It’s the middle of the night and I’m feeding my baby and she places her hand on the side of her head. She eats furiously and is as tired as she is hungry and her hand gesture looks like a declaration of frustration. Her arm starts to move and she begins, with a great deal of apparent effort, to stroke her hair.
Seeing her do this makes me feel sad.
I bring my hand to her head to offer her the soothing she obviously is seeking, so that she may feel relaxed and taken care of. As soon as my fingertips touch her hair she grabs my pinky and pushes my hand as far away from her as she can.
I get the message.
She goes back to scrabbling at her hair and I figure she’s figuring out how she can take care of herself. I go back to watching her eat and figure I’m going to be ok at figuring out how to strike a balance between offering her help and offering he space as she continues to grow.
Friday, July 05, 2013
Wednesday, July 03, 2013
the thing-a-ma-bob that does the job
I often feel like Cinderella while preparing for holidays. When I’m looking forward to a fun event I tend to see unexpected tasks as tests that are keeping me from what I really want to do.
When I start to feel defeated I like to remember that Cinderella did finish all of the work she was charged with … and then those she saw as being in control of her freedom found another obstacle to stick between her and the ball.
I have found a lot of momentary satisfaction and quick burning energy in obsessing over my seemingly unfair circumstances. The wicked tempest is followed by grouchy malaise that diverts my attention from noticing the next part of the story play out, the part with the magic.
I have never missed a celebration because and end suddenly came loose. I think its time for me to trust the fact that as long as I do my work honorably things will work out and probably in a way that I could not imagine or plan.
Today, I put my faith in magic. And when the Magic happens, that’s just the end of act one!
When I start to feel defeated I like to remember that Cinderella did finish all of the work she was charged with … and then those she saw as being in control of her freedom found another obstacle to stick between her and the ball.
I have found a lot of momentary satisfaction and quick burning energy in obsessing over my seemingly unfair circumstances. The wicked tempest is followed by grouchy malaise that diverts my attention from noticing the next part of the story play out, the part with the magic.
I have never missed a celebration because and end suddenly came loose. I think its time for me to trust the fact that as long as I do my work honorably things will work out and probably in a way that I could not imagine or plan.
Today, I put my faith in magic. And when the Magic happens, that’s just the end of act one!
Monday, July 01, 2013
Thank Yoga
When I saw that a yoga studio was opening up across the street from where I lived I thought ‘that’s where I’ll do yoga.’ When the studio opened I started taking classes, it was as simple as that.
There was nothing to it.
I began attending one class on a regular basis. It was a great class and so it was quite popular and also very crowded. I hated being jammed into that room but that didn’t stop me from going to class.
I don’t remember being awesomely satisfied with the way my body felt or profoundly impacted with a new outlook on life after I began practicing yoga. I do remember that it took a lot for me to miss a class. Going to yoga back then was a lot like attending grade school. It was as though the decision to go to class had been made for me, it was just something I did.
There was nothing to it.
I didn’t think I had anything interesting to say about how I started my yoga practice. I didn’t run into a detour on the road of life that directed me towards a shala. I didn’t have a profoundly positive experience in a yoga room until I had been practicing for well over a year. What could be less remarkable than thinking of doing something and then doing it?
What could be further from the truth?
My decision to practice yoga didn’t hit me like a bolt of lightning. I wasn’t caught off guard by the idea of going to the mat. For me it was a nearly non-noticeable cue, like understanding when it’s time to turn the page while reading a book. Being asked to recount the way I was called to the mat now appears to be a precious gift because in doing so I’ve been able to see what it looks like for me to trust my instincts. It has shown me that I don’t have to worry about what I should do, that I really do know what needs to be done.
That’s all there is to it.
There was nothing to it.
I began attending one class on a regular basis. It was a great class and so it was quite popular and also very crowded. I hated being jammed into that room but that didn’t stop me from going to class.
