Showing posts with label encouragement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label encouragement. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Ceasefire

A comment I recently posted in a mum’s Facebook group received more than 50 "likes" in the hour following my scribing of it.
At my last check of it, it had exceeded 100.

We are a lazy bunch in the Miller household.

Steve’s alarm goes off at 6am (when he actually gets up is debatable) but Zella and I are only awake before he leaves if thereis a feed to be done or a poop explosion to clean. Some days 8, some days 9, on the lucky ones 10am is the hour we make it downstairs.


I still breastfeed Zella, in spite of her clamouring on top of me as if I were some gymnastics apparatus, and the occasional nip from the four teeth she has recently acquired. I am more than happy feeding her in public: on the bus, at cafes, at others houses, in parks, and, if the moment arises, while running to catch a train.

Some days, we hang out and play with the toys, some wooden, some with batteries. Often the only toy she’s interested in is my phone or the video baby monitor. I know I use technology around her too much because she can swipe the Mac and change my screens, and enjoys sitting back and looking through the morning’s Instagram offerings. I do try and do reading everyday as well, to make sure she is a book geek like me.

Sometimes we head to the park, or go on the swings. Yesterday we did this on the way to Tesco. That Tesco trip where I brought more than I could carry, and had to pile the buggy high and carry Zella home. Which wasn’t a problem…until it started to rain and I had to fashion a covering for her out of the shopping trolley seat cover I have because I don’t want her to get germs. Because for me, the germs in Tesco on the carts are far worse than the germs from the raisins I let her eat off our living room floor. I have also unknowingly taken her to this den of bacteria when she had a viral infection. I'm clearly going for mum of the year. 


Often we go clothes shopping. I often get caught out and spend far too long shopping and socialising in town and am suddenly faced with a screaming babe. I hastily feed Zella the baby snacks and pouches of puree, trying not to condemn myself for not preparing an organic feast fit for The Savoy. At home, dinner times are a happy chatter amidst of baby-led mess; our kitchen tiles’ the loser, splattered with the disregarded and thus flung regurgitations of our child.


And on our favourite days, we hang out with other mums and babies. A year ago, I didn’t know anyone in Birmingham with a young child, but classes and playgroups have grown our circles wide. One mum and her son live nearby so we often meet spontaneously and talk about cloth nappies. Another mum teaches and is full of advice for Steve as well as support as she has carried on full-time breastfeeding. One mum is ten years older, a classically trained musician and a highly disciplined individual; on paper we should have nothing in common, but she makes me laugh hilariously and we have great conversations.



The reason my comment on that post
Seemed to resonate with so many others
Was because I attempted to speak out
Against, what I saw, as an unfair judgment of amother

Breastfed vs Formula
Baby-led weaning vs Purees
Co-Sleep vs Cot
Cloth vs Disposables
Baby carrier vs Buggy
Pacifiers vs Thumbs
Staying at home vs working outside of the home

In our attempt to make ourselves feel better about our choices
Often others are put down for theirs
We draw battle lines and the mama wars begin once again
With angry and judgemental words
The media provoking and antagonising
This fervent fire

A fire that causes another mother to weep
Pushing back the waves of post-natal depression
As at her most vulnerable
One hand cradles her babe
While the other shields her heart and mind

Why do we choose “versus”
Rather than “and”, “with” , “or” ?

I am more than aware that I’m not theperfect mother
I write my daily choices to show they are
Both good and bad
But am learning
Steadily
To rejoice in the fact
I am a mother
With healthy child
Who delights in my face
Who delights in our life

I look at so many of you and think you are thriving
Although you may only see your flaws and failings
But the truth is
We are all doing our best
Serving them best
Teaching them best
Loving them best

And our best is more than good enough

Though we act like these decisions
Are life and death
Denying child a place at Harvard or Oxford
In countries near and far
The abuse of children is far more abhorrent
Than the outcome of these differing views

For my friends
With babes unborn
Uncreated
Unfertilised
Dreams in your head for the future
May you carry the baton
Of freedom in motherhood
And support and love
In the face of this torrential storm ofwords

May we be free from the judgement
Free from the lies
Free the tangled webs of the enemy
That would convince us otherwise
Of the simple fact

You, my precious fellow mother, are doing a phenomenal job.

