The Birth of a Zen Mom
February 21, 2006 at 4:57 When I had babies in Virginia, the nursery was located on the second floor of our Cape Cod home, tucked under the eaves with an angled-dormer that looked out on the woods across the street and a double window that caught glimpses of tree tops and blue sky.
I’d sit exhausted and unkempt in the glider rocker, feeding or comforting the tiny bundle in my arms. I still remember the moist snuffling and warm breath on my neck, the impossibly silky feel of the baby’s head under my chin, the way my right hand could perfectly support the diapered bottom and my left hand hold a flannel blanket over the baby’s back.
As a new mom, I was always tired, often frazzled, and wondering if I was up to the task at hand, but in that chair I had those quiet, perfect moments that got me through all the rest.
With the whole world reminding me to “hold them close, they grow so fast,” I became nostalgic with each milestone. As my son became less and less interested in nursing, I knew I was no longer the center of his world. And the first time my baby girl took off on all fours up the stairs, she looked both scared and determined. It was all I could do not to sweep her back into the safety of my arms. Instead I watched her navigate the steps one by one, anxiety all over her face. When she got to the top, she turned around and delivered the biggest and most triumphant smile. She’d done it! She’d overcome her fears, left mom behind, and hit a whole new level! All that that meant wasn’t lost on me.
Early on, I definitely felt twinges of sadness as I saw my babies morph into toddlers and then enter preschool. While I sometimes felt smothered by their demands, I cried when I took my oldest to kindergarten, launching him into a larger world that didn’t include me. While their milestones and growth were easy to see and track, my personal growth was hidden and more subtle. The heat and pressure of parenting re-shaped my inner landscape over time, refined all my raw materials, created something new.
What a surprise to surface in my 40s and realize that we were really all growing up together. I was teaching them and they were teaching me. They were changing, developing, and maturing and so was I. The process wasn’t always smooth or comfortable or calm and linear. There was lots of crying involved (theirs and mine). Sometimes we slid backwards before we took a leap forward. It could be more than a little confusing and frustrating.
But once I realized we were all works in progress, I wasn’t inclined to look back. I stopped fearing the end of one phase and the beginning of another. I realized that while babies and toddlers could be fabulously cuddly and cute, preschoolers brought enthusiasm and excitement to the most mundane tasks, and elementary school kids are often wise beyond their years. I know we’ll take our lumps in adolescence and menopause will rattle our world, but as circumstances loosen my ties to my children, I’m learning to trust them, trust myself, and trust God to help us all grow into the people we’re intended to be--moment by moment.
© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.
February 21, 2006
Family, Midlife, Sacred places
Reader Comments (9)
This is a prime example of why your writing needs to continue and why it is important to the world.
Your lovely post brought back memories of sleepless nights and stroking tiny fingers. Thank you.
(that was an awkward sentence, but I hope you catch my drift)