... interdependence.

Today Lola brushed my teeth.  I thought it was remarkable. 

A few days ago I started brushing her two little chompers with a silicone tooth scrubber you slide on to the end of your finger.  Although she has had those two teeth for three months now I never felt the desperate need to brush them because she still doesn't eat anything that doesn't come out of my breast.  But I figure part of the reason she doesn't eat is because she isn't conditioned to having anything else in her mouth... Like her mouth is sensitive.  She never puts anything in her mouth.  She doesn't gum her toys, eat paper, chew on her fingers.  Besides my breast the only thing she seems to put in there is her bottom lip.  Sucking on it perpetually, like a living and breathing cabbage patch doll.  So I decided that perhaps I should try brushing those little pearly whites and see how she reacted.  It wasn't easy getting that brush in there but when I did she giggled and squirmed. I have repeated the process a few times over the last couple of days and let her play with the brush when she wants. Today she sat on my lap while I tapped away on my keyboard ...suddenly this little silicone cloaked finger was waving away on my lips.  It took me a few moments to register that what she was doing was trying to brush my teeth.  I opened my mouth and let her get in at them.  I shook my head back and forth so her finger would run over my front teeth in a brushing motion and the laughter bubbled up and spilled out. 

We looked at each other with a little bit of mutual surprise and pride.  She's figuring it out... She has a part to play in this relationship that isn't based completely on dependence.  Today was a red letter day.  One day soon she will learn that she can propel herself without aid and won't need me to get her where she needs to go... but until then this little gesture seemed like a big assertion into that world.

On Saturday we celebrated the spring equinox and Lola's 9 months on the outside.  I took a few photos to mark the occasion and began to write a tribute to this milestone.  I will post that in the next few days with photos.  I wanted to leave you with a photo of that toothy grin but in most of the photos she had that bottom lip sucked in over her little chicklets.  So here you go... this is what 9 months looks like over here.

...a pail full of diapers.

Who knew that I would find all the answers to my life, in this moment, in a pail full of dirty diapers. But as I opened the lid on the diapers today to add another to the pile I noticed it was almost full. Almost time to wash....again. And just before bed last night I had folded and put away the last batch. It is an endless circle. Never the smug satisfaction of having everything tidily finished and put away. It's like a finish line that keeps moving just out of reach. Even though I know that I will never get on top of everything I still feel this burning need to "feel" on top of most things. To have my surroundings tidy and uncluttered, to clear out the junk, check things off the list, put everything away in it's place. But this is just an illusion anyway. Arbitrary at best. Like those diapers in the pail, swishing in the washing machine, snugly wrapped around bum, folded on the shelf... they are all in the middle of a process. No start, no end. Surely I can live more of life in "process".

The only real finish line in life is death and I am certainly in no hurry to get there so I guess "unfinished" will always be my state of being...

...a "birth"day.

Seven years ago today I was blessed to be witness to my first birth and welcome my third niece into the world. She arrived at the perfect time. Born on my grandmother's 85th birthday. Tonight we celebrated with family, cake and presents.

I have never celebrated a birthday in quite the same way since her birth. I used to celebrate the babe that was born on that day. The day that, miraculously, brought this spirit earth side to walk among us. This in itself is a remarkable thing to celebrate. And now I cannot think of a "birth"day without thinking about the other spirit that was born on that day. The spirit of the warrior mama. It seems impossible to separate the two now... to not honour that moment when the maiden is no more and the baby-mother emerges from the wreckage. And when I say wreckage...I mean wreckage. That which brings forth life is so explosive that it does leave us in pieces. I find that when I look into a mother's eyes on the birthday of her child it's as if there is a window opened to that raw place of being in pieces once again. There is maybe even a wistful realization, when going back to that place, that when those pieces/bones were gathered and placed back together the wild, warrior woman that emerged was not the innocent maiden that resided in those bones before the explosive force of birth.


