“It’s a girl!” the doctor exclaimed on May 16, 2010 at 10:58PM. Huh?! How can this baby be a girl? We didn’t find out this baby’s gender and I was 99% certain this baby was a boy. And damn it I’m always right! But I was wrong and she was a girl. I assumed she would be a towhead like her brother and sister and the only question would be if she would have blue or brown eyes. But I was wrong and she was born with a full head of jet black hair. I had brought home two other babies from the hospital in the past four years and I figured it would be baby business as usual with number three, but I was wrong. This baby was different.  And God help me if my other two children ever read this someday because I’ll have a lot of explaining to do! I’ve spent a great deal of time just staring at this baby trying to figure out what is so darn special and different about her. Yes, she is a cute baby, but a lot of babies are cute. My other two babies were cute, but still this one was different.  She had darker hair and darker features, but that wasn’t it.  I hypothesized that maybe she was mathematically more symmetrical than most, but still it seemed there was something else that was special about her.

Audrey Hope first smiled at 4 weeks and has yet to stop smiling.  When she could barely hold her head up she had an amazing ability to lock eyes with anyone and just beam with happiness. In her tiny little body this baby had the ability to exude an overwhelming amount of joy. I’m calling this happiness an ability because it’s a happiness that can’t be learned.  It’s a temperament, a personality, a disposition and Audrey just happened to hit the genetic jackpot.  This baby loves people. Taking Audrey to the store is like shopping with a celebrity.  There is no use taking Audrey with you anywhere if you’re in a hurry.  People stop to see her, ask about her, and talk to her.  People can’t help themselves to smile or wave back at her.  We even get an occasional tear up from complete strangers!  I’d like to take credit for all of this but honestly Audrey was just born with a happy and people loving temperament.  Having three very different children I can tell you that you cannot teach children temperaments.  Great parenting and the shaping of children only go so far and the rest is just a genetic roll of the dice!  My son was born with a very sensitive temperament and thus colic to the nth degree. No amount of techniques or products we tried could make him less sensitive. But that sensitivity is what makes him the most charming and caring 4 year old today. My other daughter was born a firecracker.  No amount of yoga, meditation and Zen induced parental modeling could sway this girl who has more fun and energy in her than the fourth of July. But she keeps us laughing and out of therapy (for now)!   And then Audrey was the crème de la crème of baby temperaments.  I’m sorry big brother and sister but she was the icing on the cake when it comes to temperaments.  She’s our little bundle of serotonin.  Who needs a serotonin reuptake inhibitor when you have a dose of Audrey every day!

Before Audrey was born our lives were completely full with two small children. However, in the backseat of my car, between two large car seats a tiny space existed. This space was most often filled with toys or a diaper bag or someone’s half eaten lunch.  I had never imagined a third car seat could, let alone would fill that space.  Audrey completed our family which we never knew was incomplete.  (Side note: Radian Sunshine Kids car seats are awesome: Very heavy duty and also narrow if you are working with a small space!).  Audrey was planned against and yet came into this world defying those odds. Because of that I had to believe that she would serve some great purpose or do something great in life when she grew up (e.g. find a cure for cancer or at least a fat free chocolate that tastes good, as a friend suggested). But yet again I was wrong and little did I know she would already do remarkable things in her just her first year of life.  Her unexpected presence into this world humbled me beyond measure and her existence in this world unexpectedly fulfilled me.  Thank you for sharing your amazing gift my sweet Audrey…Happy first birthday!

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Love is that spring of life that fills the womb and penetrates the rest of the world in a blissful feeling of goddess within. Goddess that will not surrender to anything. Goddess that will bear the birth of LIFE. Of LIFE. Life itself is what calls and beckons and reckons and sings from the tops of the mountains all the way to the very depths of the sea. Mother. It is you. It is you. YOU are the mother. The keeper, the guard, the maker the wayfarer who sometimes gets lost. Lost in her creation. Child. Lost. In. The. Child. Is that her child? NO, it’s my child. I AM the MOTHER. I am THE MOTHER. Is it me? Yes. Carry me mother. Carry me to the doorstep of knowledge and truth. Carry me to that doorstep that will anoint ME the mother. Where the knowledge will flow. Where I will learn to play. Where I will learn to read everything there is to read so long as it makes me a mother. So help me god, make me a MOTHER.

