I've been trying to get this blog back on track since what feels like forever. But identity crises among other things have me waylaid.
Tonight I am alone with my new baby. My sweetheart is out making friends and I am enjoying a wonderful solo evening. It feels so good. Actually, I feel like myself again. It started late this afternoon, a general warmth and settledness that has been a stranger for too long. So I'm going about normal house stuff, feeling like myself and at the same time acutely aware that myself is now a mother. I'm picking up baby debris calmly, like I've always been doing it, relishing the silence and knowing that it might be broken at any moment.
It broke and I went up to see what was up in baby dreamland. I'm holding this little being who is squirming and yelling, mightily disturbed by digestion. I'm rocking him and loving him so much. He's separate from me. He came from me. He is his own, in the hands of the Universe (of God) waking up to life.
All of a sudden, I feel my own mortality. I'm holding a child, my child, and knowing that one day, inshallah, he will be 34 too. Inherently in his growing up is my growing older. At 34 I feel so young!
Last night I was up at some wee hour to nurse. I was so tired and he just kept eating. He wouldn't fall asleep. Physical symptoms arose instantaneously: my legs got twitchy like I needed to kick them, I became unquenchably thirsty, I wanted to scream. It was kind of like a meditation retreat! That's when it hit me.
This really is the yoga of motherhood. There is no out. And really, I don't want it. The deeper I go into it, the more challenging AND more joyful it is. And it's barely the 4 month mark. Just like in meditation, I'll breathe and wait. I'll rest in the hands of God.