Tonight my niece kept saying and singing happy birthday to her mom, my sister. I'm not sure why. Most seven year olds wouldn't dare think of sharing the spotlight on their special day. After all, the cake is for them, the presents are for them, we sing to them, light the candles for them... And somehow this little soul, consciously or not, knew to deflect a little of the love to her mama. The woman standing in the background with pride all over her face. Seemingly doing nothing more than marking the passage of time with a party for her child. But I know otherwise. I was there. My life changed forever as I watched the layers peel away to reveal her true self. Allowing her to be fully present as she brought her squirmy, wet newborn daughter into her arms. It was my humble honour to watch her face light with joy and awe in those first moments, those first breaths. Until then I had never seen anything more genuine and pure in my entire life.

Since that night seven years ago I have been truly blessed to witness this incredible sight over and over again. It never gets old.

This is that babe today. Toothless, tousled and full of joy.

Happy Birthday Madeline!
And Happy "Birth"day Mama Arden...

...teeth, teeth, teeth.

For a week in December I felt the heart-tugging, hot tears that come when one realizes that her babies are growing and nothing can be done to slow the process. And it came in the form of a seven day toothapalooza. On December 11th, I ran my finger along Lola's gums to soothe the ache of teething only to find that that razor sharp tooth had finally sliced through her gums.

Why was this so jarring to me? I knew it was coming. I could feel the raised line of the tooth straining against the tissue of her lower arch for weeks. She was approaching 6 months. She had been drooling, red-cheeked and a bit off her game for weeks. This was not a surprise. But still I was jarred by it. I sat on the sofa in a bit of a stunned, silent moment of disbelief or perhaps denial.

Five days later Meg lost one of her front top teeth. I pulled it out in fact and then proceeded to sit on my knees in the middle of our living room with her little stump of a tooth in between my fingers and a tear in my eye. What had I just done? This was the tooth that would make her say "toof" instead of tooth. This was the tooth that would change the shape of her face and soon be followed by an adult tooth that will look awkward, and misshapen and ten times too big for her little mouth. And here I was holding it in my hand.

Closely on the heels of this, on the 18th of December, Lola's second tooth popped through her tender little gums. This was more than I could bare...

My mother has often spoken tenderly of her time spent with her fourth baby. She knew that this would be the last of her brood and she relished every little moment of that little ones first years. She held her, rocked her and cuddled her more than any of her three previous babes. At that point she had a 7 year old and three children under four years old. And yet she managed to create the time and space to give this baby a little more... Or in fact to give herself a little more of this baby. She has spoken about this so much in my lifetime that I wonder if she feels a little guilty that she never did that with the rest of us too. It comes up again and again when we are holding our babies as they sleep in our arms. I think she is trying to tell us that we will never be sorry that we did that. And as I hold this baby I now see the depth of what she was speaking. She was saying "don't be in such a rush". "In your joyful exuberance of motherhood don't wish away these precious days for the can't-waits of tomorrow" Meg cut her first teeth at 3 and a half months. I was proud. And I "couldn't wait" for the next great thing she would do. I was in a rush.

Now I am clutching at the moments and holding them close. The pendulum has swung wildly in the other direction. I am melancholy and wistful with each small change that takes Lola closer to becoming a little girl. I am so thoroughly ensconced in her infancy that I am forgetting that she is growing. One day a few weeks ago I sat her up to see if she could balance. She had it mastered in a few minutes. She had been ready for that weeks earlier but I had been blind to this fact. In my heart and mind she was still a newborn.

I absolutely and completely adore the people my two girls are becoming. Lola has a quirky charm that brings a smile to light on my lips hundreds of times a day. She looks at her sister with complete and total adoration ... Meg is a truly creative and independent soul. She loves deeply and does not hesitate for a moment to show it in any situation. She makes me laugh a lot and I admire her in a way I did not know was possible. When asked in the past who my hero was I would have answered "my mother" but now I would have to add that my daughter is too. This is a surprise to me. So I do look forward to seeing more of the people they will become. I really do... and for now I will try and find some balance. I will hold fast and let go. Or maybe for a little while longer I will just hold fast.

