A little rush of adrenaline accompanied my typing out that title. I confess, I was not expecting to ever write that.
But I tell myself every pregnancy that this time I will be better at documenting it, and I never follow through. I am trying to remedy this; I am actually typing this post before we have even announced the pregnancy, so that I may capture all of these thoughts at their freshest.
I started writing about paying attention several months ago. It was an unfinished thought, and I knew it, and I wasn’t sure how to complete it. It wasn’t entirely clear in my own head; I wasn’t sure how to articulate it in its half-formed state.
I am still not entirely clear, but I’m giving it my best try, anyway. Over the past few months I have attempted to clarify the thought that precipitated a total paradigm shift for me this year, the former way of thinking and the feeling of being bricked in, and the change and the relief and peace that came and what all else was lost in the process.
Yes, there was loss, but it was a good kind. It was throwing off of “things that hinder.”
That loss can probably be most accurately summed up as myself.
Lose myself? That can’t be good. One is not supposed to lose herself in motherhood. She’s supposed to work very hard to establish herself as separate, to care for her own needs first, and not forget herself while she cares for her children. And to a certain extent that is true; there is danger in focusing all of my energies on my children. It’s unhealthy for them and for me–but I think we confuse symptoms with cause, here.
It is not the hyperfocus on children’s care that is of chief danger to me as mother–it is the fact that, more than likely, I do what I do out of a deference to myself and my insecurity. It is how I convince myself that I am a good mother, something of which I desperately need to be convinced. Because I am motivated, ultimately, by my own self-interests, counseling me to move from focusing time and energy on my children to focusing time and energy on myself only allows the root cause–an over-preoccupation with myself–to flourish, unseen. (I call the result of this the Pet/Pest Situation–something that has its own post in the works and will be published “eventually”.)
When I say lose myself I’m not talking about a loss in practice, where I bolster my self-image by passing over my needs to become a martyr to my family’s needs. I’m talking about a loss in principle, where I no longer judge what I do by how beneficial it is for me personally. Pay attention, Beatrice told me. And I tried to. And when I did that, I couldn’t pay attention to myself. I quit worrying about me. In practice, everything stayed the same. Our days actually looked the same. My work and my rest looked the same. But I stopped paying attention to myself and I started slowing down and paying attention to somebody else. And, suddenly, I could breathe.
I’ve been thinking about books. There are a few (very few) I want to re-read–slowly–and then write about while re-reading. Or after I’ve re-read them. Or something like that.
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Last week marked nine months for Beatrice, who is currently seated in a high chair beside me, working on a mini powdered donut with much sucking and smacking sounds. When I look over at her, she stops and grins; her face is covered with white dust and fragments of donut. This is one of the first times she’s sat in a high chair, as well as her first powdered donut. She seems pleased with both experiences.
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Beatrice Darlene turned eight months on December the 4th.
[Read more…]Our Beada turned seven months on the 4th of November.
[Read more…]And now, for the last of Eldore’s monthly updates.
[Read more…]On the morning of October 21, 2019, I sit in the semi-darkness of dawn and berate myself that if I don’t start Beatrice’s six-month post now–and it is already over two weeks late–I may not write it at all.
