your presence keeps inserting itself into my memories distant pasts that preceded you a trip to Nicaragua i vaguely recall you running on the beach of San Juan del Sur bay sand dancing out from under your feet my first trip to Thailand swimming in the sea off Koh Phangan weren't you there with me?
surely as an unfertilized egg some cells that would later become you a space in my uterus that would grow your bones and eyelashes.
did i ever exist without you? i recall you on motorbike trips through rice field-patched mountainsides i feel you there with me as i recollect lazy afternoons at Bellwood's Park.
were you the strength i found that helped me walk away?
were you the truth i found that helped bring me back?
all along you were there my tiny but mighty heartbeat.
i believe there was a time in my past — i took up space. i would stand my ground for something, i suppose.
these evenings lately i am content with being invisible. i take up only the smallest share of our bed i slip in hoping to go unnoticed wonder again why it takes me so long each night to find my way into this happiest of places i am filled with such peaceful gladness my body confined to the narrowest edge of the mattress or crescent-moon-shaped around you a balancing act between you and the cat your tiny body i am bursting filled with gratitude for the serene simplicity abundant tranquility and this minuscule allowance one joyful, invisible me.
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.
we teach our children the way we think the world should be we show them the way we believe the world could be
we teach our children to be curious. we teach them kindness and gentleness. we tell them of their own innate goodness. we teach our children to pay attention: the call of a bird, a dog barking, the moon; we teach them patience and acceptance. we teach our children that all their feelings are welcome, it’s safe here, you are loved. we say to them, this is a beautiful place, isn’t it? look at the sun my love, did you know when it rises here it sets in Thailand? listen to the sound of the snow crunching under your feet squish the mud with your fingers trace your name in the sand listen. did you hear that? it’s the sound of the wind a train a helicopter. we let time stand still and we exist in that moment only, with them. we play, we laugh, we sing so much. (we never knew we would sing so much.) we teach them to be themselves. we tell them they can be whatever they want to be in this world. we tell them to listen to their hearts their bodies their inner wisdom. we don’t want to lay it on too thick, but we tell them to listen to their true selves. shhhhh… listen.
we believe in magic, with them. with them, we don’t hold back, we are unconcerned, we are not self-conscious. (the singing for example, we really didn’t know there would be so much singing.)
we are reminded daily, almost hourly really, of how incredible and abundant and miraculous life here really is. that they are that. that life and our constant little reminder. we try to convey this to them on a long drive home one afternoon during the why why why phase every three-year-old goes through. but, well, just end up singing a song about the sun, the moon and the stars. shhhh… can i tell you a secret? you are that, my love.
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.
mama musings 