Tonight Meg lost the second of her front top teeth. She worked away at it herself all afternoon. It was hanging on by only one side and when it was very nearly falling out she lost her courage. She said she was scared and she didn't seem to know why. I was too. She called my mom and asked if she would come over. She wanted her to pull that tooth. Nanny is the go to lady when it comes to teeth. She pulled every last one of mine. I remember it clearly. Most of the time she was sitting on the lid of our green toilet seat with me standing between her legs. She would expertly squeeze my tooth right at the gums and it would painlessly pop out into the tissue she had used to get a grip. Tonight was no different. And immediately my big girl's face was changed. She looks beautiful. The huge gap in the front of her mouth making her look incredibly vulnerable and yet more mature. She made quite a production of the tooth fairy preparation tonight. Insisting that we leave her a snack, a small gift and a note. She has an absolutely blind obsession with fairies at the moment so this is almost a spiritual phenomenon for her. She mindfully prepared a beautiful alter on the bathroom counter for her fairy to behold. A snack of tiny chocolate covered sunflower seeds in a very tiny dish, a small piece of soft fabric that she found after a soulful search in her room (she imagined the fairy could use it as a sleeping bag), her tooth floating in a small dish of water, and a lovely handwritten note with pictures.

She will wake tomorrow to find that her fairy has taken her tooth and in doing so has dipped its wing in that dish, revealing its colour by tinting the water green. We have kept the water from each tooth she has lost in the freezer and in the spring we plan to water some flower seeds with it in hopes that they will grow with a bit of magic inside. Kinda like my girls...

...growing with a bit of magic inside.

...a renewal.

Six and a half years ago I was sitting on the precipice of my plunge into motherhood. Hovering in that knife-edge place between mother and maiden. I didn't have any clue what that first baby would have in store for me. What she would teach me. Whom I would become as I was reborn a mother. I don't know if I fully know now as I look back. Too much of what unfolded in those first weeks, months and even years remains in a bit of a fog... But I think she was my baby of grounding. Not that she was grounded... No way! She was my flexible baby. Would sleep anywhere, could stay up til midnight and sleep in the next day. We travelled with her, partied with her, shopped with her...basically we towed her along on every wild adventure we could. But slowly she tamed us. And I became a very, very capable mother... Oh who am I fooling? I became a bit type-a like I am with everything I did. If I couldn't do it to "perfection" then I didn't bother. And I couldn't throw in the towel on this one so I had to get it right! I cloth diapered her little bottom and laundered them myself. I made all her baby food and froze it in perfectly portioned cubes. I read to her, took her to music class, taught her sign language... I wasn't trying to be the "perfect" mother. I was just trying to get really good at my job. Meg taught me how to be a mother. And for that I will always be grateful. She was a great teacher. Yielding, yet firm. And clear about her expectations most of the time. We became a good team and I got good at my job. It didn't always look pretty but it always got done.

Today I had the overwhelming sense that Lola is my baby of renewal. Or perhaps of awakening. Although this has been happening over the last few years I feel like Lola was the piece to this puzzle that I was missing. Like a catalyst for a big plunge deeper into my youthful spirit. I want to play more and work less. I want to sing and dance and create. And it's not as though I haven't always been that way. But this feels more like a living, breathing, dynamic, undeniable, passionate force working through me. Its a beast, whose insatiable hunger for growth and creation is only matched by its insatiable hunger for chocolate! My conversations feel more alive. My body feels more.... full. And sometimes I feel like I am spinning in a vortex over which I have no control so I spin freely and try not to fight too hard. Sometimes I even will the spinning to accelerate. What the hell, if the ride is gonna make you dizzy then you might as well do it large.

I wrote this a few days ago and now as I reflect on it maybe I have it all wrong. In fact I was tempted to delete and edit the entire first paragraph. It feels stilted and inaccurate. It feels like I was searching for something and never quite found it... and that is why I left it. That was me I suppose. I had spent a long time crafting the persona I portrayed to the world. And in one psyche shattering event I didn't know which way was up let alone who I was supposed to be now. But what I think now is that maybe neither Meg nor Lola had any specific thing to teach me or reveal to me. Maybe it is just about shedding one more layer to reach my true authentic self. Maybe with the birth of each baby I have just rendered myself more transparent. Found more of who I am. But not the kind of finding that happens after you lose something. The kind of finding that happens when you never knew it was there to find. You know what I mean? Perhaps that is why it feels like Lola has revealed to me my more youthful spirit. After all, our most authentic selves are the ones unencumbered by our domestication. How lovely that we get to experience our youthful spirits again as we age. Some of our filters are shed with each layer too. And we are able to express ourselves more fully and with less inhibition. And with the added grace of our maturity........ and hopefully our wisdom.

