As I lay in the crook of his arm with my head on his chest – the place I have always fit so perfectly –
I hear the beating of his heart for the first time in days.
The steady rhythm jolts me into how alive we are and how fleeting we are.
Underneath all of the rushing and worrying and organizing and planning is a constant truth,
a reminder of what is real:
We are right here, right now.
To feel his kind and comforting heartbeat might be the greatest luxury I take for granted.
Our recent texts read:
Mara ok
Crying
Did you pack snacks
K
Leaving
Maiz wants you
All very business.
All very “I have three kids and barely any time to even include punctuation in my texts to you”.
I get caught up in expressing the critical demands of my ego: Do this and be more like this.
But the fact that he exists and his heart beats right here, outside on the couch under the warm November sun, the day after Thanksgiving, is a miracle.
He can always be better.
He can always do more. Yet he is always enough just as he is.
And I am always enough just as I am.
love
Birth and Death, Breath by Breath
My knees met the floor at the side of my bed in desperation, exhaustion. Ironically, the same place I bowed down to birth, I found myself surrendering to grief.
In anger and tears, I had lost all strength. The pain was too much.
As time recklessly and graciously ticked on, the swell passed.
When I got to my feet, I was surprised to uncover that giving birth had taught me how to survive grief.
As goes birth so does death,
breath by breath.
Waves of intensity build to a first breath,
from a last.
Every swell comes crashing with a purpose.
Feel it, don’t fear it.
Welcome it, don’t fight it.
Dance to it, flow with it and let it move through you.
But don’t let it take you away.
Feel your feet on the ground,
your gaze on the wall,
the breath in your lungs.
Deep inhale.
Full exhale.
Determined minds present an endless Q and A:
What just happened? What’s next?
Why him? Will she ever come?
Deep Inhale.
Full exhale.
When your limit is near, the wave knowingly retreats:
Sweet relief.
Find your balance.
Brave a smile, an effortless laugh.
Reach for hope, a glass of water, connection and gratitude.
But how will I get through that intensity again?
Deep Inhale.
Full exhale.
You were made for this.
Cut from the same cloth as the sea and trees,
made to be two things at once.
Living and dying,
ebbing and flowing.
Birth and death,
a tug-of-war of fear and hope.
Compassion, anxiety, resilience, resistance.
Tucked beneath comfort blankets and glossy eyes,
new life has unearthed.
Everything forever changed.
What’s left? What’s next?
What’s always been:
Nothing but love.
Deep Inhale.
Full exhale.
Loving My Second
“To fall in love you have to take the risk of changing yourself for that person. You have to let go. Let go of who you thought you were before you loved that person.” – Father Richard Rohr
Sometimes the hardest thing about being a mom isn’t the long days or the sleepless nights.
It’s the love. A love so big and beautiful that it requires terrifying vulnerability. A love not conditional to outside forces; holding up fiercely to projectile vomit and tantrums in aisle 4.
My first love with Maisley was intoxicating, wild, unknown and full of firsts. After the shock of birthing a human had worn off, and within about 10 minutes of holding her on my chest, I felt this extreme rush of love. It was overwhelming and I remember bursting into tears, exclaiming to Ryan, “I just love her so much!” My emotions sat right at the intersection of extreme fear and extreme joy. My world was now her world. I carefully examined her every move, every inch of her teeny baby body and stared at her in awe most hours of the day. It was innocent, a little like a first high school love (or in my case college, because God knows I only talked to boys on instant messenger, not in real life while in high school).
My second love with Coura has been slower, more mature. She emerged from the water and onto my chest completely at peace. With her warm, soft body tucked close to me, I felt immediately like we were made for each other. But our love story has been scattered in between making dinner, reading stories, tired tears, and the big one’s bedtime routine. It has come in quiet moments, not a rush all at once. It’s authentic and growing into a big love I could never explain in words. She loves to cuddle close and needs her mama in the sweetest way.
I sat in the shower the other morning feeling completely overwhelmed with now two incredible mother loves. My mind started wandering to worry…if something ever happened to one of them…
It made me want grab them, hold them and never let go. My worry, fear and anxieties came creeping in like a bad habit.
But big love is always worth the letting go and after seven weeks of sleepless nights, I could really use the makeover anyways.
The Motherhood
Before August 16th, 2016, I thought motherhood was a phase that women entered; a personal journey. I thought it was the experience of becoming and being a mother.
{The only thing I really had to compare it to was the journey of entering “womanhood” at age 13 and the cringe-worthy feeling of telling my mom I got my period through the closed bathroom door, only to be met with the over zealous words, “You’re becoming a woman!”. It makes me die in awkward self-consciousness just thinking about it. Going through puberty was a vastly personal and solo journey, with the occasional tip or two from a sister or friend.}
Since August 16, 2016, I have come to understand motherhood in a different, surprising way. While I have certainly entered into a new dimension, the journey has been one of community, collaboration, and support.
I had no idea it was something I would become a part of.
A Motherhood.
I feel as though I have joined a secret club that I never knew I wanted to be a part of, but deeply needed. A true sense of belonging, sealed with the stamp of labor, surrogacy, adoption or any other means.
Other moms, young and old, look at me with compassionate eyes and unconditional respect, as though I’ve arrived. Their expression says, “I get it”.
I’ve been welcomed at mommy and me classes, mom and baby yoga, and lactation support groups. We’ve followed blogs written with raw authenticity and joined Facebook advice groups.
A whole network of moms. Moms who have my back. Moms who have stood where I stand.
At the edge of a bassinet in tears at three in the morning.
In shoes I’m not sure how to fill.
On the rug doing jumping jacks for the chance of a rewarding giggle.
In the bar at a bachelorette party, pumping and dumping.
However you got there, wherever you live, whoever you are; thank you to all moms in the motherhood.
Thank you for your hard work, your unspoken love, and our unbreakable bond.
Travel is a little like being in love.
There are 220 million people living in a country they weren’t born in. Home is not just a place where you are born, it’s a place where you become yourself.
Altered Latitude 