Monthly Archives: December 2013

Becoming Momma in 2013

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This post was inspired by the writing prompt from my last contemplative writing class of 2013.  It came out of the suggestion that there might be one word that could sum up the year…

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Holyshitfuck.

That’s the first word (a new one coined in our household) that comes to my mind when I reflect on the last year.  2013.

While Mattie was born in September of 2012, the bulk of this last year has been my first year of motherhood – of becoming Momma.  Someone said to me recently that they couldn’t imagine anything more tender and vulnerable than the first year of motherhood, and as this truth resonated through my being, I wept.

I feel like I may be just beginning to emerge from that state – maybe – just barely.  I certainly feel like I’ve come a long way from the uber-vulnerability of those first few weeks and months.  I remember feeling so naked learning how to be a parent in front of other people.   I felt like everyone was judging me, criticizing me – with their questions and assumptions and suggestions.  (Even when they were delivered with the best of intentions.) It’s taken a year for me to develop a sense of confidence in myself as a momma, and not take these things so personally.

So much of this year has been spent learning – and forgetting everything I thought I knew.

And I still feel so vulnerable and uncomfortable talking about many of our personal choices as parents. It’s not that I doubt them, but that we’re doing things differently than our parents did (than many parents do), causing me to feel the need to explain, justify, probably even defend.  And I find it so difficult to convey this with confidence, in a way that doesn’t come off as accusatory or know-it-all, without shrinking away and losing myself in my fear of being perceived as weak or overly-indulgent.

For example, nursing Mattie is hands-down one of the most amazing, powerful, and meaningful things that I’ve ever done.  It provides him (and me) with so much comfort, and is building a bond that is intense and beautiful and unlike anything I’ve ever known.  And of course it provides critical support to his developing immune system and his overall health and well-being.  These are benefits that I truly believe will last a lifetime, and I have no intention of weaning anytime in the near future.

And yet, while I know all of this in every fiber of my being, I still feel ashamed of breastfeeding my 15-month old son in front of most people.  After 12 months it’s officially called “extended” breastfeeding and the statistics about mothers who do this drop way off – like  a

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l

i

f

f.

Like the cliff I feel like I’ve been falling from for the last 15, no make that 18 months.  Since the blood clot presented itself at 28 weeks, really.

When I’m feeling self-conscious while nursing Mattie in front of someone, I find myself spouting off the World Health Organization’s recommendation that all children breastfeed for a minimum of 2 years.  I’m glad that the WHO has my back, and that they do research to support breastfeeding worldwide.  But in reality, the WHO has very little to do with my decision to continue breastfeeding my toddler (or to co-sleep, or anything else we do that falls outside cultural norms).  I’m doing what feels good – for me, for Ken, for Mattie.  And I find this a lot harder to explain.

Our culture is strange in that way.  Anything that science can explain = real, true, and acceptable.  And the things that cannot be measured and summed up through peer-reviewed research; through statistics and flow charts and diagrams – the things that can’t be seen — just aren’t as real, true, or acceptable.

But human beings cannot be reduced to numbers and lines, dots and arrows.  We are far too vast and complex – whole beings made up of interconnected systems – that are too often viewed in isolation from one another.   We are body, heart, mind and soul – and when we allow each part of ourselves to matter – we are our most whole, liberated, and powerful selves.  And from this place it’s easy to remember our truth, and to know what we need.

It’s from this place that I’m trying to live my life.  It’s just not easy to stay there all the time.

Holyshitfuck.

 Yes, 2013 has been a year of muscle-building for me –

 Of s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g myself in many less-than-comfortable ways;

Of developing greater resiliency, confidence, and tenderness toward myself;

Of widening my lens on reality;

And learning to trust my knowing about

the things that can’t be seen.

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Note:  If you’re interested in more information about extended breastfeeding (both the statistical kind and the story-telling, feel-good kind):  http://kellymom.com/fun/trivia/bf-numbers/; https://www.llli.org/nb/nbextended.html.

Resistance and Snow

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Wow.  It’s been almost a month since I’ve been here.  I have a couple of excuses, and at least one of them is pretty good.