...the other mother.

My business partner, dear friend and fellow mommy-blogger, Skyla has a regular feature on her blog, Cool Beans, called "Not Me Monday". I love it! It is honest, funny, charming and clever. I was at her house last Monday and we talked about it over scones with jam a healthy snack. I told her I was gonna give it a whirl on my blog if I ever had a reason to. But I didn't think it would happen because I am a perfect mother... the person that screws up, neglects her children, eats too much chocolate, worries too much about her appearance and doesn't have a piping hot meal on the table and a clean house when her husband comes home......well that is "the other mother".

So here is my first tale of the "other mother"...

On Wednesdays I have a great routine. Walk Meg to school, Lola falls asleep, I do some work around the house, meet Maria for coffee at The Carrot and then walk across the street to my great yoga class at Bedouin Beats. Last Wednesday however things went a bit pear-shaped. Miss Lola did not fall asleep on the walk home. I was definetly not pissed that I wouldn't get the breakfast dishes away and my emails answered. Nope, I was thrilled that I would have some extra quality time to hang out with my delightful 5 month old. I would never just pop Lola into her Rock and Bounce still in her pyjamas so that I could carry on, business as usual.
Those emails could wait and I certainly wouldn't waste spend time on facebook or catching up on my favourite blogs. No way, not at all! In my perfection I would never have heard a huge rumble in her diaper and smile sweetly at her only to carry on with my indulgent business. Her comfort and happiness is my number one priority. I wouldn't hope that the episode of Sex and The City educational programming on TV would keep her amused while I finished just one last thing. And of course there is no way that I would hear even more poop sounds and keep blindly typing away. Never ever would I wait another fifteen minutes before looking up at her again only to find her skating around in a poop puddle. Her little legs slip-sliding away under her, grinning from ear to ear. If this did happen, which I assure you it did NOT, the last thing I would be thinking of is grabbing my camera to document the event. That would be hilarious dreadful, unforgiveable behaviour for a mother of my caliber. Let me be clear about this... I would never have phoned my mother to tell the tale and laugh about it while she continued to swirl her toes in the yellow mess. Nope, not a chance. And under no circumstances would I look at that smile on her face and decide that if she was still happy then I could surely get a bit more work done while she wallowed played for a while longer.

There is no way I could fathom stripping down to my knickers right in my living room to retrieve her from her filth so that I would not ruin my new shirt and jeans. Unacceptable! Wouldn't do it. After an escapade like that a child would most definetly need a 30 minute soak in a warm bath. Of that I can be sure. I know I could never let this poopapalooza happen because you would not find me on my hands and knees scrubbing the yellow poop grout out of the cracks in my hardwood floor. Not on your life.

Nope, that would be the "other mother" and I have the pictures to prove it.

...a do-over.

Little by little this baby of mine is weaseling her way deeper into my heart and feeding my soul with her very clearly unique being. She has big personality already. She laughs and squeals with delight when you find just the right thing to tickle her funny bone and then if you are distracted by something else and turn away she will complain fiercely until the attention is back on her. She also has a coy little smile that she delivers with a turn of her head that will melt your heart. She is her own person through and through. So why do I feel like it is my Meg do-over? Why has nobody told me that this is what a second baby feels like? Is it just me? I find myself talking about the things I am going through with Lola as if it is my second time around with Meg. Like Meg and I are both 6 years on and starting fresh armed with what we know now that we didn't know then. It is like "sliding doors", an alternate reality. You would think from that perspective I would have it all figured out this time. After all I already had my trial run 6 years ago. Made all my mistakes and learned from them. Shame on me if I haven't.... right? Bahhh. Things are different this time, that's for sure. This time she cries a lot more. She gets ignored in favour of getting a meal on the table or wiping another child's bum. She is awoken from naps and in the morning to make the trek down the road to drop off or pick up at school. Smiles and coos are missed as we struggle to keep our house and lives in order some days. She will need to exert her personality just to be noticed. She hangs off my hip as I run around getting stuff done and quietly tolerates this existence for the most part. Can I pinpoint the things that would make my life easier if I had done them differently the first time? Was there a derailment in parenting that I can avoid in order to help my child sleep better, eat healthier, live a happier, more carefree life? Maybe... but somehow I find myself parenting by feel again. As if blindfolded, flailing arms, shuffling feet, hoping not to bump into anything or fall off a step. It feels like a crap shoot once again and I don't think there is any other way to do this thing. It's messy, heartbreaking, completely perplexing... But there is love...lots of love in this house.

