Posted on by Mama Musings

things change so much

Things change so much, right?

…and so quickly, I type.

(discussing you with Ozzi’s Mom.)

although it happens over time,

gradually.

it feels fast though.

suddenly,

you don’t really nap.

a huge shift,

but it was happening slowly.

we were moving towards it,

I suppose.  

then one day

we reached a destination,

leaving an old pattern behind.

like growing out of an old coat,

shedding a skin,

shaking off sand after a day at the beach.

something we did

every. single. day

now forgotten completely,

shifted,

shrugged off. 

imperceptible yet very, very

significant.

this is parenthood.

this is raising a child.

this is happening in real time.

this is life.

things change so much, right?

Posted on by Mama Musings

Thank You

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.
Posted on by Mama Musings

one last lullaby

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.
Posted on by Mama Musings

Be Yourself

Be yourself, I tell you.
The subtext: 
Others may not like it.
Others may feel threatened by it. 
Others may try to stop you.
In subtle and not-so-subtle ways— 
others may try to convince you that
you are, or should be, someone else.
Others may, at some point, even include me. 
I consider this. 
I swallow.
Be yourself, I smile, no matter what they say.
Posted on by Mama Musings

a grandmother’s hands

i follow her instructions
to the letter
one and a half cups
for every cup
rinse with more 
seriousness than usual
neutral cooking oil
instead of coconut
boil the water first
allow the rice to open
turn the heat down
low, low, low
as low as you can get it

it doesn’t come close

there must be something
in a grandmother’s hands
a certainty perhaps
a wisdom that can only 
come from repetition and 
loving intention

the way my own Mother
instinctively knows
how to make my son giggle
how he reaches for her
and no other

the sureness of her hands
the internal rhythm of her 
every movement
the hums and rhymes and
ease and comfort and joy 
she emits
it flows naturally 
as though from a well
deep inside her
some sacred grandmother
reservoir containing
every recipe, lullaby, 
well-worn memory
earned through 
Motherhood

the profound
unfaltering 
knowing
the art of making 
the perfect rice
the art of soothing
and delighting
a sixteen-month-old
grandson
the exquisite 
art 
of a grandmother’s 
hands
Posted on by Mama Musings

love and other nutrients

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.
Posted on by Mama Musings

this is your home

this afternoon
i am astonished by 
the length of your limbs
as you sleep.

time marked by new 
words and phrases,
all spoken in your tiny
but mighty voice. 
new seasons of wind 
and heat, 
your sudden ability to 
withstand the waves.

we are here 
only a moment,
like the sand we form
into volcanoes to
watch dissolve 
in the water
or better yet
watch crumble
under your feet. 

some days we flow
like the river 
without the rocks
some days are 
more turbulent.

my hope is always
that you feel seen
even as my mind races
to make decisions 
about dinner and 
where in this big 
beautiful world 
we should call home.

we’ve just arrived, 
i will say, in each 
new country. 
nothing is constant, 
i will say, in each
new town. 

your home will always be 
your hand in mine,
your head on my shoulder,
you in my arms. 

later, i will explain 
to you 
that you carry this 
tremendous love
inside you. 
home doesn’t come from
a place
belongings
or
a piece of land.

home is where 
you came from
home is where
you will 
go back to.

for now
those soft green hills 
that crayola blue sky
this gold shimmering sea
provide the palate
of your second year.

these fleeting 
but forever days
where i am in perpetual
awe of you
and you, my unwavering
reminder of all that is
fleeting
and forever.

for all that is unending
there is another which 
must be temporary.

save for one
for now
and until forever, 
i will be your home.

Posted on by Mama Musings

(no) fear of missing out

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
Posted on by Mama Musings

playing catch

i simply can't catch every moment
some are just too quick to pass
in a breath they slip right through my fingers
how i long though, to make each one last.

the sweetness of you at bedtime
the silliness as you run in the sea
the small hand in mine as we’re crossing the street
these moments i'll keep just for me

first giggles that came without warning
first smile as bright as the sun
tiny first steps I replay in my mind
the day that my baby turned ONE.

yet, the first 'ma!' was spoken, in what month?
first tooth popped when? i can’t recall
was it four or five months, you rolled over?
were you EVER (no really?) THAT small?

but, the first time you latched in the NICU
and the first night i woke to your cry
the first time i laid you in your papa’s arms
i can see without closing my eyes.

yes, i simply can’t catch every moment
i know deep down it must be this way
i can’t ever hold on to a past that you aren’t
for you ARE; you’re this moment, today.