Bring forth the child. Bring him to me. Lay him upon me. He is mine. I see him like I’ve never seen anyone. Ever. He is mine. I made him. I birthed him. I brought him into this world with every strength and pulse within me. My breath was taken away and given back again only to be taken away forever…when I laid eyes upon YOU. Seeing you was indeed seeing the face of god. The god within me that speaks so loudly I can’t turn it down and don’t want to. The god within that forces smiles through exhaustion and strength through fear. The god that holds me up and says I. Love. You. I love you. You are that god. God is you and now you see him looking back at you with approval. Showing you, telling you, holding you, needing you… He is showing you his true face. That one looking back at you? Is. Simply. You.

Mother. Maker. Creator. Beauty editor. You are her. You are beautiful. You are strong. You are Passionate and you are resilient. You are mother. Mother cannot break nor can she be broken. Mother cannot take nor can she be taken. Mother just is. She stands firm and tall and resonates from within. There is nothing more. She resonates. Beyond all space and time she is felt. She is held, she is loved and caressed by a community… a community who now call her… mother. She rises. She falls. But she always rises again. You call to her, you call your own, you call to all that is known because all that is known is… Mother.

For without this sacred calling we all cease. Silence. Then there is only silence. But because of you mother, silence leads to laughter. Great big belly laughter because THAT is mother. She is everything there is to be. She is a creation that could never be created because she just is. She serves. She bellows. She beckons. She stands tall…proud…radiant. She IS radiant. In every light. Through growth. Through pain. Through darkness and through her return to light she is growth. Belly growth. Breast growth. Hip growth. Mind growth. Spirit growth. HEART GROWTH. She’s so big that no one recognizes her. She’s dead. Whatever woman bore her is dead. The little girl in pigtails? Only a memory. The rebellious teen who shook with passion and fury to find her way? The college student searching with her mind for a purpose as if she would find it there. Her MIND? It’s gone…But her heart. Her heart… IS open. Her little girl sitting before her waiting to be nurtured and loved and doted on. Her teenager no longer needing the fury to get things done because all there is is all she needs. Love.

So, mother, I say to you… who are you? Who sits there rocking and praying and bouncing and swaying. Who sits there? YOU. Mother.

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Happy Mother

To mothers, one day consists of several mini days. By 10:30am, we’ve already lived one of them. The early morning: first milk, first meal, first diaper/clothing change, first tears, first sibling scuffle, first laughs, first enormous mess to clean up…we live lifetimes within lifetimes.

We don’t measure time by hours and minutes; for moms, there’s no “quitting time”. Our time is measured by seasons and cycles: feeding time, soothing time, quiet time, pre-nap time, nap-time (hallelujah), post-nap time, trying-not-to-yell time, making-cookies-to-make-up-for-losing-it time, is-it-too-early-for-a-glass-of-wine? time, why-aren’t-you-sleeping time, holding-sick-baby time, oh-my-God-this-child-is-magical time, and so on and so on.

Don’t ask me what day it is because I might not know. It’s slightly irrelevant.

Even when we’re away, whether it be a rest & relaxation weekend, business trip, or solo grocery shopping vacation, we’re still planning, wondering, worrying, smiling at photo memories on our phones.

An invisible umbilical cord tethers us to our young and we nourish them as they reciprocate by feeding us life, whimsy, and for every gray hair they inspire, a dozen unexplainable love/angel/star dust-filled moments where you look around and say “Oh my God did anyone just see that? Did you see what my baby said/did? If the world saw this it would bring world peace. Did anyone see that?”.

