Birth Day

A year ago, at this very moment, I lay in Cambridge Hospital, with Amelia newly born on my chest. It was not the birth that I had imagined. And, yet, it was beautiful. I had birthed at home for the majority of her birthing process. My water broke on Sunday, and she arrived on Thursday morning. There were birthing candles, music, birth tub, loving midwives, prayer shawl... and, eventually, I moved from my home to the hospital, where another caring midwife met us.
When Amelia was finally born, the OB on call came into my room to say congratulations, and that she was happy that I had proven her wrong. She wanted to c-section Amelia from the second we arrived. After all, I had been in labor for days, she said. I was tired. Yes, I was tired. Indeed. And yet, we were not finished, Amelia and I. She was on her way, and I needed to give her the space, the time, to arrive without intervention, without force, without alarm.
When she did arrive, Joe and I held her, and did not let her go. She never left our arms, except to be wheeled to our room, by us. We kept looking at each other and saying, "can you believe that she is our daughter???" And then we took her home. Without proper dismissal, or more accurately, with proper dismissal after saying we were leaving anyways. She was to be born at home, and so home we were to go. She was healthy, I was well.
And so it has been since then. We still look at each other with amazement that we were blessed with such a spirited girl. We still create visions and intentions, only to discover that it rarely works out exactly as planned. And, yet, it is still beautiful. Motherhood, marriage, family, celebrations, life. Its all a mix, isn't it?
I had an intention to create a video of her birth to the song that will forever remind me of her birth. I would weep to this song in the final days of my pregnancy. I never did get around to that video, mostly because her birth turned out differently.
But never say never... and so here it is. Reflections on the first year of Amelia Eve's life.
Happy birthday, baby girl. You amaze me. I am very proud to be your Mama.

Skipping.

When was the last time that you skipped? I mean physically skipped? Yesterday afternoon, I was walking to the corner store to pick up a bottle of wine. It was bitingly cold, and so I decided hasten my walk to a skip, with the intention of keeping warm. I felt a bit silly, but, soon enough, the joy of skipping far outweighed the self-consciousness.

I came home, and asked Joe when the last time he "skipped" was. He asked me if I meant the last time he skipped an Eagles football game on TV. He was serious. I responded that I meant literally, physically skipping. Oh, he replied, sometimes I skip around the corner at work! I did not know this little tid bit about my boyish husband. I liked it. I then posed the question to him. Do you think its possible to skip and not be happy at the same time? He thought for a moment and then replied, No, he did not think it was possible to skip and be unhappy at the same time. So, there it is.

I dare you, if you are feeling impervious to joy at any given moment, to go outside and skip for a few minutes. Trust me, the self-consciousness you feel will give way to childlike, in-the-moment, true joy. You needn't spend any money, and I promise that you have the time in your day.

Ahhhh. It feels good. I'm going to do it again today, in fact.

Birthday.

Today is my birthday, and I am another year well into my 30's. It may be cliche, but where does the time go?

I remember my 23rd birthday; I had recently moved into a tiny apartment in DC, on my own, and Joe had entered my life. (I kissed Joe, in fact, for the first time that evening. It was, as I told my friend Emily later that evening, the best, longest, sweetest kiss. I had no idea that he would eventually become my husband.) And there I sat, on the floor, bathed in candlelight, writing myself a letter. It was a time in my life when I was healing, changing, growing; I had been through a long, difficult period, and I was coming through to the other side. Oh, how alive I felt! Certain songs, like Oasis' "Don't Go Away", transport me right back to that tiny living room, and the swell of feelings flowing through me.

That letter was a letter of promise and acknowledgment. Seeing how far I'd come, and claiming how far I would go. I was, in retrospect, coming into my own and seeing my own loveliness. Whereas, before, I seemed to see mostly what needed fixing.

Much has changed since then; While I am still young, relatively speaking, that sense of freedom and invincability has been replaced with a sense of groundedness and responsibility. I feel both great love and a pang of sadness as I reflect back to that 23 year old woman-in-coming; I am wishing in this moment that I could reach back in time and know her again. To remember what it feels like to be have all of the major life choices still ahead of me. Who will I be? What will I do? Who will I marry? Who will be my child(ren)? What will I name them? That time of becoming, of not knowing, was exhilarating.

