ox mama

They talk about birth bringing out the mammal/animal/beast. I have heard women mention wolves, and tigers, and bears. Fierce and strong and feral. 

Birth was three weeks ago, and I was a lion. Today, through the bone-tired, body broken, brain wasting that is post-partum I am still a beast. I put my strength to the plow and push through. I lower my head and plod on. Back and forth, the mind numbing and endless tasks of new motherhood are completed and begun again. I do the work. Ox mama. 

milk and blood and tears

They say that with the milk come tears. 

Baby was born 5 days ago. I roared her into the world in pain and water. At home. When we would usually be eating breakfast I birthed her and then everything changed. 

There is no usual any more. There is no we anymore. Patrick and I. With so much to do in the care of ourselves and our family, words of love and encouragement are sent room to room by text message. Hannah and I. My girl, and her mama. I miss her with an ache that goes as deep as anything I've ever felt. And I've felt a lot of deep aches this week.

The baby is beautiful. Calm. Perfect, except for a lip tie that makes feeding her excruciating. A deep toe curling sear that really cannot be described. Or helped much. 

The process of pregancy and birth can be described as a labrynth. A long winding journey through pregnancy into the tight dark spiral that is birth, and then an even longer, slower unwinding back out the other side.  There are no dead ends, but there are blind turns and dark corners and so much trust that goes into taking the next step. The promise of a labrynth is that there is always a way through, we just have to keep walking the path. 

Deep breath. One more step. 

full and empty

My due date was yesterday. Come and gone and nothing is different today except the feeling that I'm getting further away from something important. I keep catching myself looking out the window and checking for messages, as if somehow the baby is going to arrive that way. Except I'm not sure it's the baby I'm looking for. 

I am trusting her to come when she is ready, and my body knows what to do. I am uncomfortable and tired, but okay to wait for her. To wait with her. 

That, I think, it what I'm looking for. Someone to wait with me. My husband has an endless list of projects to complete and work to be done, and his own waiting to do. My daughter is three and doesn't know what waiting is. They are my heart and my world, but they cannot sit and wait with me. 

I have a list of people who could be holding this space with me. It is just as long as the list of people who aren't. And it's hard not to be a little broken hearted. 

celebrate

It happens every year, but I managed to hold it back until just before dinner this time. The tears always come and I feel so petty and selfish and silly. But there it is anyway. 

I have this aching longing to be special and celebrated, and every year, when my birthday is just another day it breaks my heart all over again. What a thing for a grown up to cry about. But, it's my birthday. I can cry if I want to. 

a lot to learn.

She is learning her strength and how to be a big sister. He is learning his capacity for compassion grows with practice. I am learning to slow down and hold on and let go. 

messages

Apparently I needed to hear it. 

Let go. You are not in control. Let yourself be carried a bit. There are strong arms here. 

journey

“And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our own feet, and learn to be at home.” 

― Wendell Berry, 

Embarking on the journey of being comfortable in my own -gently expanding- skin.

 

Like

thaw

I wait all winter for this day. The sun brings warmth and light. The snow is melting and I thaw a little too.

mud season and maple syrup

Sticky. Stuck. It feels like life is opening up all around me, but somehow I am stuck just watching it happen. So many possibilities (and a few of them just may be perfect) and I cannot move towards them. Not yet. I am ready for spring in so many ways, but more snow is coming tonight.

quoted

"The dying have a quality that even a child senses. Not because they are already removed, but because even young hearts sense their inability to stay longer. Behind the looks of sickness or fear is also the look of the long distance traveler, bags on the floor, eyes tired but nervous for any change that may come. They are the ones going on the twenty-hour flights, and although we don’t envy their coming discomfort or time-zone skips, tomorrow they will be *there*— the place that both terrifies and thrills us. We peek at the ticket they hold, the inconceivably far destination written there, impossible yet monstrously alluring. What will it smell like where they will be tomorrow? What is it like to sleep there?" 

JONATHAN CARROLL

tiny steps

I'm feeling more and more ready to take these little steps we have been dreaming about for so long. The picture of that life has become so much clearer over the past few days (weeks maybe?). I want a small simple house. I want to grow food. I want to create and get paid for it. I want my husband to be home more. I want my daughter to be outside more. I want to be barefoot more.

Vanishing

"I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better."

A poem by Mary Oliver

A friend lost her father last night and the honest peace and dignity of her mourning is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen

rest

This is a season of inward. Snuggling close and holding on. I need to remember that this is good work too.