And as gummy smiles and toddler eyes reveal
That we are succeeding
May we take these words
And be a blessing to others.


Thursday, November 22, 2012

Waiting


I have many great traits.

I’d get tired if I wrote them all, but these are my favourite:

My spontaneity and creativity, throwing myself into the new and different, 
desperate for another crazy adventure.

My ridiculous organising skills, 
planning incredible and detailed events at the drop of a hat.

Combined, I’m a fireball of life and activity.

I’m also the least patient person I know.

My ever-increasing belly, shovelling sweets like the Oompa Loompas my husband so affectionately likened me to, weighed heavy on my frame, making me desperate for escape.

Desperate to end the nine months of puking
Of being restricted in my own skin
Of reluctantly slowing down my pace


 The messages piled in:


“Happy Due Date!!!! Any twinges ....???”

“no sign yet?! booooo xx”

Due day came and went…

“Where are these babies??????”

“Dear baby miller,
I am writing to officially give you an eviction notice. Please vacate your mothers womb by 12am this evening before the overdue cranky woman hormones go crazy ;) “

Everyday waiting for something…but yet nothing came, not even a hint…

“You not blown yet? Milking this whole pregnancy thing abit too much aren't you?”

“Ok, I'm done being patient for you!!! Go jogging or climb some stairs ... or ... OTHER things ... and get that baby moving! “

You were “done”?!
I was done.
Overdone.
Completely spent and exhausted from being patient.



Dogs and cats wait 60 days.
Rabbits wait 33 days.
Mice only wait 20 days.

Humans?
271 days.

Why forced to have so many bloated days?
What reason is there behind this torture?!

Texts of encouragement came in, but none spoke more strongly than this:

“These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance.
That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother.
We are enlarged in the waiting.
We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us.
But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.
Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, 
God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along.
 He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.
God knew what he was doing from the very beginning.”
{Romans 8}

We wait
For that spouse that never comes
For that job promotion they say is just around the corner
For the day we will earn more
For that relationship to be fixed
For the house of our own

The morning the contractions started
Painfully waking me at 5am
Faithfully pulsing every 20 minutes
Five hours later
As my mum arrived panicked and scared of missing the birth
They remained still 20 minutes apart
My pudgy self bounced frustratingly on the exercise ball
Netflix choices blurred into mundane viewing
My time had come
Labour was imminent
But yet Father God was still calling me
In a place of patience


We wait
For the marriage proposal
For the big break into the industry
For the manager to appreciate our efforts
For the fertility treatment to work
For acceptance on a course
For healing

The sickness came back.
My “friend” vomit that had consumed each week of my pregnancy
Overwhelming took over my labour
Contractions ranged from 1 to 7 minute gaps
Each painfully convulsing my body

A disjointed 10pm walk to the hospital

A delusional time on gas & air

A two hour grueling stint in water

And there she was.



The words of the friend rang in my ear:

“Labour doesn’t matter once it’s stopped.”

Those things are coming.
Those dreams deep in our beings, with heartbeats and kicks and pains
Have life within them
They are cooking, developing, growing.
It may not be happening to you as quick as the dog
Or the cat
Or the mouse
As quick as your sister
Your friend
Everyone else

But it’s coming.

It was relayed to me, that I spoke these words to my precious Zella, 
as her wrinkled grey body lay wetly on my exhausted chest:

“I did this for you. I did this all for you.”


All the waiting
The agony
The stretching
The pushing

My reward, my prize, the end
Was truly worthy of the waiting
My heart has softened
My soul has learnt patience
My character has developed

Truly, I was enlarged in the waiting