During the first nap:It's time for some honesty. Some scary, smacked in the balls, I don't know where this'll take me honesty. I've begun and erased four different sentences on this e-page and that's what tells me I have to begin right where I am and not care where it leads. I have to trust it will lead to the place it's supposed to.
Nothing exciting happened this week. It feels like blasphemy to say that. It feels like bizarro-world in which having this child in my life could become routine.
I worried I had become too mommy for my old readers and now I worry I'm not mommy enough for whatever new ones I've imagined I have. What happened this week is long string of moments now in the past. There were funny moments, there were tender moments, there were moments fraught with stress and fear and anxiety and even jealousy. There were quiet moments, tense moments, it was a pretty basic week in this life now rich with experience. It feels like cynicism to say that's not exciting.
"It feels" is an elusive beginning. To whom does it feel? So, everybody out! All the critics, the anxiety mongers, the fear posters, get out of my head! You have no place here. It's a mistake to worry, worry never changed a damn thing. It's a mistake to think every sound is a baby cry when all you really need to focus on is sleep or writing at the moment. It's a mistake to think there's no room for yourself. If there's no room for yourself you don't exist. And obviously you exist. You're sitting right here and you're contemplating experience, joy, vitality, and meaning.
During nap 1.1:
When beautiful phrases appear in my head and I'm not near a tool used to record it I try to hold it still. In trying to hold it still I see it is like any good idea, gone before you know it, if you don't put it to work. When I get to a dozen or so great phrases gone I get discouraged. I become afraid of the keyboard, afraid that all those lost phrases are proof that I'm a failure... or that what phrases do come will amount to something I'm judged by.
Sometimes, with all the internal spinning the doubters begin gaining my fertile ground. I become over grown with negations. So, if I finally get fed up with seeing my beautiful garden go to waste, I have to sit down and get to weeding. Short paragraphs are weeding. Sentences that make my throat get tight or eyes well up are weeding.
During nap 2.3: It takes several tries for him to be ok with sleeping on his own today.
I'm finding my ground as a mama. I've found my confident center and that is really empowering. I will care for my child in a way that fits with us because I'm not so afraid that I don't know what I'm doing any more. In the end it doesn't matter. I do my best.
I fell into a few practices and found they weren't going to work in long term. The transition to what will work hasn't been very easy, but it has, thankfully been a simple routine that I have to keep at until it's what Salamander expects. Along with that, I know I'm doing the best thing for all of us because I again have room to be myself. I need time to stare at the scenery, think about sentences, dream, and plan on how to go after what I'm called to. Gosh, even more elemental, I can sort-of hear what may call me out there again. My own brilliant mom has told me repeatedly, You've got to take care of yourself before you can take care of any one else. I don't know about everyone, but that feels immensely important to the well being of my entire world.