On another note. We are seeing how things are unfolding for Meg as she navigates her first few weeks of grade one. She is so open to her experiences right now and it is allowing for such a lovely transition into this new phase in her life. We are still struggling with the six year change here at home but at school she is flourishing, flowing, blossoming...bliss.

...an R.S.V.P.

When Dave and I were planning our wedding 15 years ago we sent invitations to a lot of people we knew would not attend. We were planning an outdoor, white tent, casual reception to celebrate our marriage that had begun in January of that year at a very intimate ceremony. It would take place at my parents acreage in Canada, while the vast majority of David's friends and family were in Scotland. He had only decided to stay here a few months prior when I swept him off his feet...but that's another story. In response to our invitation most of the guests from Scotland went out and bought RSVP cards to mail back to us. One special person in particular sent us a card to express her dismay at not being able to attend.

Winnie Huggins lived across the street from David in Aberdeen. She had been there as long as they had lived on Craigton Road (since David was three). She was a spinster and didn't have family living near. So David and his parents did what they could to help her out. Fetching groceries, taking her to appointments and David's job was to fill her coal bucket from the bin outside. She wasn't a demure and sweet old lady. She had feist. When David told me about her I knew she would be a kindred spirit. Cranky, spirited, mischievous and with a touch of soft and gooey on the inside. She had a string of cats, all named Fluffy and all as cranky as her! She lived in a large old house on a piece of land that was owned by the city council and when they approached her to give notice of eviction so that they could build a seniors residence she fought them tooth and nail. In the end they agreed to build her a new residence on the property and consider her under their care. She suffered from diabetes and had a lot of trouble with her legs. She'd had multiple surgeries and treatments but healing was slow or non existent and she was unable to get around very well. Dave went over to check on her one afternoon and she didn't answer the door. Of course it was locked and he was forced to break in a window to make sure she was ok. She had fallen and as procedure dictated he notified her caregivers who in turn called an ambulance. When they arrived she was quite dismayed with all of the hubbub. Not only did she insist that the paramedics get the hell off her property but they should have David arrested for breaking into her home. I couldn't wait to meet her.

Her RSVP to our wedding invitation read "It would give me great pleasure to see you both thoroughly engaged in matrimony" but naturally she would have to decline. Those words "thoroughly engaged in matrimony" became emblazoned in my memory. I was completely smitten by this woman and the depth in which she could describe our union. She seemed truly delighted that David had found matrimonially bliss. In fact there was almost a cheekiness to her response. As if she was taunting us. I loved it! Winnie passed away two years later, only months before my first trip to Scotland. I never got to meet her.

6 years ago we were anticipating the birth of our daughter. We didn't know she would be a "she" so we had lists of names to consider of both gender. On our list of girl names we included Winnie. It had been on the list for years to be truthful. In the end we settled on Meg (the name of another dear old friend in Scotland). We had tried to work Winnie into the name but somehow it just didn't fit. We have a new list of names (of both genders) as we await the arrival of this baby. I have revisited many of the names we considered 6 years ago. And when thinking about Winnie I was reminded of that RSVP. "...thoroughly engaged in matrimony..." It made me think about this ritual of marriage. This need to be honoured and seen as you make the tranformative journey from bride to wife, from groom to husnband. To have all of the people that have helped to shape you come together to bare witness to this shift in your life's path. As if not having them there would leave them behind in your old life and not give them the frame of reference to journey forth with you and your spouse as you forge ahead in partnership. As a society our reverence for this ritual has wained. I wish we honoured it more "thoroughly" on a soul level.

