Four -The Birth Story

Next Sunday I will be the mama of a four year old.

What an amazing journey this boy and I have had for four revolutions around the sun.

It's a time where I reflect deeply on how much has changed and how much change there is to come for that beautiful boy, and myself.

Last night he asked me to tell him the story of his birth.

This has made me quite uncomfortable in the past, because my the births of both of my boys surrounds me with both love and darkness.  They were both caesarean sections.  I induced with Z, at almost two weeks past due, out of fear, and not having as big of a support system that I do now.  I didn't know then what I know now.

So instead of let this be something to tie my stomach in knots and place a lump in my throat I dove in head first, lighter than ever.

"Well, you stayed in my womb for a long time!  You must have been pretty comfy because you didn't want to come out!  (He laughs, that big belly laugh of a four year old)  So I asked the doctor about you and he said maybe we should try and get that boy to come out!  (He laughs more)  So they gave me some special medicine one night, and you sure must have thought it was more comfortable in there, because at first you just stayed put.  Then you wiggled, and twisted, and pushed, trying to come out, and my body tried hard to help you come out, and the doctor tried hard to help you come out.  But you were just too comfy I guess!  So the doctor said, "Mama, are you ready to hold your boy?" and I told that doctor, "YES, I am ready to hug my boy."  So he had to give me a little cut on my belly here (I show him my scar), and helped pull you out into the world.  We were so happy to see you we just cried, and cried, and everybody was there to meet you -Grandma, Grandpa, your uncles, and aunts, and cousins, friends, everybody!  You are the most beautiful special thing that ever happened to me, and I love you with my whole heart.  Then Daddy helped weigh you and measure you, and they brought you back to me and you nursed and nursed and nursed, and I never wanted to put you down.  Everyone asked me, "Mama, are you ever going to put that boy down?" and I'd answer, "Nope.  I love him.  And our hearts belong together."  And that's how our story began."

It was the first time I had ever told him our story without tears of sadness, guilt, or shame.  There's obviously a lot more to it.  I had a horrible, gut wrenching, scary induction, and caesarean.  But that's not important anymore.  I don't need to re-live the trauma.  I've done that too many times to count.  He doesn't need to hear that, especially at four years old.

There sure can be a lot of those emotions around non-natural births, and as one beautiful soul said, the "dogma around natural birth".  I am blessed because here at home, and through Momma Zen, in the Autumn SouLodge, I have met a group of beautiful supportive, unconditionally loving, amazing, mamas and women that know how to make a sister feel loved and whole.  I have finally, in the last year, sought out more and more support from friends, mamas, and communities of Soul Sisters.  I have told my husband how I feel, really feel, and he is beginning to get it.

I have met so many beautiful mamas with opposite experiences from mine, and some of the guilt, shame and sadness crept in, some told and some untold.  I've also met a lot of mamas, in real life, and some online in groups, that made me feel that their way of giving birth was superior.  But really, it's not.  We mamas have to stick together and be there for one another, support one another, and share stories, and experiences, no matter what they are.

Then I finally built myself up to it, and watched The Business of Being Born about a month ago.  Something shifted, and I cried and cried and sobbed like I can't remember.  I thought, "Why didn't I see this five years ago?"  But then it hit me over and over, and I realized, that I can't change my past, I don't need to change, or make my story better or worse than it is, it is my story, in my voice.  I didn't write it all, it wrote itself in a way, and that's fine.

I have put a lot of thought into it all.  I feel like I am in the final throws of letting go of the negativity.  I am sick of judging my story as bad.

My boy is about to be four.  That's a lot of time to carry around such unnecessary harmful judgements that serve nothing and no one.  I will deal with the feelings as they arise.

If you met us you would have no idea that I had such emotion surrounding our birth story.  Truth be told, the moment I held him, my world shifted in a way that is nearly unexplainable.  I fell so deeply in love, like never before, and none of it mattered until some moments where I sat alone and over-thought the tragedy around inductions and caesarean sections, and not having the birth I had dearly wanted.  We are deeply close and attached to one another, in such a special bond, and isn't that all that matters?

