the man at the coffee shop buys my son and i a chocolate chip cookie. kindness without hesitation. smiles at passersby, Happy New Year, to strangers. we fumble that extra few seconds to find spare change for those in need, eagerly hold doors open and allow that speeding car to cut in our lane at the last second. we wave him in, graciously. we eat slowly with gratitude and make healthier choices. our glasses spill over with hope. we have such pure intentions. we believe that we are capable of so much. of anything. anything is possible. we tell each other, This is Your Year.
all i want for Christmas is you to always feel worthy to know you are perfect already just as you are you don't need to strive or search for anything outside of yourself you are totally and wholly complete you don't need to add anything or be anything else you already are.
if you forget this don't fret we all forget sometimes that we are divine beings born out of love created by and for love and love is here to remind us always to come back to ourselves our true selves you are loved you are worthy you belong here you. are. you already are.
we lay in bed you just turned four you can reach the light switch now, beside our door
it’s dark and quiet not much talk at all your tiny voice asks Mom, am i still small?
so much chatter lately and so much change thoughts like thunderclaps you’re feeling strange
everyone’s been saying that you’re big now but you don't feel big and you don’t know how
you’re supposed to be big but you still feel little maybe big sometimes sometimes in the middle
don’t want to be called big boy every day because you may feel different than the way we say
i thought to myself all those times we’d said you’re a big boy now! those words in your head
the weight of that what that must feel like so i kissed your head as i did each night and i asked you then well, what do you feel like? still small Mom holding my hand tight, (your tiny hand that was still so small yet so much bigger than it had once been, wasn't that just moments ago?) you’re still small my love, yes, of course, that's right.
i am the name you exhale in your sleep.
a comforting place
and a promise i’ll keep.
i’m a shout, i’m a whisper,
a plea, a demand.
the one always waiting as you reach out your hand.
if you’re proud
or afraid
or you just want to share;
any way that you say it, my attention is there.
i’m the place you are heading
and where you started from.
for now and forever
the one you call Mom.
Everything that came before you was just a dream.
Or did the dream start when you were born?
If someone had asked me, before I had you
I would have said, ‘I am full. It’s a full life and I am fulfilled.’
I remember those early days in Bangkok writing,
What am I doing here trying to have these new experiences?
I have already had all the experiences. I should just go home.
Ha. I was thirty-three. What did I know.
I hadn’t met your father yet. Or Buddha.
I hadn’t woken alone in my tiny hut surrounded by mist and mountains,
desiring nothing.
Still, these days I catch myself inhaling,
These are the best days of my life,
my chin resting atop your head watching gulls over Professor’s Lake.
These days I catch myself exhaling,
There is no greater moment than this,
as I race alongside you on the path from the park to our home
every evening wondering if I have ever been as full
as I feel in that moment.
I catch myself holding you closer,
as you climb onto my lap to eat dinner.
I catch myself whispering,
Thank you.I will hold on to this moment.
There is a knowing that I feel,
that these years belong to us,
to me and you,
a mother and her son.
Everything that came before you was just a dream,
perhaps,
and everything after
my dream come true.
you will prepare your coffee before bedtime.
there will be no more late-night
wine-soaked musings
chain-smoking into the mornings.
you will be in bed by ten.
curled up next to your sleeping toddler
you will know a peace
you didn't previously
know existed.
you will merrily organize his playroom
enjoy podcasts while making cookies
you will master pancakes, rice soup
and the art of eating while simultaneously doing five or six other things.
you will love yourself with wild abandon.
you will love yourself with reserves you had
stored up for another, foolishly.
you will love yourself, fully and finally.
you will be whole in this role,
understanding true self-love
through your unconditional love for you son.
and you will laugh
thinking:
well. that's what it was all about then. and it was in me the whole time. ha.
you will remember,
compassionately,
your seeking.
your constantly seeking self.
you will want to tell her:
peace is coming.
peace is coming.
peace is flowing like a river.
and it is coming for you,
Mama.
those first weeks of motherhood
rocking and nursing
nursing and rocking
up and down and
down and up
body aching
adjusting to
the tiniest infant
(later,
you will smile
to recall this
as you effortlessly
carry your toddler
in one arm)
but those early days
even my first attempt at
you are my sunshine
ended in tears
the tenderness of the song
reached some equally tender place
in my new mama heart
(it would later
become a favourite)
how many times did i sing you that song?
and Raffi,
Everything Grows,
then,
This Little Light of Mine,
even James Vincent McMorrow
if this is redemption
why do i bother at all
Bob Marley lullabies
and John Denver
Annie’s Song
rocking and nursing
nursing and rocking
up and down and
down and up
and then,
last night i asked you
can i sing you a special song before bed?
you lay your head on my shoulder
you are my sunshine
my baby sunshine…
i started
your bigger toddler body in my arms
your little face in my neck
after only a few lines you pointed to the bed
i miss rocking you to sleep
i confessed as i lay you down
that tender place
in my mama heart
pulled a little
my eyes stung
i pulled you in close
like i could keep you small
in my arms that way forever
grateful for all those nights
oh so many nights
rocking and nursing
nursing and rocking
up and down and
down and up
and now
like every milestone moment
there was a last time
i blinked and
i will never rock my baby to sleep again
just like that
that version of us is behind us
someplace
in a song lyric i sang
in the strength of my arms
and your little growing heart space
within us
behind us
and gone.
certain truths found in
dandelions and pinecones
spring blossom petals falling from the sky
a sense of rejoicing
the robin, the cardinal
the goldfinch
and you, a tiny speed demon on your scooter
learning that mud comes after the rain
and is soft enough to push your finger into
wipe it on the grass after
no, grass is not hard
not too hard, you say
we are such keen observers
the songs, the colours
we drink it all in, together
speaking the names, taking our time
learning the textures along the way
i read somewhere
it takes a mother’s body
more energy to produce milk
to feed her baby
than it does
to pump blood to her own heart
our little intricate systems
moving energy
converting it into
love and other nutrients
this long weaving
highly charged, perfectly designed
channel from mother to baby and back
baby to mother
each created for
one another
it is so easy to forget
that the world
is this way, but
out here where the wildflowers grow
and the birds fly low
here where the dandelions roam
and the pinecones make their home
here where we are free
you and me
you, my constant reminder
the way life's supposed to be.
don’t you want to?
they ask
don’t you miss going out?
don’t you worry?
they wonder
always being left out?
aren’t you lonely?
they guess
just you two all day long?
aren’t you bored?
they suspect
don’t the days just drag on?
you could try …
they start listing
all the things i could do
:
with his Grandma?
maybe daycare?
take some time ‘just for you’
well-intentioned
their suggestions
simple things ‘would be good’
good for whom?
is my question
are these small simple 'shoulds'
good for him?
or for me?
whose idea of ‘good’?
never thinking
if I wanted
then i easily could
but my answer
is the weight
of his head on my chest
my boy sleeping
his soft breathing
and no care for the rest
mama musings 