depression
loving being lost.
Most of the women in the current dance session have heard me speak of my neighbour Betty. My wonderful, strong neighbour named Betty who woke up on Friday February 3rd, walked the few hundred feet from our homes to Broadway Avenue on her way to work, and was struck by a speeding vehicle. We joke in our culture when speak about cherishing life because "one day you could be walking down the street and get hit by a bus." Well, this is what happened to her. Not only was she struck down in her 68th year of life, but the assailant kept driving, leaving her alone on the snowy, frozen winter road. Abandoned. Left. Lost.
What you might not know about this Woman is that she has the determination, grit and mental strength of a ferocious lioness. Having lived next to this wonderful lady for almost a decade, it didn't take me to long to see that her beautifully kept home and blooming flowers pots and gardens were the product of a disciplined and hard-working human being. It was this strength of character that made me want to share a bit of Betty in the MommaGO-GO class the following week. Even though we are tired with our small children, I think it's good to be reminded of our blessed circumstances and that day in class we dedicate all of our hip-shaking to Betty! She is never one to pass up the opportunity to find something good in every situation. Even while my heart was hurting for my Friend, I knew the best thing I could do was to pass along a word of encouragement to the moms around me.
Over the years it was not uncommon to end up chatting over the fence, getting to know one another. Then the babies came. Our babies. Betty came to meet Charlotte in December of 2006, bearing the gift of a pink bunny with the word "BABY" written on his large rear hopping foot. If you've ever met our daughter, you've likely met "Conky Conejo" [spanish word for rabbit pronouced coe-nay-ho]. Her childhood companion, Conky, is the gifting from a kind neighbour delivering a cuddly toy for our new baby girl - and he has been the steady joy in her life. He comforts, entertains, cuddles and accepts all physical challenges she presents to him. It's not uncommon to find Conky in a predicament that involves being stuffed into small containers, wrapped in ribbons or being thrown from heights that would make any human faint...and he takes it all in stride.
Back to Betty...
She currently faces months of rehabilitation and has gone from 68 years of physical freedom to being at the mercy of her caregivers while she recuperates from this massive violation to her person. From her own mouth and those of our neighbours, we've all struggled to understand the how and why of these circumstances. Such a tremendous challenge that produces moments where all seems lost for this wonderful woman I've grown to care about. And you know what, I cannot do a darn thing to change her physical circumstances, not one. So I've done the best that I know how to do which is to stop in, give a hug, listen and then take the remnants of those visits and pray for my friend.
Now to you...and me...
Betty has raised her children, and they are with her now, by her side, caring and providing. And how did a woman raise such children? Let me tell you, the hard-working, big-hearted habitual way of living began for her many years ago when her children were small...and these are the little snippets that she's given to me as a young mom. She's never once made light of my fatigue or the demands that I face in rearing small humans. She's been empathetic, encouraging and always has a kind word of story reflective of how she made the best and continues to make the best out of life's challenges.
So we come to loving being lost.
Experiencing feelings of loss, discomfort and pain is hard; quite frankly, it is terrible. But what I'm realizing is that we cannot know these pains unless we've come from a place of safety, comfort and joy. To be removed from pleasure and peace temporarily is not the end of life as we know it...it's a measuring stick.
There have been many days where I've felt lost in my mothering journey, overwhelmed by the responsibility and constant care required by these tiny human beings. Then I see Conky Conejo and remember my Friend Betty...telling me to hug the kids lots and just enjoy the simple things with them. Kids don't need expensive toys or fancy trips. Give 'em a box, a plastic container, a spoon and a pot, if they're happy playing with 8 plastic straws then by all means, let them do it. Give yourself a break, take a moment to breathe, and let that lost moment pass you by. Below is a pic of the kids in a little tent Betty gave us a couple of years ago. Someone was about to throw it out and she thought of my us and said it was a perfect little play place for little children. We use it all the time!