And, here I am now, ending the most transitionary, extraordinary (and yet ordinary) year of my life and beginning a new one. I have given birth; I have become a mother; I have nourished my daughter from my bosom.

There is a pull between opening up to what is now, with all of its blessings, and longing for the freedom and risk-taking that marked my youth. I know this pull as the trademark of the great transitions of my life. It is walking through the murky waters, at times not knowing just who I am in the moment, as I approach the next becoming.

I hung up the phone this morning with my dear friend, Kate, from Malaysia. We shared our thoughts, our feelings, our wonderings on this topic. She left me with a reminder of what true wisdom is... it is knowing what questions to ask; The questions that will take us from where we are to where we need to go.

And so, today, when I sit down to reflect on last year and set my intentions and theme for next year, I will be asking myself this question...

What am I longing for?

And so, I am off to the local coffee shop, and then onto my massage appointment. Yes!

Basic Instinct?

Sometimes I mark my territory. Like a dog lifting its leg. I am not proud of this. But, it's true.

Today, I noticed a man standing in my tiny garden, right up against the window, helping himself to our hose while he finished his cigarette (do you know how many cigarette butts I find daily in there??). Innocent enough, but it bugs me how people disrespect our property here in the city. I've had my patio furniture stolen, my patio destroyed and re-built, plants tramped, many an empty vodka bottle dumped; So, when I saw this man helping himself, I stepped outside and asked, "may I help you?" I let him finish. I simply marked my territory.

I do this to protect my family, too. This morning, I received an e-mail that raised my spikes. It triggered my instict to mark my territory. Our boundaries. Back-off. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and asked myself 'how important is this really?' Not very. And, so, instead, I picked up Amelia and kissed those pink cheeks.

I guess I still marked my territory.

Women Speak: Motherhood

Motherhood is like...

"Sitting on the edge of the most beautiful cliff in the world, taking in the view, feeling the joy... but then realizing there is a really steep drop just below and unsure of how steep it is, what is below, and whether I can maintain the balance..."

"The start of a summer morning--the promise of warmth and joy as I look forward, but yet the slight chill and shock of air as I learn how to be a new mom..."

"Constantly moving from one place to another, picking up pieces, chasing,... always looking, moving, and desperately wanting to stop."

I asked some of my mama friends, including some women that I have never met, if they would be willing to share their feelings and experiences with me. The quotes above are some of the descriptions to my question, "what is a metaphor for how you feel as a mama?"

Here are some of the other responses that these women shared with me...

What adjectives describe how you feel about yourself, or your life, right now?
*Happy, *content, *busy, *lonely, *frustrated, *confused, frazzled, challenged, proud, stuck, up and down, loving, impatient, hard-working, striving, meaningful, changed, lucky, excited, amazed, overjoyed, joyous, vulnerable, scared, confident, guilt-ridden, incompetent, frazzled, frustrated, despondent, elated, thankful, optimistic, dazed, conflicted, bored, exhausted, longing. * Most commonly reported.

What choices are you currently struggling with?
The most common responses were about the balance of motherhood with a career, how a career fits in, and choices around being with/growing their families vs. seeking employment outside the home. Confidence with self (as mother and outside the home) was another common theme, i.e. sourcing confidence, building confidence, being more confident. Other themes included taking time for self, asking for help, dealing with in-laws, furthering education, defining motherhood role, nurturing relationships, letting go, and parenting decisions/strategies.

What do you want most for yourself right now?
More time for self, greater balance, increased confidence, more joy and being "in the moment" (less guilt and questioning), and a greater purpose/contribution outside of motherhood were among the top of the list. Other wants included family routine/structure, consistency, find next career opportunity, less guilt, connection with other mamas/women, time for self, sense of moving forward, expansion outside home, appreciation, happy child, good marriage, better body image, more energy, inner satisfaction.