The next rite of passage for most couples after marriage is the journey to becoming parents. This incredible time of tranformation, unfolding and growth is now most often marked by medical-like notations in a baby book and a baby shower to play silly games and place wagers on the sex and weight of the new arrival. Most times leaving the father completely out of the picture. I am craving something different. I am wanting to connect with everyone that has seen me unfold as a mother over the last 6 years. I am hungry to have people dear to me bare witness to me as I am "thoruoghly engaged" in gestation. I want all of the people I love to admire my ripening body and see that at 36 I have found the youth and innocence of a maiden once again. I want to connect to this energy and ensure that I bring these people forward with me as I journey onwards from here.

...a gemini.

At yoga this week we had a discussion about our babies astrological signs and how that may affect the way we are feeling or behaving as we gestate these babies. I had not really considered what sign this baby was likely to be. I had only really thought about the fact that this baby had only a chance of being a cancer. I am a cancer, Meg is a cancer and I love the qualities of this sign. Of course I do... I am one. I feel like water courses through my veins sometimes. Although I love to get away and seek adventure, I equally love to come home. And Meg and I fit together so perfectly in this way. Our hearts are in our home and family. I know Meg in a way that I had not considered before and perhaps that is part of why I felt in such deep connection with her while she grew in my belly. In fact as I was nearing the end of my 42nd week of pregnancy and the changing of the astrological signs I feared I may have a Leo and it worried me. I don't know why but I felt that baby needed to be a cancer. Strangely I don't even think about astrology all that much normally.

This baby could not have been conceived any closer in date to when we conceived Meg. But this time I am just as likely to have a Gemini as I am a cancer. Our solstice baby could be born on either side of the cusp. My gut has been telling me all along that this baby is more likely to be early and I have come to terms with the fact that I will may not have another cancer to add to my brood. That is where I stopped thinking about it. Until Thursday night... When my yogini asked us what signs our babies would be I was not even sure what came before cancer. We figured it to be Gemini and it was like a lightbulb went off in my head. Now it all made sense. It was clear why I had felt so many conflicting things in any given moment, such duality... the feeling that I want things to hurry up and slow down all at once... maybe even why it felt like this baby had eight limbs. I have been gestating twins! Even from the start of my pregnancy I had a small nagging thought that I was carrying twins. I had no idea that this was what that all meant. And now I am eager to see what this will mean as we get to know this Gemini baby and see how this piece of our family puzzle will fit.

Now I feel even more certain that this baby will not wait for the solstice to arrive. It just all seems to make so much sense that I can't imagine it will go any other way. It sounds in some ways like I have some sort of hope or agenda for this babies time to join our family. But I really don't. Without looking at a calendar I am feeling myself shifting into that birthing zone. Knowing that soon I will be in that window of anticipation when any day holds the potential to be my baby's birthday. That one day I will wake to the last day with this view from here. And each of those days holds such wonder and psyche building energy. Just when will I come to that edge, close my eyes, hold my nose and leap...

...something that is urgent-ish.

Last week my midwife scared me. Normally not a sentence one utters. Midwives are not generally very scary people or people that raise undo concern. I love my midwife and I am quite certain that her induction of panic in me was completely unintentional. I have been watching the days tick by with painstaking sluggishness over the last 7 months. In some ways I have been wishing this time away. Hoping for the end to come into clear sight before I lost my mind with the feeling of being unwell all the time. But now the days seem to be slipping from my grasp at an alarming rate. So last week when my midwife reminded me that I was very nearly 33 weeks and wow, next visit I would be approaching the 5 week countdown... I kinda freaked out. So now I have been fitting as many appointments as possible into my weeks, trying to sort out as much as I can at work and making a list of the must-have-done things around the house. Thank goodness my energy level is up but now with any prolonged activity my belly is one big contraction ball. Oy! I think I will be hopelessly unprepared when this baby arrives but I gave over to the idea of unpreparedness over 5 years ago when we welcomed the first small soul into our lives.