While increasingly rare these days, I have had several moments (even a period of several years following the birth of my daughter) where I was convinced that my parenting had become so weak, ineffective, almost neglectful and/or damaging to my child...and I would despair. I would lose all hope for any health or love remaining for our future relationships. It was lonely, embarrassing and a dark place to travel and an even darker place to live in.
As it turns out, it is a path well known by many parents. This journey however, is not one we want to share with those around us. Unlike a rewarding and pleasure-filled trip to a tropical climate, arriving to destination "lost" is accompanied by incessant internal dialogue laying blame, fault and pre-determined failure. "You SUCK! You're ruining your child! What a LOSER you are! Can't you do it better than THAT?" That's what we tell ourselves, or at least I did. I referred to myself as a garbage parent. My life was past recycling, past being "someone else's treasure" - just a heap of waste with no functional use in my given environment.
I'm learning something though, that couldn't be farther from the truth. On a particularly down day a wise and knowing friend told me that she didn't think I was stuck in a valley. In fact, she believed I was wandering a familiar path from mountain top to valley AND, here's the clincher, I was meeting other people in those valleys. Revisiting former "lost places" is not the landmark site of permanent failure, but rather a place to stop, look around and perhaps meet others who happen to be in the exact same place!
While depression, grief and loss are heart-crushing, I cannot help but believe there is inherent value of being able to relate to another fellow human being. Allowing another person to see a glimpse of normalcy maybe even hope in their private chaotic state of heart and mind makes those dark days worth it.
There can be no limit to the worth of a kind word or an encouraging hug. I'm determined not to let my past hurts go to waste. Carrying the burden of shame for my "lost places" is like trying to drive home from a holiday on a flat tire and a bent rim. You might get there, but it will be painfully slow and can often cause more damage to the whole of the vehicle. Repair costs go up and often take longer than initially expected. The frustration of a bad moment or an event is painfully dragged out. Rather than tough it out until you "get to a better place" its wise to stop, take a moment and ask for help. It doesn't mean the pain or problem goes away, but you've got someone there to help alleviate and minimize the damage.I've also learned that when I extend kindness to others it has shown my children a vital survival skill...we need other people in our lives to support and encourage us. And as a parent that has been "lost" many times, it is a great reward to see the fruits of kindness and compassion being grown in a home where I once saw nothing but barren, empty landscape.
This was brought to my attention again as Betty uttered the same words a couple of weeks ago while lying in her hospital bed, waiting anxiously for her body to recover. One thing I’m sure of, with a strong heart and mind like that, she is sure to come out of this stronger than ever. Please be encouraged today Friend!
~Kirsty
cravings.
This is about pregnancy, childbirth and the days, months and now years that have passed since the arrival my children. I had cravings, but not the kind that involve the stereotypical pickles and ice cream of pregnancy. They were soul cravings. They were cravings of abolishing fears that had gripped me for as long as I can remember. Cravings that I would be the kind of parent that would be able to instill health, self-esteem and wellness in my children's lives. At the time of my first pregnancy, I did not believe I had satisfied these cravings.
In a prenatal class the instructor asked, "what are your fears about giving birth?" Instantly I thought, tearing my perineum and having stitches in my crotch. I've spoken quite a bit about this in other birth-related writings, but here I want to go a bit deeper. This simple question posed changed the course of my life forever.
With the help, experience and knowledge of my childbirth educators, I began to uncover real and tangible methods to prevent tearing of the perineum during vaginal delivery. WONDERFUL!
Afraid of tearing.
Don't birth on my back.
OK, I'm NOT gonna do that.
and maybe TMI, but FYI, I birthed in alternate positions and I did NOT tear...
Next set of fears...ummm...that's a bit more tricky, doctors...and ummm...hospitals...dealing with this was much more difficult as there were no regulated midwives, only private practices and we did not have the money nor was I particularly interested in midwifery care at this point. That was a world away in my mind.