My boys are happy and healthy, and so am I.  This story can make me stronger, not weaker, I just have to let go of some of my ideas.  Not feed the negativity, but not ignore it, and in time it weakens and subsides.

Something has also been shifting in me in the last months.  Between Bodhi's first birthday in July and Z's fourth birthday, which is a month before mine, I feel that I am coming to see things for what they are, more than what I make them to be.  I am paying attention to my heart and intuition more than ever, and more than that, being okay with it and trusting it.  I am learning to follow that which matters, and let things that no longer help or serve me fall away.  Layers are shedding, shadows are being explored, with less judgement, and I am opening up further.  I am holding fear's hand, treating it tenderly with love, instead of letting it lead and break me down.  And it feels good to have a community and a practice, which supports not only the light but the dark.

It feels beautiful to be a woman and a mother.  More now than ever before.

I have also realized that I don't have to feel guilty about staying at home.  Like I need to be doing something more. -these unfortunate feelings creep in from time to time.  I'm learning to tell it like it is.

I am thinking about how things happen in time, in my own pace, and how I can't push the river.  I am not behind on  my path.  I am on my path.  I don't have a lot of time for my own work and creative journey, but little by little I am exploring it more.  An hour here, 15 minutes there.  Sometimes I just have to ask for space, and not feel guilty!

The wheels are cranking in my own creative work, thanks to my Creative Courage course, Ordinary Writing Prompts, and of course SouLodge, among other amazing people in my life that are following their hearts and living their dreams.  I am blessed to be right here, right now, at this time in my life.

I took these courses, and tasks on, to remind myself that it's okay to think about what I want to do in life, even if I don't have time to focus on anything for myself too hard or long right now.  I am learning some new tools on how to ask the right questions, and explore things deeper.  I am learning how to make the most of my space and time, and not just spin my wheels, and procrastinate, some days doing what I feel is a waste of my time -worrying and thinking without action.  It's also when I know that I need to sit on the cushion more!  Sometimes I need a little structure to guide my tired mama brain, without making me feel overwhelmed.

I also just read these beautiful words and feel that they are perfectly fitting.  Thank you, Stacy at Clover and Sage.  Yesyesyes!:

Vision (soil prep|seed planting) 
+ Action (cultivating|nurturing|weed pulling)
+ Trust (Harvest|Gathering|Bounty) 
= Living your vision (restoration|nourishing|reflection)

So this was a lot, a lot to set free, out of my mind, and into space.  Kind of a double birth story.  The one of my sweet boy, and the one of a mama coming into herself.

I am eternally grateful for my path.  As long and hard as it is.  Because it has made one strong mama with a ton of love in her heart.

I am grateful for my support, and my two little teachers.

xoxo

Even Daredevils Get Scared

Z is a daredevil.  That kid makes my heart race like nothing ever before.  He will climb, jump and explore anything that he physically can.

I'm the mom that gets stares at the park because, "Should he be climbing that?"  "Yes."

Scaling the uber slide

If he can reach it, he will climb it.
He'd attempt this before he could do it.

I let him push boundaries, safely of course.  He won't learn if he doesn't try.

It makes me happy that he's so daring, because I really wasn't as a kid.  He has taught me so many things, and being fearless is one of them.  It's not that he isn't a bit afraid or weary to try, but he will try anyways.

"Courage is not the absence of fear.  It's acting in spite of it." 

Mark Twain

So yesterday, we got a huge surprise.

We went to the Pecan Street Festival, and were having a blast people watching, snacking on fair food, and enjoying all the handmade crafts, gorgeous art, and unique vendors.  We found an Angry Birds hat.  Great music.  We even found his uncle!

Then we spied a tiny carnival just for kids.  A little ferris wheel, bouncy houses and slides, a giant slingshot and itty bitty carousel.  Score!