I don’t remember being awesomely satisfied with the way my body felt or profoundly impacted with a new outlook on life after I began practicing yoga. I do remember that it took a lot for me to miss a class. Going to yoga back then was a lot like attending grade school. It was as though the decision to go to class had been made for me, it was just something I did.
There was nothing to it.
I didn’t think I had anything interesting to say about how I started my yoga practice. I didn’t run into a detour on the road of life that directed me towards a shala. I didn’t have a profoundly positive experience in a yoga room until I had been practicing for well over a year. What could be less remarkable than thinking of doing something and then doing it?
What could be further from the truth?
My decision to practice yoga didn’t hit me like a bolt of lightning. I wasn’t caught off guard by the idea of going to the mat. For me it was a nearly non-noticeable cue, like understanding when it’s time to turn the page while reading a book. Being asked to recount the way I was called to the mat now appears to be a precious gift because in doing so I’ve been able to see what it looks like for me to trust my instincts. It has shown me that I don’t have to worry about what I should do, that I really do know what needs to be done.
That’s all there is to it.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
being a mom is a pain in the butt
2012 was a bad year for punctuation and me. I didn’t have a single period and I nearly perforated my colon. I understand that had the third degree perennial tear I sustained during childbirth gone any further it would have effected my rectum, but the fact that I can type the preceding as a personal truth gives me the right to take anatomical liberty in the construction of a punctuation joke.
I went through a lot bringing a child into the world and then the real work of caring for it. My baby and I spent our early days together learning each others rhythms. I was figuring out how this person was going to fit into my life and how my life was going to have to change to make room for her while at the same time helping her navigate how to adjust to being an independent temporal being. Thus far the experience has been beautiful, humbling and grueling.
Early on I felt overwhelmed by the range of child rearing options and was fearful that I would make the wrong decision that would do some sort of long-term damage. From that place of anxiety I could see very clearly how someone could become defensive about their parenting decisions, or try to find validation in the choices they had made by demeaning all other ways of doing things.
I know now that there are three hard and fast rules that every parent must follow:
1) never shake a baby
2) never feed a baby honey
3) never search the web for baby sleep solutions at 4 in the morning
Outside of these the boundaries of proper parenting are wide enough to fit every parent child relationship within them.
Through the many hours I’ve spent bonding with my baby I know that the choices I’m making as a parent are the best things I personally can do to meet my child’s unique needs. This work also gave me the sense of having earned the right to be the kind of parent that feels right to me. This sense makes trusting myself easier and also reminds me to stay out of the decisions others make. Because if you want to have any say in how to raise a child you better be prepared for the possibility of having yourself ripped a new asshole.
I went through a lot bringing a child into the world and then the real work of caring for it. My baby and I spent our early days together learning each others rhythms. I was figuring out how this person was going to fit into my life and how my life was going to have to change to make room for her while at the same time helping her navigate how to adjust to being an independent temporal being. Thus far the experience has been beautiful, humbling and grueling.
Early on I felt overwhelmed by the range of child rearing options and was fearful that I would make the wrong decision that would do some sort of long-term damage. From that place of anxiety I could see very clearly how someone could become defensive about their parenting decisions, or try to find validation in the choices they had made by demeaning all other ways of doing things.
I know now that there are three hard and fast rules that every parent must follow:
1) never shake a baby
2) never feed a baby honey
3) never search the web for baby sleep solutions at 4 in the morning
Outside of these the boundaries of proper parenting are wide enough to fit every parent child relationship within them.
Through the many hours I’ve spent bonding with my baby I know that the choices I’m making as a parent are the best things I personally can do to meet my child’s unique needs. This work also gave me the sense of having earned the right to be the kind of parent that feels right to me. This sense makes trusting myself easier and also reminds me to stay out of the decisions others make. Because if you want to have any say in how to raise a child you better be prepared for the possibility of having yourself ripped a new asshole.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
be loved
The first five months after giving birth were like the worst time of my life.
The worst time of my life began in the spring of my senior year of high school after a dear friend of mine was killed in a car crash.