However, in this same prenatal class I began to look more carefully at my fear of medical environments. Now to be honest, I have a much more expanded version of this in my personal birth story of the day our daughter was born, but for this post, those details do not need to be expanded upon...and also, I'm not quite ready to share it publicly.
There was in my lifetime, a series of physical ailments that I suffered from as a young child into my early adulthood: immensely long headaches often lasting for days at a time, crippling stomach pains, heart and chest pains that would affect my ability to breath and function and an overall longterm feeling of lethargy and exhaustion. While I did share some of these with my parents, usually I kept to myself and just became used to living in this uncomfortably strange state.
As a young person, you lack the ability to understand that your own life experiences may be entirely different than those around you. I wrongly assumed for many years that living with physical pain was the average experience of children and teenagers.
When I was sixteen, I began dating a handsome and gentle young man and it was in spending time with him and his family that I started to uncover that my view of the world was skewed. His home was so peaceful, he was so kind and in getting to know him more, I discovered that he could wake up feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the day. I don't EVER remember feeling like that. NOT ONCE. I began to feel like a bit of an anomaly as I entered my early adulthood.
It wasn't long before I began to explore the strange state of my physical exhaustion and all attempts to find health were met with more unanswered questions. I specifically remember a Doctor prescribing Ativan and telling me to place it under my tongue. At the time it seemed like the stupidest thing, how would sticking this little disolvable tablet in my mouth erase years of exhaustion? Well, short story, it didn't. And neither did any of the other prescribed or suggested treatments. So I gave up.
It was shortly after highschool ended that I threw myself into my dance career. Being in the studio was the first time I experienced any type of physiological peace. After classes my eyes would sparkle and I would feel awake and alive. It was quite simply, the most effective treatment to the sleepiness I had known my entire life. It was beautiful and liberating and addictive...and it kept me alive as I began to unfold the roots of my seemingly odd existence; I had been molested as a very small girl by an extended family member.
After what felt like a failed attempt to disclose my childhood sexual abuse to a loved one, I shut down that part of my brain entirely...that is when my chest pain began to increase. I remember having a friend over late one night and I began to experience such intense pain that I thought my heart was seizing. Yelling for my parents, they called an ambulance, which must have been a horrible moment for them as we lived about 25 minutes from the nearest city. I kept crying at my Dad saying, "my heart hurts, MY HEART HURTS," and it did, but not my physical heart...it was the heart of my soul collapsing in on itself.
That night was a turning point for me. In the end my parents cancelled the ambulance and drove me into the local hospital where they could find nothing physically wrong with me other than what could only be described as an intense anxiety attack. But I knew. I knew without a doubt that my body was screaming to me, "start. start now. there is an end to this pain, and it will be hard, but you must start now. start on this very night" And I did.
I never told a soul what I discovered that night...my body was fearfully and wonderfully made and it had been speaking truth to me for years until I was mature enough to see what was in front of me. I was about to begin climbing a mountain with seemingly endless, painful, exhausting pathways that would take me to it's liberating peak. From this peak I clung to the knowledge that upon reaching the summit I would see clearly that there were thousands upon thousands of survivors that had created the tread to the peak and were well on their way down the other side of the mountain. Conversely, there were thousands upon thousands who were behind me, some still lying at the base of the mountain, perhaps still to young to understand what had brought them there in the first place. For those behind me, I pray.
Childhood sexual abuse.
What a shameful dirty secret we harbour in our culture...but have hope, there have been and will continue to be people who will speak the truth about these things.
Coming back to the original title, cravings. You see, one week before delivering my daughter I realized that I had been listening to a song titled, "Charlotte" and in it was the devastating story of a woman set on the wrong path. That name coupled with those lyrics were a small grace as I was just days away from holding my very own Charlotte. It was in her first four years that I would battle my final demons of childhood sexual abuse.
The desire to birth my child naturally and without the slightest intervention didn't come from a "best for baby" or "vaginal/intervention and drug-free births are superior" perspective, although I do believe it can be one of the most beautiful ways for baby and mom to meet face to face first time: alert and awake with less emphasis on the often uncomfortable postpartum physical recovery. The birthing hopes I had stemmed from years of counseling and battlling with sheer determination and grit to seek health that I could pass along to my children.