Z saw the huge ferris wheel from a mile away.  He smiled, his eyes gleamed and he yelled, "I want to ride that!"  The best part was, that he was big enough that he could.  We waited for tickets and as soon as we approached the ride, they took a break.  He was bummed, but the huge bouncy slide next door called his name.  The anticipation mounted as we peeked over to see if it was about to open up.  

Finally, it opened back up, and we raced over to the line.  He eagerly got into the tiny cage with another boy and we sat on the sideline waving and smiling.  I had my camara ready sure I would capture some huge smiles and waves.  

He got one full circle, with a huge smile the whole way.  I could see that he was soaking in this new experience, so happy he was there, and so curious, and so high up.  Then the ride stopped with him at the top.  Immediately, his face went from happy to unsure.  Very very unsure.  The guy running the ride had to get four more kids in the other cars then he would start again.  

Z looked at me and Dad to see if he was okay.  I could sense that he wanted out, but didn't want to freak him out.  I felt his nervous energy, and it was highly unusual for my little Danger Boy.  

The other kid was way rowdy, and bouncing the cart all over, and smiling and banging on the wall.  Z looked at him as seriously as he could and said, "Sit down."  The kid could sense he was nervous, so he sat down, but continued to yell.  (Thank you, kid.)  Z just looked at me.  I waved and smiled with a look like "you're okay".

Z stood up and walked to the door, and said, "I want out."  I replied, "It's okay.  Sit down, please.  The ride is about to start, he just has to get these kids in.  Okay?"  Again, the look of confidence, as best I could muster.  He trusted me, and sat down.  I could see it in his face he didn't want to.  

If he was seriously scared, or freaking out I would have done something, but he was learning his boundaries, and what he can handle.  The big thing is that he trusted us.  And he gave it a chance.

If the ride had just moved he would have been fine, but he was stuck at the top, for a little over a minute, with a rowdy kid, swinging, and trapped.  It broke my heart.  I very rarely see my boy scared.  I want to always be able to comfort him when he needs it, and gladly I was able to as much as possible.

The ride started again.  He was better, but not as happy as he had hoped he would be.  He barely waved.  I didn't want to force a smile from him, ignore his feelings, and pretend he was just fine, because it wasn't to him.  I did want him to know I thought he was okay.

And he was.

It was also sad to see my happy boy so forlorn.  He was so excited, then so quickly disappointed.

The ride stopped, and he stood up immediately.  He got out, and did not want to ride it again, as I thought he would before.  He didn't want to talk about it, but said something about not liking to be stuck at the top.  I said I understood, and smiled.  

On the way out of the carnival area, I saw a mom struggling with a few kids and handed her the rest of our tickets.  Hopefully they would have more fun on it than us.

Ever have an experience like that with your kid?

Did they demand escape or make it through?

How did you handle it?

It's so sad.

Unsure

Afraid of the Dark

Z is afraid of the dark. 

It's a horrible feeling, one I know all too well.

Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night shrieking for someone to come save him.  We always do.  Sometimes Daddy will lay with him until he falls back asleep, sometimes I scoop him up and hold him close to me in our bed with Bodhi on the other side.

As a child, I remember many a night waking up, afraid to go to the bathroom alone or afraid to even reach for water.  Not knowing what lurked in the darkness, I would call for my mommy.  

I would hide under a sheet, hating the suffocating feeling of a blanket.  The sheet felt so flimsy.  I recall breathing quietly so that nothing could sense me, even holding my breath at times.  Heaven forbid a sound burst through the darkness.  

I don't know what I thought was there.  Someone.  Something.  Anything unknown that would suck me into the darkness forever.

Nothing helped.  The only thing that mattered was someone to care, save me, listen and understand.  

I wish that I could explain to him that I will always be close.  I will always come when he calls.

I wish that I could help him understand that fears are meant to show us what we can go beyond.

But he's three.  So I comfort him and show him what going beyond your fear looks like.    

I wish that he could comprehend that he is the one that taught me not to be so afraid of the dark.

