It's Not You... It's Me

It's not you... it's me.

She began this life inside me and to date, she's been alive longer inside than she has outside. I'm what she knows best. I'm safe, familiar, and the vessel she chose to come here by. 

It's that simple. And that complex. 

Don't discount this bond by suggesting hunger, sleep, or a dirty diaper. Mother is God right now; everything she knows and trusts and relies on. 

So you see, it's nothing you did or didn't do. You've done everything right. It's just that it's not you...it's me. 

Completion

“If you were wise enough to know that this life would consist mostly of letting go of things you wanted, then why not get good at the letting go, rather than the trying to have? These exotic revelations bubbled up involuntarily and I began to understand that the sleeplessness and vigilance and constant feedings were a form of brainwashing, a process by which my old self was being molded, slowly but with a steady force, into a new shape: a mother. It hurt. I tried to be conscious while it happened, like watching my own surgery. I hoped to retain a tiny corner of the old me, just enough to warn other women with. But I knew this was unlikely; when the process was complete I wouldn’t have anything left to complain with, it wouldn’t hurt anymore, I wouldn’t remember.”
— Miranda July

Because I feel, I heal.

How do I go about doing this human thing on such little sleep? I feel like an animal - one with fangs and drool. There have been break downs. And break thrus.

She's in the early stages of learning to be human.

I'm still learning too.

The break downs are a portal to this open heart. Without them I'm hardened, cold and robotic.

So here I sit. Here I cry. Here I yawn.

I long.

I hope.

I yell.

I resent.

I feel.

And because I feel, I heal.

This little person... this one finally asleep next to me... she's just walking me home. Thank goodness for that. 

Precious

I wonder if it ever goes away... this feeling that my heart could break at any moment. Love this big seems to partner with deep vulnerability - a feeling that this could be taken away. As if somehow, in a flash, these precious moments could end. But I guess that's just it isn't it? The word precious suggests fragile and fleeting - it's the whole reason it feels so special. So here I sit, spilled milk (and some poop) on my t-shirt, reflecting on how precious this life is and it knocks me right back into this moment. (Oh hi there deep breaths!) And now, I don't even mind the smell of my shirt.

Remembering To Remember

And then there's moments like this where I don't wish anything different, or better, because it all feels perfect. They are a beautiful opposition to the deepest challenges I've faced yet.

In these moments, where the weight of her body is completely surrendered, I can honestly say I LOVE THIS. There's so much joy in these precious, sleepy moments. I'm reminded to take one day and one breath at a time. Breathing it all in and remembering to remember.


I See You

I see it all now.

I see you cleaning up after me as I clean up after her. We're like a train moving thru the house, following one another. I pick up toys and you pick up what I put down to be there for her.

I see your sacrifices; you'll stay home tonight because I'm visiting and I'll stay home because she still needs to nurse to sleep.

I see your struggle to make everyone happy.

I see your selflessness.

I believe you when you say you'd do anything for me.

Because now, I feel the same way.

If I could pay you back for all the sacrifices I would... but I'm too busy sacrificing.

Know that I understand.

Know that I see you Mothering me.

Know that I see you.

Thank you. 
Thank you. 
Thank you.

Yes To Loss

Some days (like today), I really feel the changes. I miss my friends. I miss flying by the seat of my pants. I miss my old definition of freedom. It's days like today that I'm super grateful for my spiritual practice within the framework of Motherhood. As I squirm in the discomfort of loss, I
remember that loosing my self is exactly the point and instead of being totally overtaken by it, I can consciously say yes to what's dying. Yes yes yes. (Repeating it helps, 'cause this ain't easy). ‪

The Perfect Mother

I faced the myth of 'the perfect mother' head on this week. Eye to eye, I stared her down (for now). She's a feisty one, instilling guilt over many choices. This stare down shook me to my core as I held my sleeping baby and wept. But that perfect mother, that myth, that vision I can't uphold left me with a gift. Now, I no longer look at my Mother from a child's eyes; we are women standing side by side, in sisterhood and Motherhood held by the depth of our love, and doing the best we know how. Thank you Mama for all that you did and do.

Bless this journey. 

We've Got Work To Do

3.5 months old: I know she looks like my husband - and I love that! But today someone told me that she won't look Asian forever because her kids started out looking that way too. She was trying to comfort me with her Caucasian child alongside.

Last week, two people asked me if she was mine.

I'm seeing a whole new angle of racism now - even in children's books which often lack kids of colour playing the lead role. World, we've got some work to do.