Be

I'm working on letting my son be. I'm trying my best to not hover, to let him fall, to let him engage in what he will without me suggesting it. I want him to lead. When I'm successful at this, our days seem to be a lot smoother. Today, I put him up on my back and went outside to hang the diapers on the line. Almost immediately, he started squirming wanting to get down. I took him down from my back and let him wander in the wet grass and soft ground. He was off. Every little blade of grass, every ant on the sidewalk, every dandelion seed needed exploring. I let him be, continued to hang the laundry, glancing occasionally towards him to make sure he wasn't trying to swallow a rock or the like. When I finished and told him I was ready to go inside, he turned towards me with muddy water dripping off of his chin onto his shirt and pants. But, oh my, he was happy. *breathe* "Let him be, Mama," I thought.

Later that day he wandered over to his craft drawer and pulled out the water colors he had yet to experiment with. I knew that painting wouldn't be confined to the paper but his interest in the paints would not be deterred. I put a towel down, grabbed a large piece of paper, stripped him down to his diaper, and let him go to town. The result was a colorful and happy baby (and, okay, the paper was colorful too). Let him be.

It's easy to direct him towards an activity, it's difficult to allow him to lead. Why is that? Maybe because there is the pervasive undertone of "the parent decides" in American culture. Maybe because it is easier to plan around activities if I've predetermined what they will be. Maybe because I feel the need to "teach" him things and I don't know that much about mud and paint. But maybe, just maybe, he know what he needs and wants to learn and the experience of the doing - the being - is exactly what needs to happen.

To My Son On His First Birthday

My dearest son,

Today you are one year old. Let me tell you something, this past year has been a whirlwind. This year has gone by so quickly so I thought I'd take a moment to jot down some of my thoughts on this day. Okay? Okay.

Your Papa and I, we can't get enough of you. We can't get over you. You are this magical little ball of energy and light. You make us laugh and laugh. But in the beginning, when you were quite new, we spent most of our time in silent awe with tears streaming down our faces. No, not from sadness, but from joy; from the deepest, soul-peircing joy there is to be had. We made you, child. And you made us parents. The joy of that is what I am speaking of here. Becoming a parent is one thing in this life for which there are no adequate prose to describe. Perhaps that's just as it should be.

I birthed you. I birthed you at home, and caught you with my own two hands. I felt as if I could envelop the entire world with the strength I was showing and the love I was feeling that day. Birthing you gave me the courage to be your Mama. That's what childbirth is for, really. Because being someone's mama is a great big undertaking and there is no opportunity to practice, no re-dos, and no manual. I needed to birth you in order to begin my new life as Mama.

In the days and weeks immediately after you arrived, we all began to adjust to our new selves. We were Mama, Papa, and Child: Family. Long hours spent nursing, sitting up in bed while you slept, and wondering who you were turned into weeks, weeks into months. Things I noticed in the enormous amount of time spent staring at precious you: beautiful hair (you had lots), crooked mouth when you yawn, monkey toes, amazingly strong neck and head, wise eyes, deep connection, clear communication, warm body, growth, my eyes, Papa's cheeks, uncle's feet, your own hands. Quick succession of syllables like "AEIOU" or "pepperoni" made you giggle. More time passed and you were rolling over, crawling, making your own syllables like "up" and "mama". My heart grows bigger along side you.

I am sure you are the best part of me. I am sure you scare me and inspire me more than I have ever been scared or inspired in my life. I am sure being your Mama is something I will always feel privileged to be. I look at you and wonder how I got so lucky. My world, and dare I say the world, is a better place with you in it. I want you to know that. I want you to know what a blessing you are. I want you to know that, no matter what you end up doing with your long life in the long run, you have made many hearts leap simply by being you. You are loved by so many people - already! You have a village at your side now and as you continue to grow. And that is my gift to you. It is likely the best gift you will ever receive. It is the same gift my Mama gave to me. It is a gift of love, comfort, and home that is woven into the fabric of your life even now. Treasure it for it treasures you.

With this first year of You behind us, I am very proud. In fact, I beam with pride when I think on this past year's journey. Not because every bump in the road was sailed over, but because they were handled with grace. That's all we can really expect from one another, I think. Being your Mama has helped me enter the world with grace; with humility and empathy, too, but mainly with grace. I will forever be grateful for that. Son, today you are one year old. Today is your birthday and my birth day; you were born and I birthed. You became child and I became Mama. Today starts year two of this miraculous life as parent and child. I cannot wait.

Love always,
~Mama

I Didn't See the Day

One year ago today, I didn't see the day. I breathed it though. I dreamed it. I lived it and felt it in the core of my being. I caught my child; brought him into the world. I finally knew what the world was for. I didn't see the day, I saw my son.

Birth Day

And then it was here. The day that was over 9 months in the making. Baby was ready. My midwife had told me months ago that the average first time mom delivered 11 days past her due date. Well, here I was, 10 days past my due date and in labor. 

My husband and I had decided to have a midwife-assisted home birth. We hired a Certified Nurse Midwife and a doula, rented a birthing tub, gathered our homebirth supplies, stocked the freezer with meals, and waited. And waited. And...

We waited until April 23rd, 2012 when I went into labor. As a p.s. to that last sentence, I do find the term "going into labor" to be somewhat misleading. Labor wasn't something that started at an exact time or moment for me. It didn't suddenly hit me. Labor started like small, gentle waves that gradually washed over me, eventually becoming tidal waves. Anyway. I went into labor on April 23rd. Over 30 hours later my son was born. April 24th. 11 days past my due-date.

I had pushed for 6 hours. Six hours. I had labored and pushed standing, laying in bed, kneeling, on a birth ball, hanging off of my husband, and in the birthing tub. I ended up birthing my son on the toilet. Yes, I did. I caught him with my own two hands. Yes, I did. I carried him into our bedroom and lay in bed with him on my bare chest, my husband beside me, staring down in absolute and utter awe. 

Other women have described the birth experience to me as "empowering". Like, "childbirth is so empowering." I don't know if I felt empowered. Maybe, given time, I will reflect back and see the experience as empowering. I don't know. What I do know for sure is that I have never felt prouder of myself. I have never felt prouder of myself. I also know that birthing my son was just the beginning of the most important thing I will ever do. So, here I go.