Storytelling

Storytelling is a big part of being human. I think it helps us digest and comprehend the events in our lives. Giving birth is no exception. I recently started working on the Mother/Baby unit in the hospital and have been contemplating how to help them. I think that if one of my nurses asked me what they could do for me I would have told them to get me out of the hospital as quickly as possible. But as I think a little deeper I think I really would have liked someone to sit down and listen to me tell my story. In a way this blog is my way of doing that.

It is interesting that one of the things we do as mothers is tell stories. Of course there is the formal storytelling where we sit down and read books to our children, but there are other ways of telling stories. As my children get older I find myself telling them of antics when they were younger and they love hearing that. We talk to them about what times where like when we were younger. I laugh when I hear myself tell my daughter that "when I was your age we didn't have cell phones or i-pods". I talk quite a bit with other mothers about my dilemmas and how they are similar or different from theirs. We live and breathe the stories around us. It is a way of connected to those around us and finding meaning within our own lives.

Labor is just a part of those stories. For some good, for others bad. But it is a very potent story. And I believe one that should be shared. Not to put down others choices or experiences, but as a way to connect to others lives-; way to find meaning in the shared experience of bringing to our lives a beautiful child.

Battle wounds

After the birth of my first child, I remember sitting in my tub, sore, tired, and unsure of my role as a new mother. I was so sore at that time that is was very difficult for me to get up, and I just started crying. I felt a little like my body had betrayed me. I had big bright red stretch marks and a flabby tummy. Not to mention the fact that my body was not exactly what society portrayed as beautiful. My body had changed so much that it sort of felt out of place on me.

Now after my fifth, I find the same sort of thing happening. I have changed so many times, it is strange to think that there was ever a time when my stomach didn't look like a flat tire around my waste. But now, I look at these things as trophy of motherhood. My scars were made from bringing a life here. My stretch marks and stomach brought forth an angel. My muscles, now gone, once held a child. These wounds were all made as I nurtured a new soul about to come forth. As a soldier is honored for his sacrifice and pains, so I honor my own battle wounds and accept my own sacrifice as something worthy and honorable.
My own battle wounds not only remind me of my own sacrifice for life, but of my mothers, and her mothers before her. In a chain unbroken, I honor the lives of the women who sacrifice to bring forth a new generation. Not only in giving birth, but in loving and caring and raising those who would then love and care for other children.

Divinity

I have been amazed as each of my children have been born, at the intensity of feelings that come upon me. As each little one has slipped out and been brought to my arms a feeling of love and joy fills me. I feel as if I am standing in the presence of something very sacred. It is the beginning of life, of hope, of renewal.

I still feel that way sometimes as I watch my children. I often joke with others about the difficulties of motherhood, but the truth is....my children truly hold something holy and divine within them. I forget that sometimes, but it is good to remember. It is good to remember those first few moments that you see your new baby alive and pure. Then as they grow, to remember the laughs and smiles, the "I love you"s and calm sweet face of a sleeping child. It is in those moments that we too, as mothers, can touch divinity and perhaps stretch ourselves to be worthy to enter that space.