It sounds silly to me now, but even until I was pregnant, I would not step out of bed without reaching for a light.  I still don't like going up the stairs alone to a dark hallway, but I can.

I remember being pregnant and thinking, how can you teach a child not to be afraid of the dark if you are afraid of the dark?  That's nuts.

I remember making myself do things in the dark.  

My heart would race.  My senses would sharpen.  I felt so uneasy.

I began by going upstairs without the light on.  I would walk into our room without the light on then reach for the dimmer switch so that I could get ready for bed.  I would turn the light off and walk across the room, feeling like I had to hop into bed immediately, I did it slowly regardless.  

It got easier and easier.  I am smiling right now, thinking of a nearly thirty year old woman afraid of walking into a dark room alone.  

Now, the feeling isn't completely gone, I just do it.  Like so many things as a mother.

Sometimes, I hold Z's hand or carry him upstairs without the light on.  He's fine if I'm with him.  If he mentions it, I tell him, "It's ok.  I'm right here.  Did you know that Mama was afraid of the dark?  It is scary isn't it?  Look, we're doing it together."  By the time I'm done we're in bed with his nightlight on.

I hope that it helps him.  I hope that one day he will go beyond it.  Hopefully, way before he's thirty.  

But for now, all we can do is bear with fear together and know that we don't have to conquer them.  We can sit side by side with them and say hello, hands quivering and hearts racing.  It's the only way.

Now, if I could only enjoy swimming in a lake...

Heavy Hearts

Today, we have heavy hearts around here.  There's nothing to hide but it's all delicate news to bear.  Explaining some things to tiny people without freaking them out takes practice.

One thing I do know is that since becoming a mother and starting Zen practice I have noticed much more in the world and there have been more feelings than ever before in my life.  My tender heart has opened a little more each day and experience.  It has also been the beginning of strength like I never knew I had.  Even when things happen all at once all I can do is be there with each one as it is happening and do my best not to see it as a problem but tending to life.  I try to take it one at a time but sometimes it seems to magnify every single thing around me.

I found out that someone I love dearly fractured her vertebrae.  She was giving Z a piggy back ride then fell.  While it's not very serious it will take some uncomfortable recovery time and sets her back to zero in a lot of ways.  It breaks my heart and there's not enough I can do.

Then yesterday, Z's doctor's office called regarding the swab they took from what I thought was a bug bite.  It's a "rare unidentified gram branching bacteria" and they sent it off to the Texas Department of Health to identify.  The nurse did her best to reassure me "not to worry too much if he's getting better and the antibiotics are working" or it could be a contaminated sample.  However, it's not any news any Mama wants to hear.  It is getting better and he's acting completely normal but the words "rare and unidentified" coming from a doctor's office just don't sit well with me.  I will wait and watch.  I am also grateful he has a three year old well check scheduled today so we'll see what the doc thinks.

All the while we've been thinking about our sick fourteen-year old, Paco's bone cancer.  He is our chihuahua companion and best tiny buddy.  We love the fearless goofy little tail wagger that has been on numerous adventures with us over the years.  Zach got him as a tiny puppy before we met.  He's had a life that has been more fun than some people I know.  But now, he is not doing well and getting worse.  It all started around Bodhi's birth but we gave it time before jumping to conclusions and rushing to a vet.  We all know his time is waning and we've done what we can to keep him comfortable and happy.  It doesn't seem right or fair to have to make the sort of decision we have but we did.  Tomorrow we will lay him to rest in our backyard and bury him on our property.

OK, now I'm really crying.  

It hurts and scares me.  All of it.  All at once.  But all I can do is breathe and see what each moment and tomorrow brings.  I am trying not to jump to conclusions and be on edge.  My children surround me and watch my reaction to everything.  They mimic my feelings and their little instincts pick up even the most faint emotions.  I will not hide my feelings, I will explain them.  But I must be strong at the same time.  I am grateful for my practice -both Zen and motherhood.  Life isn't fair or easy.  It requires love and fearlessness to get us through each day.  And today I need a lot of it.

