my darling,
i wish i had more patience.
i want patience like the sky
knowing the clouds will pass.
patience like the sun
quietly waiting, certain
she will again shine brightly.
i want a storm of patience
powerful and commanding.
(i suppose storm isn’t quite right though.)
i want patience like a sunrise
a pastel hued sky
serene and complete.
(when Thor was alive i used to say
being with him
i needed
the patience of the Buddha.)
my darling,
i wish i had the patience of the Buddha.
i wish i had the patience of a bear during wintertime,
the bare limbs of trees knowing their buds will bloom again.
i wish I had a reservoir of calm, deep breaths
for every turbulent moment.
patience like…
the stars,
perhaps,
that became us.
the one you call Mom
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.
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?
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.
single mom
i avoid the term resisting labelling insisting we’re the same i’m just a mom, i say just like the other moms we bear so much alone the ones who grow and birth the ones who wake to nurse i want to feel united us moms, and not divided we are the ones who stay at home and play all day who don’t drink coffee hot or pee alone a lot yet … if i stop to sit and just consider it it’s really simple math i’m here without a half a set of extra hands lunch hit the floor again a “honey, could you get…” dinner’s not ready yet i need another heart when mine’s falling apart someone to share the blame made a mistake again someone to worry with help lift the load a bit talk a decision out so much to think about to share a memory i’ll reach capacity just hold this for one sec i’ve got it, take a rest here sweetie need a hug? leave that food on the stove why don’t you take a shower or maybe just lay down there’s no one here to say hey hon, great job today. so please don’t get me wrong you see us being strong just like the other moms rocking and singing songs yes, at times, it does feel the world is at my heels and ‘cause it’s always been i just shrug off that term but yes, there’s only one here, that’s me one single mom.
i want to tell her
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
mama musings 