I have been lamenting that I have "done nothing" for this baby. I have not spent a lot of time reflecting romantically on the miracle of life. I have not sought out soulful prenatal preparation, even though it is something that I offer to parents and highly recommend. I have not been to the chiropractor weekly and the massage therapist monthly to nurture my growing and shifting body. I have not made any physical preparation to my home to accommodate for our change in lifestyle. I haven't even begun to prepare my homebirth supplies or got a hold of a car seat. I wasn't feeling terribly guilty about any of this either but slightly apologetic. Now I have come to believe that this is the way that this baby is supposed to arrive. I have stopped doing what I think "should" be done in this time of gestating a new life for my family. Instead my lack of "focus" is allowing me to attend to what ever is coming through to me at any given time. I think this is why I have had no resistance to my changing and overwhelmingly beautiful relationship with my first born over the last few months. I may have missed this incredible time in our lives if I had been fully immersed in my pregnancy and preparations for birth. Perhaps this is the soulful preparation I needed to ignite my mother spirit once again...

...a lullaby.

Sho Heen
Artist - Kate Rusby

Sleep my friend now I'll watch o'er you
The moon is here and the stars adore you
Close your eyes and you'll sleep just fine
Said my guardian angel once upon a time

Chorus
Sho Heen Sho lo, lu la lo, lu la lo
Sho Heen Sho lo, lu la lo, lu la lo

Why has my angel gone from me
The moon I fear and the stars fall on me
I won't close my eyes 'till the morning light
Oh bring on the sun I cannot rest tonight
Sleep my friend oh I'll watch o'er you
The moon is here and the stars adore you
Close your eyes and sleep tonight
Oh my blessed angel, here again, goodnight

...something that sounds like a lullaby.

As I was laying on my yoga mat during the relaxation of my prenatal yoga class last Thursday evening my mind was racing. Hardly the point of that relaxation time, I know... I have been working in birth for over 6 years now and I really thought I understood what parents wanted. My work has lead me down a path I had not anticipated would become such a rich part of my life. I see birth as a rite of passage, a transformational journey to the depths of our souls in order to find out who we really are (or aren't). A shedding of one's maiden self in order to take up service as a mother. I know that what women need to prepare for this is not a class describing the stages of labour or a show and tell of all the potential medical equipment one might see in the labour and delivery room. I have discovered that what they truly hunger for is someone to bare witness to them as they discover for themselves what their path will be, from where they have come and to hold space for them as they realize that where they are headed is vastly unknown and uncharted territory. It is a path that involves moments of fear, panic and holy terror along with the more recognized and freely spoken about excitement, joy and anticipation.

5 years ago I read a book by Michel Odent (and later heard him speak in person). He spoke about the needs of a woman in her preparation for birth and it all seemed a bit too simple. In fact he distills a lot of things down to the lowest common denominator. He is a fascinating man. But after reading his books and hearing him speak I couldn't believe that there wasn't more to his belief that all women needed for prenatal preparation was to sing lullabies. Once a week an older woman in the community where he worked in France would play lullabies on the piano and all the pregnant women would gather to sing. They did not take "classes". This was all they did...

Surely they hungered for more than that. How would they know what to do? How would they be able to make decisions about their care? I was already a doula that believed that parents did not have to be obstetrical experts to have a baby but I couldn't let go of our Western thirst for more, more, more information. The last five years have changed my mind about this on so many levels. I have mentored and supported many parents and they all say the same thing. They love lullabies... or painting, or dancing, or storytelling. Intellectually I had new understanding for this lullaby theory.

Last Thursday it sank into my soul... I was laying on that yoga mat and feeling deep in my bones that the first 30 weeks of my second pregnancy had been missing exactly this. A group of maidens gathering to fill themselves with the spirit of a community that was pulsing at the same rhythm as them. And better yet to be lead or held in the bosom of the already initiated. My yogini is special. I met her when I was 5 weeks pregnant with Meg. She was a part of every week of that pregnancy and I lived for those evenings. I had forgotten how sacred they felt. The sharing that happens in her circles is honest and even raw sometimes. Some of the women I met in her classes are still in my life, one of them is one of my dearest friends.

I am struggling to fully translate into text what has settled in my bones about all of this. I might have been able to explain it better before last week because it was stuck in my intellect. It has sifted its way through to a soul knowing where words hold no power. Maybe I could sing it for you....

...something that feels like love.