I won't share the ratings of satisfaction in each area. Why? Because we mamas already make enough comparisons and judgments that there is no point in measuring our happiness with others! Agreed?! However, I will say that, overall, "role as mama" was ranked the highest. (Perhaps that is because that is where we seek the most guidance and/or focus our attention) And, support system and career were among the lowest, with relationships close behind. Personal growth was in the middle. Motherhood, it seems, is its on own path to personal growth.

In sum, we need each other. We need to rally around each other and to not forget to ask each other how we are, outside of our roles as mama. We need to see the dreams-on-hold in each other, and help call those forth. To notice the permissions that we desperately want to give ourselves, and give that to each other. Yes, go out for a walk even if it costs $15 for that babysitter - you need it!

I still welcome other responses. I will use these to further develop programs in support of mamas. In the meantime, we ought to all get together and celebrate being a mama, and all of the good work we do every day!

Sometimes I Forget...

Sometimes I forget my own power.
I forget my own capability as a woman, a mother, a life partner, a business woman.
Then I remember that I can choose a new path when the one that I'm walking down isn't leading where I want to go.
Like when I find myself going into Amelia's room four times during a "nap time".
Sometimes I forget that Amelia follows my cues, and that she senses when I am ambivalent, or unsettled.
Then I remember what I want for her, and I settle into a new plan.

Sometimes I forget to attend to myself.
Then I remember to start where I am, and even a 15-minute run is refreshing and, for today, enough.
Sometimes I forget that eating well means delighting my mouth, as much as nourishing my body.
Then I remember to treat myself to a perfectly toasted sesame bagel with fresh goat cheese, thyme, and a drizzle of aguave nectar for breakfast. (Seriously, you must try it...)

Sometimes I forget how much I need my friends.
Then I remember how good it feels to hear, "I know. I've been there, too."
Sometimes I forget that it really need not be hard.
And them I remember to go with, not against, the flow. And that it gets to be easy, if I so choose.

Sometimes I forget that we all forget.
And then I remember why I do what I do.

To remember.

Bridget Jones Lives on (in Amsterdam)...

I will blog more about my experiences in Amsterdam, from the heart-wrenching and anxious moments of being miles and miles away from Amelia, to the sweet "just you and me" moments with Joe, to the euphoric experience of riding a bike, solo, along the beautiful canals...

For now, though, let me introduce Bridget Jones. First, let me begin by a short story. This past spring, I was waiting in line for Barbara Walters' to sign her autobiography. Being the first in line (yes, I admit it), I had lots of time to kill. A young woman was behind me and she began telling me about herself. "I am kind of like Bridget Jones", she said, "I can't help it." I laughed, and shared that I, too, find myself in these embarrassing predictaments often. Moments later, Barbara signed my book, and hers, and I turned around to say goodbye to her. That's when I saw her flat out, on the floor, with her belongings surrounding her. She had fallen. On her face. And her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. "Goodbye, Bridget Jones." I said. And we both laughed.

And now to my moment. Joe left Amsterdam on Sunday morning to travel to Germany for business. I had 30 hours left in a foreign country. Alone. When was the last time I was truly alone? What would I do with myself? So, I determined to make it a wonderfully hedonistic experience (no, not as in the red light district, thank you.) Instead, I rented an old-fashioned bicycle and road along the canal way with the locals. I shopped a little. I caught part of a mass in an old church. I went to the grocery store and bought cheese, pastry and apples. I went to a chocolate store and bought a few chocolates. I went back to my room and filled the tub with bubbles, filled myself a glass of wine, and put some chocolates, apples and cheese on a plate. I then took the flowers that my mother-in-law had awaiting us (our anniversary) and added them to the tub. Indulgence. I laid in the tub, sipped my wine, nibbled a chocolate, ate some cheese, and dipped my toes in and out of this huge tub. I mused about my experience, reminding myself to enjoy this moment. Take it in. Savor it. I decided that I would spend the rest of my euros on a special dinner. Heck, I will treat myself!