It upsets me to no end when there is criticism of how people choose to birth. Instinctively, I believed that a key part of my survival and recovery was to birth my child in this manner. You must remember, for years I lived in physical pain and sought to abolish it, but in reality, it was that pain which held the key to my freedom. It pointed me in a truthful direction. While I lived with many discomforts, I came to embrace physical pain as a crucial stepping stone in my healing journey.It took almost 30 years to uncover this about myself. Victims of sexual abuse (and possibly other forms) come to believe that their needs, thoughts and instincts are of little value, but as parents, we come to learn that following these instincts can be our greatest parenting tool. Parental decisions are the foundations upon which our children's futures are built. We hope we've given them the best before we have to release them into the challenging and often intimidating world from which we've tried to protect them.
As I experienced profound healing, so might others experience vital victories in welcoming their children in other manners. There are women who require full epidurals as their body memories are too great for them to experience physical waves of contractions. There are those who request cesarean birth as the trauma they experienced vaginally is too crippling. And then like myself, there are those who go on to choose homebirth for subsequent births. These were not decisions made strictly with emotion or intellect, but it was a culmination of the many complex facets that accompany and challenge the birthing practices we have in our current culture.
The homebirth of my son three and half years later was a beautiful event. It did take some time for me to provide my husband with the real reason I felt so compelled to birth at home. Aside from the fact that this was my second smooth and extremely healthy pregnancy, there was a much deeper reason I wanted our son to make his arrival in the quiet safety of our home. For years I had battled the painful memories and often tortuous reality of how sexual abuse forever changed my life. I was blessed and able to welcome a new young gentleman in the same corners of my home that had been my battle ground against the demons and memories born of an abuse experience. A new generation of males had been born in my bloodline, this was a fresh start for me. Rather than feel deconstructed by a man, I was going to have the honour and privilege to raise up a young man with the help of my loving husband and alongside our sweet girl.
As an aside, my son was born a couple of weeks early. He quickly and efficiently entered the world on July 4th, 2010, better known as Independence Day. It was an important victory for my family and one we are forever grateful to have shared with our beloved friend and Doula and the care of two local midwives.
I respectfully ackowledge that we are a rich, rich country and it is with relative ease that we have access to tremendous care in our childbearing years. It is no small feat to beat death and preserve life. Medically speaking, this has been done triumphantly time and time again. But might I challenge you to consider the a task we have yet to fully articulate and embrace, and that is finding other successful methodologies for preserving and protecting the mental, emotional and spiritual side of life as well. I cannot speak to numbers or statistics, but I think we are all aware of the cost to our system in dealing with mental health issues. There is in fact a cost to treat these very real conditions, and they are no less important to our societal health.
Just recently I spent several hours in the local ER (seeking help for a constipated baby) when I watched the eye-rolling of the nurses as they wheeled in a young woman who was a "repeat customer" experiencing yet another anxiety attack. There are still so many stigmas attached to mental illness and we as a society are struggling to find longterm solutions.
What do our women need in order to make their first days as mothers better? What impact do our local birthing options have in the longterm health of our families? Why do we continue to try and separate the mental, emotional, physical and spiritual aspect of health during pregnancy and birth? These are important questions that require thoughtful answers.
While I accept the grand importance of considering the baby's experience in birth, we must also be compassionate to embrace the mother's and fathers who are to raise them. Our families deserve a good start, we will be in better health as a whole if we remember the value of nurturing parent's as well. It is not selfish, nor is it wrong to advocate for birthing options that take into consideration the importance of wholistic health and wellness.
I often wish people would think twice before contributing comments to an already divisive and greatly misunderstood area of societal health. These are life-changing moments and they deserve the utmost care as we all seek to find solutions to the wide array of needs within in our communities.