The last few days I have found myself falling in love. The first little flutters of love are so sweet and exciting. And this has been a long time coming. Since I found out I was pregnant I have questioned our decision to do this whole thing again. With 6 years past since we were immersed in this world of indigestion and leg cramps leading to sleepless nights, boobs and poop, we were in the clear. We have a nice little groove going as a family of three. We struggle to find time for our adult relationships and squabble over parenting choices (among other things), but we have a happy family. Our daughter has grown into the coolest 5 year old on earth. All of the ups and downs of the first five years are finally paying off in the richness of this blossoming mother-daughter relationship. I crave to be around her and yet she doesn't NEED me in the way she used to. We just are. It is perfection. And now I have leapt. One of the only leaps in life you can't return from unchanged or intact. And we are now only two months away from our solstice baby. You would think that I would be growing more and more anxious about this fact but I am surprised at how things have changed...

This sweet little soul is finally making its way into my heart. I have to admit I am not the kind of person that goes gaga over babies. Maybe it is a result of my birth work and my love of mothers and fathers and their journeys into parenthood. I don't always hold the babies whose births I have just witnessed. Weird? Is this part of my ambivalence to this baby? Has it just taken this long for it's soul to settle in? Maybe I have been too preoccupied by my own struggle with pregnancy and just getting through each day. Or maybe as I suspect I have been doubtful all along that this was the right choice for our family. And now over the last few days I have begun to feel the first flutterings of falling in love. Baby is now moving in ways that feel so.... baby-like. I feel it's little foot push against my belly and when I push back it yields against my hand. It's like a game. Like we are discovering each other. In a way that dates and numbers don't tell you I can feel how close it is. Soon I will know it's little face.

Love Part II

Ironically another love has grown that I will soon lose to the emergence of this baby... I love a woman's pregnant body. I actually really love women's bodies to be honest. So round and soft ... almost as if you can see the fullness of life that they are able to bear. But that pregnant shape, it just looks so juicy! Like ripe fruit. It beats all other body shapes hands down. And I know I am not the only one that feels this way. The compulsion of other women to look at a blooming belly is obvious. Try and stop yourself. Having said all this I have never been in love with my pregnant body. In the year before conceiving Meg I lost 100 pounds. And although I felt great and looked fabulous with my clothes on... that extra hundred pounds had left it's lasting signs on my body. I was angry with myself for ever allowing that to happen. No amount of exercise would tighten the now loose and empty skin. I imagined that my full and pregnant body would once again fill out that belly which then lay deflated at my hips. I was so disappointed that it never did. That I would not be the hot mama in the bikini top and floppy sun hat in our families home movies. Instead I had this misshapen belly that never quite burst out with the ripeness of a watermelon.

This time I have slowly been won over by my body. Gradually I have watched my fullness force me to give into the reality of what was going on inside of me. And in the last week or so I have fallen head over heels in love with my big round belly. I choose clothes that cling to my shape and leave no doubt that I am heavy with this child. The baby doll style maternity clothes have found their way to the bottom of my dresser drawer in favour of shirts that I bought off the rack in the "regular" department. My belly precedes me wherever I go and yes, people are compelled to look at my ripe body.

Last weekend we put up a mirror in the front entry of our house. It has always been something I wanted. To check my hair on the way out the door or make sure there was nothing in my teeth before I went out in public. At long last I have a big, huge, beautiful mirror to greet me as I walk in my door. A gift from my aunt for our wedding 15 years ago. Made of wood reclaimed from a barn and an old school house I believe. It now has the perfect home. On Tuesday I walked in the door from my daily walk to drop Meg off at school and was greeted by the reflection of the most beautiful pregnant woman I had ever seen. Certainly not love at first sight... but nonetheless quite a sudden revelation.

So now the bittersweet irony settles in. I have finally found myself falling for two things at the same time. Two things that can't really co-exist. Or do they? Right up until I re-read those words I thought this was true. But how can I not be in love with this vessel and it's contents at the same time. Perfect! So for the next two moons I will drink deeply from this well of love. I know I will have many moons of love to follow as I get to know my newborn but this love is like no other. Maybe these next two months will allow me the opportunity to show Meg that there is more two having babies than puking and pain!