At the time of her death my friend and I did not live near each other. She was not a fixture in my daily life and was not acquainted with those I saw on a daily basis. The last time my friend and I spoke I called her up and we chatted through the second half of a Saturday afternoon movie. That was ten hours before the car she was riding in slid underneath a semi.
we spend a long time on the telephone line
talking bout things to come
sweet dreams and fine machines
in pieces on the ground
Of all the things I felt when my friend died, I clung to and holed up in my sense of being alone. No one I knew had known my friend like I had, no one I knew could in real time relate to my loss. I knew that I wasn’t the first person in the world to suffer a profound loss; I knew other who had suffered through profound losses of their own. But no one in my life was suffering profoundly at the same time I was. I had no one to commune with during my experience so I sat at that lunch table alone.
With my friend gone I found myself looking for someone to fill the space made in me when she left. I wasn’t looking for someone to replace her, but for someone who could relate to my experience of isolation, someone with whom I swap stories about understanding that type of loneliness. Time past and I kept an eye out for this type of companionship. And then, when the number of years since m friend’s death were equal to the number of years I’d lived before I lost her, I had a baby.
Of all the things I felt after giving birth, I was holed up and alone. I had lots of help and support but I also had to feed my baby. I don’t know that I had ever devoted my self to anything in life in the way that breastfeeding my baby demanded. There were no days off. There were no hours off. This clearly became a metaphor for what it meant to be a parent and it wasn’t a fun realization to come to.
As I came to terms with how having a child was changing my life I felt as though I was experiencing deja voux. I realized that the dramatic no going back journey I was on was similar to the way my life was changed when my friend died. But I found that I was having the exact opposite reaction than I had before.
After I had my baby, though I spent a lot of time literally alone, I felt deeply connected to humanity. I understood that I was going through something every other mother goes through and I drew strength from that. I also understood that in every life there are moments after which nothing will be the same. Those are moments you don’t get over, but ones that having lived through will elevate you to a new level, even if it takes you a lifetime.
The worst time of my life began in the spring of my senior year of high school after a dear friend of mine was killed in a car crash.
At the time of her death my friend and I did not live near each other. She was not a fixture in my daily life and was not acquainted with those I saw on a daily basis. The last time my friend and I spoke I called her up and we chatted through the second half of a Saturday afternoon movie. That was ten hours before the car she was riding in slid underneath a semi.
we spend a long time on the telephone line
talking bout things to come
sweet dreams and fine machines
in pieces on the ground
Of all the things I felt when my friend died, I clung to and holed up in my sense of being alone. No one I knew had known my friend like I had, no one I knew could in real time relate to my loss. I knew that I wasn’t the first person in the world to suffer a profound loss; I knew other who had suffered through profound losses of their own. But no one in my life was suffering profoundly at the same time I was. I had no one to commune with during my experience so I sat at that lunch table alone.
With my friend gone I found myself looking for someone to fill the space made in me when she left. I wasn’t looking for someone to replace her, but for someone who could relate to my experience of isolation, someone with whom I swap stories about understanding that type of loneliness. Time past and I kept an eye out for this type of companionship. And then, when the number of years since m friend’s death were equal to the number of years I’d lived before I lost her, I had a baby.
Of all the things I felt after giving birth, I was holed up and alone. I had lots of help and support but I also had to feed my baby. I don’t know that I had ever devoted my self to anything in life in the way that breastfeeding my baby demanded. There were no days off. There were no hours off. This clearly became a metaphor for what it meant to be a parent and it wasn’t a fun realization to come to.
As I came to terms with how having a child was changing my life I felt as though I was experiencing deja voux. I realized that the dramatic no going back journey I was on was similar to the way my life was changed when my friend died. But I found that I was having the exact opposite reaction than I had before.
After I had my baby, though I spent a lot of time literally alone, I felt deeply connected to humanity. I understood that I was going through something every other mother goes through and I drew strength from that. I also understood that in every life there are moments after which nothing will be the same. Those are moments you don’t get over, but ones that having lived through will elevate you to a new level, even if it takes you a lifetime.
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