A couple of months ago my daughter and I had the privilege to attend the Cirque de Soleil Immortal tour. One of the numbers boasts a hot air balloon flying over the crowd as Michael Jackson sings in the backgroud, "have you seen my childhood?...." Driving home Charlotte tells me this was her favourite song. "Where did his childhood go Momma? Why was he looking for it?" Let me tell you, that was an interesting conversation...and it makes me so grateful to be at this stage of my life. I can answer my five-year-olds question with sincerity and joy. She also asked me the other day, "are we rich Momma?" to which I replied, "absolutely Lovie. We are rich and I have all that I could ever ask or hope for!"This is a photo from our night out and at my feet stand two of the most important people I've ever had the pleasure to know. What you don't see in this photo is the years of hard work, counseling, grit and determination to find value in myself. I did it for me, and my children are the beneficiaries of this hard work. Women need to know that it's not only okay, but it is vitally important that they take care of themselves as well. Peace within the home is not something to be underrated, in fact, I wish it was valued on the top of the list. The pathway to that peace is not something to be determined by societal trends or top-ranked "steps to wellness" but rather, I believe it is a deep-rooted desire and instinct that we all have within us to live a life in which we can love and be loved. Your needs matter, and it's okay to take a moment to consider what those needs are. Grab a hot cup of coffee, take a deep breath and think on that for a quiet moment. Warmly~Kirsty
meet the woman who...
I think there is a moment in every mother's life, weeks after giving birth, where she takes a moment and realizes that things will never be the same. As I welcome women into the studio this week I am keenly aware I have the opportunity to give voice and weight to the multitude of changes: schedules, social lives, relationships, thought lives and the big one for many women...their body.
Working with postpartum clients has taught me one of the best ways to support women and meet their needs is to simply observe and listen and then respond lovingly to them utilizing my odd methodology of care, dancing!
While we can find humour and camaraderie in how our lives and bodies have changed, behind those jokes are real people trying to adjust to their new lives, sometimes even struggling.
This fact remains, regardless of how a woman has journeyed through pregnancy and birth, she has now joined the ranks of people who have little to no experience in the awesome madness that is parenthood! Even those who are welcoming a second, third or fourth are still faced with unexpected surprises and challenges.
The dance studio has come to be a point of intersection for a great diversity of experiences. If you were to sit down in a group of new mothers you would meet the woman who:
- loved giving birth
- hated giving birth
- holds a baby after years of infertility
- holds a "surprise" baby that she really didn't believe she could want or love
- holds a baby after having beaten cancer
- holds a baby after having lost her previous child
- holds twins
- desperately hates pain and begged for her epidural
- wanted to experience every wave and contraction of childbirth
- planned her third c-section
- planned a homebirth
- has not been able to make love to her partner for 8 months due to fourth-degree tearing
- gained 97 pounds and is disappointed she only lost 12 of those the day she delivered her baby
- lost all her baby weight in the first six weeks and feels amazing
- is in the midst of a messy relationship breakup
- just buried a loved one
- just immigrated from another country or moved into the Province and hasn't met friends yet but really needs that support and encouragement
- could not be happier with her life
- drags herself out of the house despite battling postpartum depression and suicidal tendencies
- has been told she's not a "good mother" by her inlaws
- is battling an eating disorder
- is finishing her masters degree
All of those listings represent real women who have graced our studio floor, but you would never know which one she was unless you had time to sit and listen to her story.
As I sit and ponder my return to the studio this week I am overwhelmed with gratitude for having been able to put myself in a position where I have the time and ability to get to know each woman better and talk with their babies, umm, that is when I'm not running after my own perfectly busy child...
There was a time, not too long ago, where I experienced tremendous disappointment at not being able to "do more" for families with my business. Now that I have time to catch up with past clients and welcome new ones into what I hope is a friendly atmosphere I am understanding of the fact that being present is in fact doing more of what I originally had hoped to accomplish when I first started out.
