Eclectic Muddlehood

How's this for a perplexing beginning? I am a great many things, but none of them are me. At least not in my entirety. This is the little corner where I attempt to make the whole greater than the sum of its parts as I muddle through being a wife, a mother and a woman... among other things.

Name:
Location: Virginia, United States

Here, in no particular order, is a short list of my parts from the mundane to the pretentious, some or all of which may surface in future attempts to work on the whole: wife, mother, doula, childbirth educator, writer, yoga student, homeschooler, amature organic gardner, kitchen witch, all-around foodie, spiritual truth-seeker, daughter, clutter-bug, complusive list maker, bibliophile, homemaker, friend, homebirth/natural birth advocate, impulse shopper, wine snob, knitter, artist, lover, sensuist, and email junkie (There may be more later, but that's it for now.)

Thursday, June 29, 2006

On a Lighter Note....

I had the distinct pleasure of watching my tiny son projectile poop all over my sister when she was trying to change him. I laughed so hard my stitches hurt! Leave it to my children to help me keep it all in perspective.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

From Inside the Passage

Life is simply a series of rites of passage. There is the time preparing for them, the time spent enduring and completing them and the time processing them before beginning the cycle once again. What I never realized before was that there is something to be learned, not only after the completion of the rite, but also from stopping to pause while still inside the passage. This is where I am today. Inside this passage filled simultaneously with light and dark, I am growing and changing dramatically with almost every second.

My precious babes were born five days ago. They are beautiful and strong and this fills me with light. Instead of being born in the joyously peaceful environment of our home, they were cut out of me in a sterile operating room. Thinking about those moments, lying on that table straining to see my children in warmers across the room and not in my arms, leaves me clinging to my light amidst my darkness. I bury my nose in the scent of their soft bodies, snuggled against me now that we are home from the hospital, seeking as much comfort from them as they seek from me.

I will heal. On every level of my being, I will heal. One step at a time, I will move through this most challenging of passages, closer to the light and farther from the darkness. But today, I am simply trying to focus on the inherent beauty and terror of the passage itself and just appreciate it for what it is- an essential part of what life is. How would we appreciate the light without the darkness to showcase it?

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Waxing About Waning

I believe in the power of the waning moon, she who heralds times of greatest transformation through the dark passages from one state of being to the next. These precious opportunities to begin anew, changed forever from the edges of our souls to the depths of our hearts, yet still filled with the same essence of being we have always held are manifested in the unique beauty of the waning and new moons. Although the full moon has traditionally been associated with the peak of fertility, pregnancy and impending birth, it is typically the new moon that calls my being to cross such personal thresholds. As she wanes, I am forced to focus on the particular threshold of transformation that stands directly before me now. This dark passageway filled with as yet undiscovered trials holds promises to bring me from pregnant to birthing, from mother of one to mother of three, from tested to proven and possibly (as it has seemed to me on the more difficult days of this pregnancy) from lost to found. The new moon of the Summer Solstice approaches with every passing minute and I can practically taste her power and potential in the heady evening air. The cells of my heavily laden body and the wisps of my harvest-ready soul sing a bittersweet duet as I reach deep within myself to coerce my left foot in front of my right, in front of my left making my way through the last hours and days of this amazing and amazingly challenging pregnancy. May I step bravely, passionately and with love across her threshold.

Monday, June 12, 2006

No, I Haven't Had Them Yet

There are normally sane friends and family out there who for some strange reason are terrified that I am going to give birth to these babies and not tell them about it. Like I am going to hide these two new children from their closest relatives and not let anyone have any contact with them until they are five. I feel like a watched pot.

The cultural myth that twins always come early has taken hold of almost everyone in my life. I cannot begin to count the phone calls and emails from people I haven't heard from in months who are startled to discover I am still pregnant. I have gotten emails from former doula clients and phone calls from everyone from our minister to my brother-in-law with thinly veiled and badly disguised questions all betraying the fact that they just want to make sure they haven't been left out of the information loop. Yes, I'm 38 weeks pregnant. No, I haven't given birth yet.

Trust me! When I give birth to these babies, people will know about it! I'll probably even post a more detailed than necessary birth story here or some place else for everyone to enjoy. I actually have a huge list of email addresses and phone numbers for the initial information download- date, time, height, weight and all that nonsense. If all those folks could walk in my somewhat puffy feet for about a half-hour each, they'd know that I will be so happy to have these babies on the outside, there's no telling who I'll share the news with-- not just family and friends, but relative strangers. Heck, betcha I chase down our mail carrier just to exuberantly shout the fact that I'm no longer hugely pregnant and finally enjoying the wiggles of my little twins without sacrificing bladder control at every spastic little kick and punch.

This is the watched pot, breathing her way to a slow, but steady rolling boil.