Paco many years ago

Paco and Z as a baby

Bodhi and Paco a month ago

Mama and her tiny Paco Roboto 

One Year Since

"Here is the world.  

Beautiful and terrible things will happen.  

Don't be afraid."

Frederick Buechner

It's hard to believe it's been one year since my Grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  Five years after she had conquered it.  Around that same time I found myself pregnant with Bodhi.  Needless to say, it's been a rough and beautiful year in many ways.  But if there is one thing my Grandmother taught me, it was not to be afraid.

Fear is not something that should make you cower.  It's there to show you when you're at a crossroads and have to go beyond it.  Further than you think you can.  Fully experience it.  Even when you think you can't.  It makes you tender, not hard.  That kind of strength is within us all.

She showed me even when I didn't think I was paying attention.

That was the kind of strength I needed to care for her and support her in the decisions she made, and make some decisions I never knew I would have to.  Of course there were moments when I would dwell in fear and cry and cry but shutting down was not an option.  I was taking care of her, my two-year old, unborn child, myself and our home.  I was needed like never before in my life.

She knew I was pregnant and that was something beautiful to talk about.  In fact, there's always something beautiful to talk about, even the sad stuff.  We were close, we talked and I saw her often but the last weeks were different.  We didn't pretend it wasn't happening, but we didn't make it the center of every conversation.  We held onto hope.  The kind of hope that only endless love knows.

I made time to feel it and be in the experience with her.   We sat and talked like we never had before.  I am eternally grateful she opened up like I never saw in my life.  Many hours we just held hands or I watched her sleep.  We would look at pictures and tell stories.  She'd skip lunch but eat the cake.  She would watch Z play, just absorbing his joy and beauty.  Tears of joy and tears of sadness were shed.

She shared things with me I never expected, but am glad she did.  It made me sad when she told me she always wanted to go back to Hawaii and never had.  But it made me happy when she talked about the most beautiful vacation she had ever been on there with my Grandfather.

She was strong, held onto all dignity and never complained even a little.  Not once.  I don't know how she did it.  But she taught me something while she did it.

January 26th, The last afternoon I saw her we were alone, and she was half in and half out of this world.  Her room was filled with pictures and objects that were dear to her.  There were three pictures at the foot of her bed.  One was her and my Grandfather smiling (her about my age) and her parents.  She looked at me more peacefully than she had in the month since she had found out the chemo wasn't working.  She said with a half smile pointing at the pictures, "They're with me everywhere I go."  It was the first time I felt like she had found peace.

One month to the date that the doctor said she "probably has a month to live" I received a knock on my front door about five in the morning.  It was my dad telling me she was gone and we could go say goodbye.  I immediately felt the loss in the depth of my being but I also felt her with me.  I quietly slipped out of the house and held her hand one last time.

She's still with us to this day, just not in the way she always was.

Having the grandmothers I had, and now being a mother, makes me a stronger woman that I ever knew I was.  I am always opening up to unknown parts of me.  Especially when I'm not trying to.  Life's lessons are deep in the marrow of our being.  When we need them, they're there to provide strength.  It's funny when I recognize something that they taught me or catch myself doing something that they taught me when I didn't know I was absorbing a thing.  It makes me quietly smile knowing they're with me.

When I peer quietly into my children's eyes I feel the love of the whole universe, the one that my Grandmothers are still a part of.  It's something I never experienced until I had children and even more since I lost my Grandmother.

It also makes me realize that every action I make is being watched carefully and every thing I do is teaching my children.  They are little sponges and mirrors.  I can teach them strength or I can teach them weakness.  It's up to me to pause when I'm at the crossroads and choose a direction.  I can also recognize when I make a mistake and not be afraid to backtrack and choose the other way.

I am grateful for my grandmothers' strength, my children and Zen practice.  They help me be and accept the woman that I am and things they way they are.  Mistakes and all.

**The picture above is "GG" (as Z called Grandmother), me and Z on her 80th birthday at our house.  February 14, 2009.**