My biggest work project of the year was announced the week of Thanksgiving, with a February 24th deadline looming.  All of my “spare” time is now spent frantically trying to move that project forward.   This is my “good” excuse.

The other “not so good” excuse is that I keep wanting to (eloquently & comprehensively) define what this blog is about for me.   And when I try to sit down and do that, I get completely overwhelmed by the vastness and complexity of it, and quit.  So for the moment, I’m giving up on definitions and allowing myself to relax into more fluidity and imperfection.

Each week I attend a contemplative writing class with a small circle of women, wherein we meditate together for 10 minutes, write for 20 minutes in response to the prompt from our instructor, and then share what we write with one another in the remaining time. It’s a wonderful practice, and it’s one thing I can rely on to get me to write every week.  And because we write for 20 minutes, there’s no time to go back and edit or make it perfect – what comes out is very stream of consciousness – but  can be amazing and often surprising.

This week I was feeling a lot of resistance to writing about winter (the prompt), so I got up and grabbed a few brightly colored note cards.  I started by drawing a few snow flakes with a sparkly pen, and then this is the story that came out.  Each time I start a new paragraph, it’s because I ran out of space and flipped over to a new side of the note card.  It had an interesting effect…

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 “No.”

This is how Mattie pronounces the word “snow”.  It’s darling.

It can be easy to confuse with the word “n-o”, given that he’s been using a LOT of that one lately also, to convey what he doesn’t want.  No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner.  Only snacks and sweets and mama milk, thank you very much.  No medicine, no brushing teeth, no sitting in his high chair, no taking a bath, and especially no removing him from precarious situations (like standing on the end table, for example).   These have been his preferences the past few days, much to our chagrin.  With each refusal we learn something – about ourselves, and how we think to handle each interaction.  Parenting — the greatest self-discovery tool of them all.

But Mattie has also been beyond fascinated with the s-n-o-w version of “no”, drawn to pull Ken and I by the hand to look at it out the window, leading us to the door to let us know that he wants to go out in it.  It’s not easy for him to understand that we can’t just walk out onto our front porch barefoot anymore.  And the resistance and the n-o version of the word “no” come back in full force when it comes time to putting on his snowsuit…and his boots…and his hat…AND his mittens.  It takes great patience and psychological preparation for the shrieking battle these simple actions can invoke.

Once outside, bundled against the cold, calm returns.  It is an incredible relief to close the door behind us, leaving that particular moment behind, never to have to be repeated in exactly the same conditions.  I’m thinking of this in terms of contractions right now.  I remember living through a really painful, intense contraction and telling my midwife that I didn’t know how many more like that I could handle.  She told me that EVERY contraction is different and that I’d never have to do THAT one again.  Sometimes I think of parenting moments like that too.

But these last few days have been so bitterly cold and windy that the feelings of serenity don’t last long.  I put Mattie in his sled and pull it with one hand, grab Girl’s leash with the other and set off down the sidewalk, determined to get some sunshine and exercise for all.  But the gusting winds blow s-n-o-w into our faces, causing us each to gasp simultaneously, forcing us to return to the house in less time than it took us to leave it.  We return too soon, leaving at least one of us feeling dejected and disappointed.

Thank goodness we have the fire in the pellet stove to return to.  There is comfort there, at least, and from its warm and cozy glow we can look out the window together, pointing at the s-n-o-w “no”, talking about how cold it is out there.  Mattie signing the world cold is delightful – he puts both hands out in front of him in fists and clenches them (and his whole body – including his teeth and jaws) and makes a grunt like he’s exerting himself strenuously.  Uummhhh!  It’s awesome.

All of this until the next day, when we’ll likely repeat some version of the same maddening, frustrating, delightful dance of n-o “no” and s-n-o-w “no”.

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After thought:  It didn’t occur to me until after I published this post that there was another irony that I failed to note in my preamble.  I was feeling a lot of resistance to the writing prompt…and then I ended up writing all about Mattie and his resistance and how that impacts me.  So…interesting!