I’m always just a little bit tired. Oftentimes, I’m exhausted. I’ve never been completely done with the laundry. The floors need mopping. My youngest needs to learn more words. My eldest needs learn less words. I need to stop buying dark chocolate covered almonds and pretending like they’re a healthy snack.

The last regular period of good night sleeps I had was before my first pregnancy- when my world was my own and I still had personal space. Even when they’re silent from 7pm to 7am I still find myself staying up until 1am just to relish the silence and then waking up at 3am to make sure they’re chests are still rising and falling, life is still inside of them.

I’m an unreliable friend. Maybe I’ll call you, maybe I won’t. Ask my small supervisors. Talking on the phone with one kid trying to slap the device out of my hand and the other taking advantage of my distracted state to create a mess that will take 45 minutes to rectify makes conversations with the outside world an inconvenient novelty. Maybe I’ll see you, maybe I won’t. If by some miracle I have an $11-12/hour babysitter, have completed my work for the day, have cleaned up the disaster created in my home from a days worth of kid-rearing (check out the disturbing amounts of food on the kitchen floor- that’s just from dinner), and have the energy to remove myself from my bed after the kids are down, let’s do something.

At times I want to flush both of my children down the toilet. Other times, I feel close to tears at the realization that we only have 60 or so years left on Earth together. And only if everything goes right. Sometimes I hide from them in my own home, as if they’re little squeaky-voiced intruders with toys in their greedy fists instead of guns and knives. At other times I squeeze them so tightly and for so long that they wrestle their chubby bodies out of my grip, gasping for air (”Where are you going? Mommy isn’t done!”).

But I can’t just be a mother. I’m a lover, friend, sister, cousin…expectations pull me in all directions and all the while my mommy badge stays on. So I ask myself: “What’s the difference between a martyr and a queen?”

Both serve. They both give of themselves. They’ll both eventually die. They’re both worshiped.

But the queen has released her need for angst. She knows that she can inspire others with joy as much as she can with fear. She can enter her own castle while still on this Earth and is not at all shy or modest about the massive, glittering crown atop her head. In some sort of quantum farming experience, she enjoys the harvest while planting it. She fertilizes her plants with her laughter and faith, not her body. For the Queen, time collapses on itself and the suffering and celebration of life are united. And her shoes are better.

The queen and the mother exist inside of all women, motherhood of course intensifies their roles. Every moment, we former girls, now women, have to choose which lady gets the pedestal. Our daughters and sons are watching.

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For many, these moments are difficult because as human beings, our tendency is towards sameness. The new, uncharted, often windy path seems so dangerous and risky compared with the lukewarm, hotdog water of the present moment no matter how stagnant it is.

The quandary is made especially difficult if what you’re currently preoccupying yourself with either 1) entertains you or 2) pays you lots of money.

I think of my infant daughter. Even when she wakes up at 4 AM, hungry and ready to eat, her desire for breastmilk is thwarted by her desire to stare at the decorative brightly colored fall leaves adorning my bedroom wall. The way my breast is positioned isn’t conducive to the simultaneous wall-watching that she’d like to take part in during the wee hours. So she struggles, her mouth faces the nipple hungrily while her eyes pull her away from her meal toward what is captivating her. The divided focus almost always results in a high pitched shout of frustration as she realizes that her pangs of hunger aren’t being met. It’s then that I, the hand of God in her life, direct her head firmly but gently so that she can nurse.

The wall can wait. It’s time to eat.

How many of us full grown adults find ourselves in the same position?

We’re built with layers of deep hunger in our souls. Has your preference changed? Ignoring the pangs by going full speed ahead is a short term solution to an eternal question.

Inspiration and revolution are two sisters always looking for spirits who are willing to create with them. This requires focus and courage;  a willingness to face the boobie and be fed in spite of many other wonderful things to look at and busy our hands with.

Ask yourself: What am I hungry for? What great purpose is calling to me from across the deepest waters?

Listen.

And eat.

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