I had loved before, but never, ever like this.
Heart of my heart and bone of my bone.
Life sustained through the strength of my own body; my insides - inhabited -then outsides - a mouth on my breast, arms tired from holding and hands happily, tenderly stroking.
It turns out it's not playing or pretending that makes me feel like an animal - it's love.
"Motherhood is a quixotic beast. She calls to us through starry nights, pulsing through our dreams, infusing our daylight with the whispers of the souls dancing near us. She carves room for burgeoning bodies built of the four elements, and a fifth, slows down our pace with her weight, and then bursts the river dam when we least expect it. She has her own timing, not measured by the hands of the clock. Once we birth our hearts onto floors fluorescent or worn, wooden or wet, we are never the same. We burn brightly with the iridescence of her grace. We are the happiest we’ve ever been, and the saddest we’ve ever been, for in our giving we have lost. In our receiving we are overwhelmed with joy, and with duty, and with life. Who am I now? We ask ourselves the same questions, over and over. How do I relate with the world now that all my tidy squares are tipped up? We look at our lovers differently, and they see us differently too.
This is okay, in fact – it is glorious. You just brought life to this planet. You are a miracle. As the babies grow and our days come to a close, we find ourselves yearning. That sweet yearning for long hours unrushed, for connection to the lover whose hands you held in bed, in the car, at the cinema. We yearn for the things we once had, tender lovemaking, candlelit dinners and wine. And yet, here is the opening. Here is the door. When your rugged heart feels tender and worn, please remember you don’t have to finish the dishes, or fold another towel. What we need to remember, is ourselves: our needs, our desires, our wants. Even when you don’t know what they are, when you can’t remember where to begin to reclaim yourself, start with something.
Light a candle; hold a crystal under the stars in your fist. You are an earthly being sewn into the tapestry of this dimension by your senses. Touch, smell, taste, sound and sight. We are intrinsic to the experiences we participate in, absolutely part of the poetry. I know your bruised body aches, your face is tired and your feet feel like lead – not too poetic at times. I also know that you feel bitter and resentful; you slam words that aren’t yours into the face of your beloved. This is not you. You feel disconnected. You must reboot the circuit; rewire the fuse. We need not do this alone, mamas. You need not pack your bags and leave town.
It takes work – hard work – but what could be more rewarding? You can do this. Drop in. Arrive. Stay. See your beloved as the God/Goddess/galaxy they embody.
Your soap worn hands, your farmer’s market fingers, your body flowering babies, your windswept hair: You are a door. Your beloved is a door. Your pregnancy and birth and baby are a door. This is what we are here for, to go through these passages, journeying to the other side. Who we are becoming is a magnificent process, a storytelling, a verb. You won’t be complete until the last door opens. The story from now is as yet unwritten. Keep writing."
-Sophie Ward
She calls to us through starry nights, pulsing through our dreams, infusing our daylight with the whispers of the souls dancing near us. She carves room for burgeoning bodies built of the four elements, and a fifth, slows down our pace with her weight, and then bursts the river dam when we least expect it. She has her own timing, not measured by the hands of the clock. Once we birth our hearts onto floors fluorescent or worn, wooden or wet, we are never the same. We burn brightly with the iridescence of her grace. We are the happiest we’ve ever been, and the saddest we’ve ever been, for in our giving we have lost. In our receiving we are overwhelmed with joy, and with duty, and with life. Who am I now? We ask ourselves the same questions, over and over. How do I relate with the world now that all my tidy squares are tipped up? We look at our lovers differently, and they see us differently too.
This is okay, in fact – it is glorious. You just brought life to this planet. You are a miracle. As the babies grow and our days come to a close, we find ourselves yearning. That sweet yearning for long hours unrushed, for connection to the lover whose hands you held in bed, in the car, at the cinema. We yearn for the things we once had, tender lovemaking, candlelit dinners and wine. And yet, here is the opening. Here is the door. When your rugged heart feels tender and worn, please remember you don’t have to finish the dishes, or fold another towel. What we need to remember, is ourselves: our needs, our desires, our wants. Even when you don’t know what they are, when you can’t remember where to begin to reclaim yourself, start with something.
Light a candle; hold a crystal under the stars in your fist. You are an earthly being sewn into the tapestry of this dimension by your senses. Touch, smell, taste, sound and sight. We are intrinsic to the experiences we participate in, absolutely part of the poetry. I know your bruised body aches, your face is tired and your feet feel like lead – not too poetic at times. I also know that you feel bitter and resentful; you slam words that aren’t yours into the face of your beloved. This is not you. You feel disconnected. You must reboot the circuit; rewire the fuse. We need not do this alone, mamas. You need not pack your bags and leave town.
It takes work – hard work – but what could be more rewarding? You can do this. Drop in. Arrive. Stay. See your beloved as the God/Goddess/galaxy they embody.
Your soap worn hands, your farmer’s market fingers, your body flowering babies, your windswept hair: You are a door. Your beloved is a door. Your pregnancy and birth and baby are a door. This is what we are here for, to go through these passages, journeying to the other side. Who we are becoming is a magnificent process, a storytelling, a verb. You won’t be complete until the last door opens. The story from now is as yet unwritten. Keep writing."
