of joy.’ Historically, mothering was a group process shared by the available adults. This provided not only needed relief but also readily available advice and experience. Of the ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ child-rearing situations, it is the modern isolated western mom who is much more likely to find herself experiencing lactation failure.

I think these quotes are important because I think there is a tendency for women to look inward and blame themselves for “failing” at breastfeeding. There is also an unfortunate tendency for other mothers to also blame the mother for “failing”—she was “too lazy” or “just made an excuse,” etc. We live in a bottle feeding culture; the cards are stacked against breastfeeding from many angles–economically, socially, medically. When I hear women discussing why they couldn’t breastfeed, I don’t hear “excuses,” I hear “broken systems of support” (whether it be the epidural in the hospital that caused fluid retention and the accompanying flat nipples, the employer who won’t provide a pumping location, the husband who doesn’t want to share “his breasts,” the mother-in-law who thinks breastfeeding is perverted, or the video that promotes expressing milk so other people can feed the baby). Of course, there can actually be true “excuses” and “bad reasons” and women theoretically always have the power to choose for themselves rather than be swayed by those around them, but there is a whole lot that goes into not-breastfeeding, besides the quickest answer or what is initially apparent on the surface. As I said above, breastfeeding occurs in a context and that context is often one that DOES NOT reinforce a breastfeeding relationship. In my six years in breastfeeding support, with well over 600 helping contacts, I’ve more often thought it is a miracle that a mother manages to breastfeed, than I have wondered why she doesn’t.

For more about the relationship between birth and breastfeeding, check out my previous post: The Birth-Breastfeeding Continuum.

Check out those exclusively breastfed thighs!

The Ragged Self

Several years ago I read a book called Trees Make the Best Mobiles. Primarily geared towards first time parents of infants, it didn’t cover a lot of new ground for me, but there were a couple of good reminders in it about present, mindful parenting. I originally wrote about this on an old blog and this week the notion of the “ragged self” came back up for me again. In the book regarding time with our children, the authors write: “They offer us a chance, not only to quell past demons, but to leave behind the pressures of the day. With them, we can be our best selves: alert, vibrant, and generous—and fully alive in the present tense.” And then, with regard to children learning your behaviors: “Make sure that what your child is absorbing isn’t your ragged, frustrated, or furious self, but your best self. And when it’s not, let him know that you know, and that you’ll try harder next time.”

Unfortunately, I think I often do show my “ragged” self to my family and am NOT necessarily my best, alert and vibrant self. It isn’t a “furious” self usually, but sort of a worn out and taut self. My husband “gets” to see this side a lot—I start out the day much more vibrantly and as it passes, I become more ragged so when he gets home, all that is left for him is “scraps.” I hate that. I also feel like my mom sees my ragged self more often than I’d like—aren’t these the people that matter most? Why do “other people” get the vibrant parts?! I try to tell them sometimes that that raggedness isn’t how I am or how I feel for a lot of the day, it is just that which is only “allowed” to reveal herself in front of them.

I’ve noticed the ragged self emerges when:

  • I’m hungry
  • I’m tired
  • I have a headache (sometimes related to the above two)
  • I haven’t had my two hours

What’s this about two hours?

Well, picture that newspaper kid from the movie Better Off Dead and you’ll have how I feel about it 😉 Almost every day, my wonderful parents pick up my boys and take them to their house to visit for approximately two hours. If I play my cards right, this is also when Alaina takes her afternoon nap, which gives me two hours on my own to “get things done.” I NEED this time in order to survive—in order to keep up with the other elements of my life besides mothering. I know other mothers swoon with jealousy at the idea of having a regular two hours—they should, my parents are awesome and they are a key factor in how I’m able to “do it all.” They’re my “tribe”—the village that comes to help me grind my corn. I rely on having this time and so when I don’t get it for some reason, I become very ragged and feel like I must quit everything else (surrender). So, sometimes when I start feeling ragged and can’t put my finger on exactly why, it comes to me: “I WANT MY TWO HOURS!”

Yes, that kid’s face is exactly how my own looks when I say it!

Another minute?

From the same book quoted above, the authors write “Each time you say, ‘I need another minute to finish this…,’ you squander a moment with your child, never to be reclaimed.”

I confess, though this is another good reminder, it also annoys me. There is a little too much “romanticizing” of parenting implicit within it. I thought of all the times when I’ve said “I just need another minute to…” Hmmm. Go to the BATHROOM! Finish fixing breakfast, put the baby to sleep, help someone else go to the bathroom, talk to my husband—the love of my life… I guess each could be seen as “squandering” and I have an inner monitor in my head that lets me know that! But, get real, sometimes you really DO need another minute to “finish this” and there is no reason to get all blamey about it! (I also confess that my defensiveness here is also about the times I do say “just a minute” when it really ISN’T that important and I could drop what I’m doing to meet their needs—but is it always actual needs, or sometimes just a nonstop desire for parental entertainment?)