A friend asked me how the first week of classes going...and I told her the first one went well...I only started to cry a bit once =) Even after teaching for 15 years, I still get a little nervous before a new class starts hoping that the women will enjoy their time out and feel refreshed and cared for.
The other day Charlotte was planning our garden (which if you've ever been to our home you would realize our 'garden' is actually 5 big flower pots and a couple of flower beds that rely heavily on nature's cycle for watering). She is so delighted and excited to begin growing food and flowers. With her big brown eyes looking beyond the wall in front of her she says with confidence, "all the plants will need to grow is some sunshine, some rain and a whole bunch of LOVE!" I agreed, (we'll borrow a library book and I'll fill her in later this winter.)
That's kind of how I feel about these classes...we take the best and worst of our situations and try to keep it all bathed in love and after a few dances we realize how much we all have in common and we all leave feeling a bit more blessed by having created some great memories while leaving the studio a bountiful buzz in seratonin and endorphins.
So once again my children and I will traipse into the studio to welcome another group of 16 beautiful mothers and 16 lovely babies. It just so happens that one of the songs we'll be dancing to boasts these lyrics, "music is the answer...to everybody's problems..." but even if isn't, we are still going to have fun!
breasts stressed me out.
WHAT??? Breasts. There is an awful lot of talk of breasts in the pre/post-natal arena. I'm throwing my bra in the ring now. Stay with me...you might be surprised where it leads.
Pregnant with baby #1, Miss Charlotte...in my messy house...
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Here we exist to support one another.
babycaring through depression.
How many times in the last five years I have I stood in front of a group of women and stated I was "crazy" when my daughter was a newborn? Plenty. How many times did I worry that I was making women uncomfortable when I brought up postpartum depression? In the beginning of Snowsellberryhead Studios, every single time. Not because I think PPD is shameful but rather I didn't know how to help them. As it turns out, the insanity that was my first year of motherhood has opened some beautiful doors.
Over the last five years I have travelled down the bumpy and fascinating road from pregnancy to parenthood with many families and I have learned women really need two things to find their own footing as Mothers: someone to open a space of love by speaking honestly about their own experiences and more importantly, someone to listen when they have a need and are ready to speak honestly from their hearts.
Women are brilliantly smart and instinctive when it comes to nurturing their children, and their ability to assume this role doesn't always begin during pregnancy. Truth be told, sometimes it takes days, weeks, months or even years to understand what it means to be solely responsible to nurture a small life. While we often speak of the joys of parenthood, it is often harder to talk candidly about the complex relationship between overcoming fear and achieving empowerment. So I'm going to start the dialogue today:
Wee little crying newborn baby.
Deeply pained crying momma.
Hours and hours and hours of crying.
Why is she screaming?
Why can't I help her?
I hated how her chin would quiver and shake while her face would grow redder with each wail until it reached that awful deep purple. Open your eyes baby and be happy, please? And I couldn't stop it. This went on for what seemed like forever.
I thought I was an awful mother.
There were moments where I really felt as though I was torturing my baby, ruining her by being unable to console her, comfort her, protect her.
I didn't even know how to verbalize how much pain I felt as her mother.
She needed me to be strong and knowledgable, confident.
"Relax and so will the baby!" I wanted to scream every time someone said that. They were right. I knew they were right, but I couldn't get away from it.
While I loved this beautiful baby from the start, I was quickly overwhelmed and in over my head. Somehow love just didn't seem to be enough. I lacked skills. And confidence. What I was expecting and what I was experiencing as the mother of a newborn were two very different things.
Even more than lack of skills and confidence, I couldn't handle just how much I loved her. When she was about 6 days old I went to sleep and woke screaming from a dream about mothers dealing with the loss of their infants in concentration camps. I couldn't help them. I dreamt I was there with them and I couldn't save my child, or theirs. I was hot with sweat and shaking from fear and something inside of me broke. I disconnected from my newborn daughter.