As I stepped out of the tub, I went to reach for my towel. And that's when I saw it. My hands were stained a deep, bright yellow. I rubbed and rubbed, but it did not lessen. I then looked down at my chest, and arms. Bright yellow. I turned to the mirror. My face, my nose, bright yellow. Oh my. The flowers. The pollen. I turned to the tub, and, to my horror, it, too, appeared to be stained that dark yellow color. I quickly grabbed a towel and started to scrub. To no avail. I took a deep breath, sat down, and tried to think of my options. I could go to the grocery store and buy cleaner and sponge. Sh*t. It was nearly 5pm. It might be closed.

So, I quickly dressed myself, wiped as much of the yellow off of my face as possible, and stepped out of the room. I approached the concierge, lowered my voice, and confessed, "excuse me, but I have something embarrassing to share. I put flowers in the tub, and, you see, they seemed to stain it. Do you have cleaning supplies that I can use?" She looked at me, confused, and said, "we have a cleaning service, you know..." "Yes, I said, but it's.... bad." "I'll send someone right over."

I went back to my room and waited. A woman showed up and I warned her. We went to the tub, and she began to scrub. I offered to help. She shooed me out of the bathroom. I came back in, and she told me that it was not coming off. She was sweating. I asked again if I could help. She refused. I reached into my pocked, took out the euros that I had saved for dinner, and handed them to her. Take-out pizza would have to do.

She did, eventually, get the pollen off the tub. And my skin did, eventually, return to its pinker pigment. And, as I left the hotel the next morning, I passed her in the hall. And we exchanged a glance, and a smirk. We both seemed to think it was funny.

History in the Making

Today is election day and, in no small way, history is being made. This excites me. (It also excites my husband. He must have been first in line this morning.) I have my opinion about who is better fit to lead our nation. And you have yours. I have never been so eager to cast my vote. And you? We both await the results tonight to see who it will be... (gulp.)

What I most want to blog about today, however, is my love for my daughter. Joe and I are off to Amsterdam tomorrow. Joe has business in Germany, which inspired me to seize the opportunity and go with him. We hemmed and hawed and eventually made a few choices, such as going to Amsterdam instead (Joe will move on to Germany after I head home), leaving Amelia at home, and having my mom and sister, alternately, stay with her.

Up until now, I've been very excited for this adventure with Joe. I've long awaited seeing Anne Frank's house, and to experience the laid-back, anything-goes, historically-rich city. We've been playfully discussing care-free days over there; We intend to visit many coffee shops, sleep in (a little), and follow our whims... no naps, no schedules, no meal-planning, no fussiness (at least, not from Amelia)...

Which leads to my heavy heart today. No Amelia. I will be far, far away from my daughter. I will not be able to kiss those delicious cheeks, or cuddle, or see those gorgeous eyes for five full days. I turned to Joe last night and said, "I may not be able to get on that plane tomorrow." To which my supportive husband replied, "if you don't, you don't. And that's ok." To which I replied, "I need encouragement." Ah, its not easy being a husband.

Mind you, this is coming from a woman who's number 1 value has been freedom. I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-vintage-skirt kind of gal (or jeans, these days). To think that I will have to will, seriously will, myself on that plane is a little short of shocking. My stream of thinking is something like this right now, "What if something happened to us? Who would best care for Amelia? No one could love Amelia the way that we do. She needs gentleness, empowerment, affection, strength... Should I leave my wishes for her in case anything happened? Would Amelia remember us? Me? Are the 3 pages of instructions (lovingly dubbed "The Mama Manifesto" by Joe) enough? Should I not go? Am I doing the right thing??"

And I am sitting here today staring at my beautiful daughter. Oh, I love her. I mean, I love her. I love her the way that I never imagined I could love another being. Its different than the way that I love Joe. And I love Joe. If you are a mother, you understand this.

I know, deep down, that this, too, is part of the path. Learning to leave her, to tend to my own need for adventure, to be alone with Joe, to have faith, and to allow myself to miss her, to be sad, to send prayers that all will be well.

Amelia Eve, I love you, I love you, I love you. My little spark, my darling daughter, my comic, my strong girl. Leaving you is really, really hard.