Pieces of Me

  - Motherhood. Write about the ups and the downs of motherhood. Write about the joys and the sorrows. Let it all flow out. The good. The bad. But when you think you are done -- do this one thing: Circle the best parts. Circle the wonderful moments. Highlight the words that make you happy. -

  I'm involved in a writing course. A course of discovery. A course of empathy. A course of community. And ritual. And knowing. And supporting. The above is one of the writing prompts given this week. I can type faster than I can write, and I figured I could type it up on the blog. If you're reading it...then I was brave, and hit Publish. Grammar will need forgiveness. I'm just going to write...

Motherhood. This isn't something I can write about with eloquence and grammar. It's going to have to be the random string of thoughts that come through. It just has to be...because this is what motherhood is, for me. It's random. It's life. It's a river that flows...sometimes clear and with ease, sometimes muddied and raging. It's as consistent as the weather. A good string of days, and then a front comes through. Barometric pressure can be easily seen on the faces of my children. I can't control these energies any more than humans can control the weather. Depending on your personal belief of gloabl warming and the impact of humanity on environmental issues, one could easily debate that humans DO impact the weather...but nature is a force beyond the control of humanity. This is what motherhood is to me...I have some force to better impact my days, but it's not all me. There are six energies that live under this roof, and I'd be damn egotistical if I thought I could control them.

Motherhood. Tiring. Blissful. Smelly - poo and soap. Engaging. Painful. Opening. Natural. Not a skill, but a life. I can't 'perfect' mothering. I can't learn about it through courses and books and practice. I have come to believe the very best I can do is learn about myself. Understand who I am, what I believe in, what I need help with, and how I can help. In doing this work, I can be the best ME for my family. I can be the best parent to my children. I can be open to who they are. I can be open and loving, and meet them, understand them, celebrate them...for who they are. Because I am open & free & accepting, of who I am.

Motherhood is a balance between the selfish & unselfish. On the surface, motherhood is selfless...but as our children grow, practically from day one, if we try to control everything in regards to their life, in that control lies selfish. I am not reliving my childhood through these children. This is THEIR childhood. I am not reliving my mistakes through my children. They will have their OWN mistakes. Motherhood is freedom. Motherhood is freedom to explore myself, gain courage in myself, and watch my abilities...and my dreams SOAR! on the backs of my children. Opening my wings, so that I can fly as well...because damn sure these amazing beings are going to TAKE OFF in their dreams. If I don't have wings, they'll leave me behind. Or worse - they won't fly at all, out of some twisted obligation to me.

Answering this question a few years ago, I would have written differently. MY struggles of motherhood read something like this...Sleep - or lack of. Control - or lack of. Too many demands. Not enough arms. My needs. Meeting their needs. Juice spills. Diaper blow-outs. Nursing. Food-allergies. Eczema. Too much laundry. Not enough hours. Illness. Schedules.. Food - again? Lists. Alarms. etc etc etc.

It's not this way, anymore. Yes. There are moments in the day that I can't even breath because the emotional, physical, and voiced-needs of all four children come crashing into my brain (& heart) all at once. Everyone is talking. Everyone is NEEDING. Everyone is the center of his/her own universe. And they are all needing something, from me. This last about 7 minutes. But then it's done. We move on. Tummies get filled to balance blood-sugar levels. Everyone gets heard. Everyone lives. I'm still breathing. We move on. I'm rewarded by this swift-moving storm of parental struggle. And we head out to play or to paint. Or to wrestle. 

These days, it's a poignant joy to realize that MY most difficult struggle with motherhood isn't the mundane, but more the following...these four people, having grown inside my body, nestled closer to my inner soul than anything I know, are in fact pieces of my heart, living outside of my body. Walking, breathing, living parts of me that I must kiss goodbye. Learn to let fly, away. 

I am humbled daily by the thought of it. Life goes on, through their breath. And there will be a day when I am no longer a part of their daily experience. I just hope it comes way down the road, for this is my pain. The pain of knowing I will leave them too soon. In feeling this, I am always given the gift of knowing I've finally made it to this place. I'm home. These children, my motherhood experiences, have brought me home. Home isn't a finishing point, it's just the beginning. Home is the launchpad...and my wings, all four of them, are growing.