-Sophie Ward
Because sometimes, we get looks and I can hardly believe that sometimes, we get looks.
...I just can't imagine a world without you."
...And sometimes, we choose sleep over meals. Because chewing just seems like so much work.
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.
Don't stop bouncing! (She likes it so much that sometimes, we bounce for two whole hours together. She gets to chill and I get to practice patience, presence, and strength.)
...And then I was pregnant.
Suddenly everything around me was part of creating a new life. A life I would love very much. A life that needed protection and nourishment. Every single piece of me and my world was going into this creation and all of a sudden, as if I woke up out of a dream, I saw things very differently.
...And then I birthed.
A whirlwind of power took over my body and connected me instantly to all the women who birthed before. I felt this world (the one I stand on with my barefeet), and another world (a deeply familiar, yet seemingly far away place that only my spirit could access), come together under the light in my bedroom. This power, this force, was so great that I saw both death and birth combine in the same moment.
...And then I became a Mother.
Nothing has reflected my humanness so deeply. Some days all I see are my flaws and I keep trying to polish that damned mirror so I can hide them from her. But I know she needs to see them and I know she needs to see me love them, because she’ll have 'flaws' too.
And then some days, I see just how great I’m doing. The power of love has opened and shifted so many of the stories I no longer need.
13 weeks postpartum. It can be isolating - there's a whole lot of her and I for most of the days. And it can joyful beyond belief for the exact same reason. Grateful for nature sits that are balancing and nourishing both of us (and some hand chewing for her too). Delicious.
I'm aware that I now post baby pics all the time. Completely aware. It might be temporary. It might not.
The thing is, this is what I do every waking second. And sometimes the sleep filled ones too. What you may not understand (or maybe you do), is that this little being came from afar and manifested herself inside me. Inside! My blood, my cells, my breath and my thoughts have all created her. And yes this story is as old as time, and you've heard it all before... but the feelings that go along with this gift are the hardest to explain. My heart is hers.
And now she's here, with her hand on my heart as if to say she understands.
She's learning to be human and waking me the eff up (in many ways) as we move (and sometimes trip) along this path together.
"Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." E. Stone
As she grows, I'm watching her gain more and more strength and independence. And I’m so happy she does. Yet, as each day passes, as moments seemingly slip by, I see how fond I am of each one of them. It seems that Mothering is a big lesson on letting go. (Oh the irony in attachment parenting!)
Sundaze. Using moments like this as a portal to the purest of loves.
2 days before birth vs. 2 months after. This Pisces full moon has me reflecting on the last few weeks of pregnancy... the waiting...the feeling of being in limbo...of being between worlds... my old self and my new Mama self all waiting to meet my new baby and wondering what life will be like after baby. But now I know it's not something I could've prepared for in advance. Words like magical, intense, challenging and ecstacy are all trumped by the actual experience of Motherhood. Again, I find myself comforted only by this moment right here. This breath. And then this one... Because what's to come is beyond what my mind can comprehend.
The truth of this week is that the postpartum monster has bit me and damn it, I'm not immune. The heat wave has us indoors more than I'd like and she caught her first cold (don't even get me started on the heartbreak of her first cold!) - bringing the lack of sleep to a whole new level.
These moments, this Mothering, is a complete identity shift. I'm redefining myself (or she's redefining me) and I HAVE TO LET GO of certain things... And I'm grieving them. There is death in this Mothering process and it's uncomfortable. I'm watching it with curiosity, seeing what parts of me I'm attached to and others I can more willingly let go of. Sometimes there's relief but sometimes there's a whole lot of tears. A wise friend recently said to me: "Motherhood is the most joy and the most shit (literally) all balled up together."
Yup.
So here we go, approaching amother (another) new day as a new me. She's pretty new too so we understand each other on that front. And then, she gifts me moments like this one that remind me we're going to be just fine.
8 weeks and 5 days old. Imagine you could start over. From scratch. And feel, live and teach the biggest love, the most compassion, and a way of living that considers not just yourself, but everyone and everything around you. It feels sorta like a second chance... But this time it really matters. That's what Motherhood feels like.
We're reaching new heights - her curiosity is rising and smiles come easy now (yay!). I am also reaching new heights - I found yesterday's underwear in my leggings today, bunched up into a rather large lump on the back of my thigh.
My practice right now is to see this face on everything that challenges me, and watch it turn into love. After all, it's all yoga.
I’m seeing a whole new Universe - one where she’s front and centre and we’re just in the background as support. So much of the ‘me’ that I know has been (and still is) falling away, yet so much is emerging. Who am I anyways?!
The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing. And it scares me. But so far, when I’ve needed to know, the answer came from within.
Also, racerbacks and headbands are fun!
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Did you know babies are born without tears? The tears come somewhere between 3-12 weeks and this baby girl’s have arrived. It’s so hard to hear her cry… my insides weep along with her; I sweat, I tear, milk drips. This love is so big it hurts.