When I woke from my nightmare I went into a state of flight and my heart built up a barrier that would keep me from living in a vulnerable state for many months. Looking back now, I remember the physical tension in my neck and shoulders, the tightening and pounding of my headaches and worst of all for me, my inability to relax enough to allow for easy letdowns during breastfeeding...it was a cycle of physical discomfort, emotional pain and exhaustion.
I believe the dream I woke from five years ago was the night my mother bear instinct awoke within my heart - and the weight of that responsibility was far greater than I could hold. The despair set in when I realized I didn't know how to be that mother.
Instinctively I knew this child needed something I was unable to give. I could talk circles around "new mom issues" and everyone will nod their in understanding and agreement, but the truth is much more pointed than the standard adjustments we all go through as mothers, [brave face on] the truth is that I was blindly reeling from a massive emotional system shutdown caused from traumatic sexual abuse in my childhood. My inability to protect her from a world that had harmed me gave me great anxiety and sent me into a depression that at times felt hopeless.
It has taken years of understanding and heartfelt encouragement from loved ones to help me see all of the good things I did in those early days, even now I can remember the profound feelings of drowning in a sea of confusion, lost hopes and fear. I regularly emailed friends begging them to pray for me because I felt the early days of newborn-ness slipping from my trembling hands and I longed to feel some sense of peace in being a mother...but it remained elusive.
Somehow (likely in my thousand online hours in the middle of the night...pre-facebook) I stumbled upon babywearing. I read it and I knew that this was a resource I could draw upon. My child needed me, and even though my heart was broken, she was still comforted by the sound of it beating in my chest.
I found a link to make a homemade wrap in 5 easy minutes (LAUGHABLE) and I flew through my fabric pile and didn't have the 5 metres it suggested so I frantically sewed two pieces of fabric together to make a complete wrap. It was a mix of blinding bright orange stretchy cotton terry fabric and teal green jersey knit...it was atrocious...and I followed the instructions to gently place my daughter in our newfound pocket and something beautiful happened. She rested. And then something even more beautiful happened. I rested. And then I sobbed.
Finally. She had me and I had her. We had each other. I was merely a shell of who I had hoped to be as a mother, but I had a heartbeat and she seemed content to snuggle in on my chest and rest to the gentle rhythms of my nervous cardiac tha-thumps.
Thankfully, with the support of loved ones, I had enough presence of mind to eventually grasp that my child was okay, and that we would be OKAY. We had a really rough start, but for the first time I realized that this was a relationship, which meant we both had needs that required meeting. She needed some type of closeness, and the physiological response that occurs when mothers and babies are skin-to-skin was enough to help bring peace to both of us in those dark days. Under the folds of our hideous homemade wrap something magical was happening to this mother and child. It also allowed me to do simple things like eat a meal or go for a walk which were crucial tangible tasks that helped me out of my depression.
I was not cognizant of the initial cause of my detachment, it took some time to work through these things with counseling and support from friends and professionals. Even though I had prepared like an Olympic athlete for the birth-day, and it was wonderful, there was still a part of me that failed to realize that following the birth I'd be required to raise, nurture, feed (oh-the-never-ending-responsbility-of-feeding-small-children) and love a little human being. That looks sooooooo dense when I read it back, but honestly, I just didn't understand what parenthood was.
Not everyone has the same hurdles as I did in those early years of being a mother, but I do believe we all have the same desire, to give our best to our children. I am quite certain that if sat down and listened to every woman's story of bearing the full weight of motherhood, you'd find that she has done her very best to present love and life to her small charge.
One thing I've learned is this, while dancing with my baby is wonderful and fun in my professional life, it is only the tip of the iceberg to what carrying my child means to me. It's not just babywearing, it's babycaring. More importantly, it is just one of the things I can do to show my children how much I love them.
The days of babydom pass quicker than I care to admit, but for now, the legacy continues as our smallest one snuggles in his carrier with ear pressed to my heart so I can make room to tend to his big sister. And rather than panic about not meeting everyone's needs all the time, I know now that love is enough.