The entertainment committee?

In thinking about entertainment, another quote:

“Keep in mind, too, that life isn’t all entertainment—even when you’re only three…Allowing them to become bored means letting them draw on their own resources. It means trusting them to make their own fun. A child who can reach inside herself for amusement or consolation is a child who is truly plugged in.”

And a final reminder:

“What we all crave is to be seen, really seen, and through that seeing, know ourselves. We spend much of our life—in work, love, friendship, and sometimes even in therapy—trying to achieve this.”

Self-improvement

I’ve been having a ragged couple of days and have been lamenting my tendency to turn myself into one, long, relentless, failure-filled, self-improvement project. I get annoyed with myself for always wanting to be “productive” and conclude that becoming more awesomely zen-like is required aaaand! There’s another self-improvement project… 😉 Or, that I need to focus on just BE-ing (which as soon as it becomes a “pursuit” the very point is lost! That is just the kind of mental conundrum that makes me spin ruts in my brain). Anyway, yesterday morning I saw the tiny edge of a new top tooth in Alaina’s mouth and suddenly it all became clear to me why she hadn’t been napping as expected (thus not getting me my TWO HOURS!). I would have thought I’d be wise to this pattern by now—unexplained non-napping baby precipitates spiral of despair in mama involving large doses of self-criticism and conclusion that giving up all personal goals is required and then tiny tooth is revealed. Since I’ve done this exact thing with two other kids as well as with Alaina herself just last month, you’d think I’d finally get a clue!

I was trying to come up with a picture to share of a ragged self—you know, sticking up hair and crazy eyes—and instead I felt like sharing a picture of Xena instead. And, sharing these two quotes:

Be wild; that is how to clear the river.” (Clarissa Pinkola Estes)

We’re volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. New mountains form” – Ursula Le Guin

But, returning to the notion of “being seen,” I’ve decided that rather than take a complete break from blogging, I’ve instead got to let go of making long, self-analyzing, personal journal type posts. I don’t know that anyone even actually wants to read them AND they take a long time to write (and make me seem neurotic and needy. Inside my head is an intense place!). This blog didn’t start out in that vein, but as I’ve noted, it took on more of a personal journal feel when I was pregnant with Alaina and in the months following her birth. I think it is time to bring it back from that personal ramble place and just share shorter and more simple posts. I have trouble with short—this is why I don’t enjoy Twitter very much—but I also know that long posts are very unlikely to be fully read. So, this is my last navel-gazing post for some time to come (unless something is already in my drafts folder—I do have 78 drafts in there!).

I got a necklace at the ICAN conference with the image of a standing woman holding her arms up to the moon. Inscribed on the back it says, “the call of the wild is not a difficult song.

Clear the river!

 

Surrender?

Giving kisses

Instructions for the New Mother

by Andrea Potos

Mothering magazine, January/February 1998 issue

Give up your calendar and clock,
start flowing with milk time.

Hunt for the frayed scraps
and threads of your fears.
Wrap your child’s cries around
the skein of your days.

Stop racing to meet your familiar ways–
know change
will always beat you.

Lower that small fist of resistance
still struggling to rise within you–start now–
unclench your life.
———
I feel like I have spent my whole mothering journey trying to unclench my life and to surrender fully to the rhythm of life with small children. I “should” myself a lot about this actually, telling myself about various things at various points during various days, “you need to just give up. You need to surrender. You need to figure out when to quit.” To be clear, this can be about things as simple as fixing myself breakfast or as complicated as wondering if I should give up blogging. As I’ve referenced, I’ve been going through a period of internal debate about my blog and my writing and wondering if I should just stop writing for a while. I feel like I am constantly awash with blog ideas and can spend the better part of a day waiting for the opportunity to finally have a few minutes to write one. While I really love it and find it fulfilling to do, I don’t like the tickling feeling that I’m spending so much time waiting to write about my life, that I’m not actually fully living my life. And, I do not like the frustrated, blocked, squelched, and denied feeling I get when I’m not “allowed” the space in my day I feel like I need to write (see my post about “my music“). So, I’ve spent quite a bit of time moaning and groaning about how I just need to know when to quit. I also somewhat coincidentally stumbled on a blog post by Progressive Pioneer about quitting blogging, in which she makes a lot of interesting points about the “darker side” of blogging.

And, duh, I know some people reading might think, “it’s simple. Just write when you have time and don’t write when life is too hectic. It’s just a blog, dummy.” And, I know that maybe someone will comment and say that I just need to find, “balance” (which is why I already wrote about that here). I know myself well enough to know that isn’t how I work though—I am very black and white about my responsibilities. Either I can make room in my life for something or I can’t. I cannot STAND having things lurking in the back of my brain that I want to do, or should be doing, or thought I was going to be able to do. I either have to do them, or cut off the possibility all together, otherwise they haunt me. I am almost pathologically responsible and it is impossible for me to “just relax” when I have a to-do or ought-to or thought-I-was-going-to-get-to hanging over my head—even if they are completely self-imposed.  Despite parenting for almost 8 years, I continue to have trouble realizing when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em, often struggling to keep working on something or doing something, even when it would make more sense to just quit—or, perhaps more rationally, take a break and come back later.

But, a couple of months ago as I struggled to complete something and simultaneously berated myself about not knowing when to quit, I also had a companion thought—is this what I want to teach my children? That when something feels difficult or is hard work or feels like a struggle, you just quit?! Do I want to raise children who give up when something isn’t going perfectly smoothly? Do I want them to learn to just throw up their hands, throw in the towel, and never raise a small fist of resistance? If I’d “known when to quit” trying to have another baby, I wouldn’t have Alaina right now. She is here expressly because I didn’t give up. I kept going even though it was hard and I felt like quitting and I even felt like maybe I was ignoring signs that told me I should quit. Maybe I’m actually glad I haven’t yet learned when to fold. So, I hold companion thoughts, that there is grace and ease in surrender; it makes sense, is harmonious, is zen. And, it is brave to try again. To not give up. There is beauty and strength in persistence and in refusing to quit. I do want my kids to know when to quit, but I also want them to value getting back up. I don’t want them to capitulate to the “plodding dullness of spirit” that can occur when you lower that small fist.

I was also reminded of an essay that I wrote several years ago, but no one has yet published, in which I considered the notion of “surrender” in relationship to mothering:

Is it more sensible, more true, more rational to surrender? Or is surrender another word for hiding behind? For failing to reach potential, to scale to new heights, to realize dreams. “I can’t because of the kids”—does that represent a truth and a surrendered, graceful acceptance of the season of my life, or does it actually mask fear and a hiding from potential? Isn’t it possible to hide behind my children and their need of me and in so doing deny all of us opportunities for growth and to stretch our personal boundaries?

Isn’t there value in the seeking? Is it better not to ponder and wonder, but instead to coast and flow? Which is more beautiful? Taking the fabric of life as it is and embracing it, or actively trying to sew something rich and new? Is acceptance or struggle more illuminating? Is flowing or paddling? Is it more graceful to surrender to the current or to flap my wings and soar above the trees?

What I know is that I wish to live passionately. With aliveness. Connected to the arteries and pulse of life. To know deepness, not hollowness. Sustenance and hope. Peace, but with the ability to peer into dark places and to ask difficult questions in order to more completely scale the cliffs of life. Vibrancy and truth in word, action, life, and rhythm.

I originally wrote the above in 2008 when my second son was two. After writing it, I paused in my chair and a spontaneous vision came to me—I was walking to the top of a hill. At the top, I opened my hands and beautiful butterflies spread their wings and flew away from me. Then, a matching vision—instead of opening my hands, I folded their wings up and put them into a box.

So, which is it? Open my hands and let my unique butterflies fly into the world. Or, fold their wings and shut them into a box in my heart to get out later when the time is right? Do I have to quit or just know when to stop and when to go? When to pause and when to resume?

What are the ways in which my children can climb the hill with me? To be a part of my growth and development at the same time that I am a part of theirs? How do we blend the rhythms of our lives and days into a seamless whole? How do we live harmoniously and meet the needs of all family members? To all learn and grow and reach and change together? Can we all walk up the hill together, joyfully hold up our open hands with our butterflies and greet the sun as it rises and the rain as it falls? Arm in arm?

I guess rather than balance per se, it comes back to mindfulness, attention, and discernment—knowing when to hold and when to fold. Just as I continue to return to my image of grinding corn, I continue to return to this inner vision of joyfully releasing our butterflies together…

Like many posts, I originally wrote most of this over a month ago, with, as noted, some quotes from a piece I wrote three years ago, but I continue to return to the same issues in my life. The to blog or not to blog question actually surfaced for me  in this post, but I then published several other pieces before it that were also musing on the same topic—so, if this seems like a rehash of some recent posts, consider that this one came first! This morning, as I considered that the time had come to finally publish this post, I sat at my living room sacred space/altar and these words came to my mind: surrendering to the moment is not the same as a permanent surrender.

Take Pictures

I’ve been thinking of one of my favorite poems today. Published some time ago in Mothering Magazine, it is called “Take Pictures” and is a poignant look at how fast it all goes.  The end gets me in my heart every time I read it:

“Holding tight to my neck, my son
trusts – he knows no other way – my touch lightly
dries his tears. I am his queen, his goddess, handily
his slave. Blink, it’s a photo again, a trick of the eye,

a frozen captive of time, paper, light and silver: my son
is a grown man: he drinks from his own hand.

Reader, I urge you,

spin slowly, take pictures, remember to laugh.” (emphasis mine).