The Shape of a Mother
While talking about postpartum bodies the other day another mother said:
“This belly button is 3 generations in the making: my mama gave it to me and my babies decorated it.”
That was enough to make me look at my postpartum body in a completely different light. I am not ugly, I don’t need to hide away until “ideal beauty” is reached again (as if that were even possible, or desirable.) Michael has been telling me daily that I am beautiful, inside and out. He is right, I am beautiful.
Carrying Damian has changed me forever, I am learning to love this change, after all I wouldn’t have him if not for it.
The Shape of a Mother
My belly may or make not shrink. I am at peace with that.
36-inches around and I have never felt more beautiful.
A number cannot define me, I will not give it that power.
Body, mind and soul I am balanced and I am healthy,
– waist size notwithstandingl
This body brought forth life.
What greater beauty is there then that?I am the vessel from which life poured.
I am a mother.These stretch marks will always be with me.
Commericals may tell me to laser them off,
– but I love them all.
My son has changed my soul forever, for the better.
My body too is changed forever, for the better.
These marks are my tattoo of motherhood.I have crossed a threshold.
I am a mother.My hips are bigger, my old jeans don’t fit.
These hips birthed my son, they are beautiful.My breasts are bigger, they soak my shirts.
These breasts nourish my son, they are beautiful.My heart and my soul are bigger, my emotions overflow.
This heart and this soul love my son, they are beautiful.I am a mother.
I am strong.
I am beautiful.I am a mother.
~ by Jaspenelle Stewart
I may submit this to The Shape of a Mother, not sure yet. Eitherway, check out the website and all the beautiful mamas who have contributed. I think we can all agree that the mainstream view of beauty has to change, we can begin this change within ourselves and the minds of our children.
Things I Have Noticed Since Giving Birth
- My problem with poo? Totally gone.
- “I’ve worn this skirt once already” has become “Hey this is still clean!”
- Being afraid of dropping the baby has turned into balancing him on my shoulder while burping him while bouncing him while I complete various tasks.
- There is no such thing as too busy to grab a nap.
- The pursuit if spiritual enlightenment now only requires looking at my baby (awwww.)
- I use to be the slowest eater in the world, now I eat even faster then Michael, probably even faster then my brother.
- I could never eat soggy cereal before without gagging, now even after it has turned to mush it tastes fine… It is quick, pretty healthy and still edible, therefor I eat it.
- In fact I can eat while I change a diaper.
- Quiet mediation time has turned into funny faces at baby time.
- As has meal time and bath time and…
- Breastfeeding Baby + Cloth Prefold Diaper = Table. Just toss that prefold over his body and you can totally rest your journal and pen there… or your bowl of cereal.
- Exercise has now become wearing the baby in a sling while cleaning (which is surprisingly calorie intensive.)
- Breastmilk stains no longer bother me (nor does spit up.)
- Spit is seriously the best cleaner ever, someone should market it.
- Seriously I think it could cure cancer or something.
Happy Birthday Mom
It might seem odd that I am posting a picture of my handfasting cake from last June on a my mother’s birthday post, but truth be told I do not have a picture of my mother. You would think I would have a photo of the two of us together from somewhere but I simply don’t. Maybe it is because she has almost always been the one taking the photos.
My mother and my grandma made that beautiful wedding cake for Michael and my handfasting, and I adored it, not only was it beautiful, it was fruitcake (yes, I am one of those people who adore fruitcake.) My mother is a very creative person, she draws, paints, sculpts, sews (when needed, it isn’t her favorite craft by any means) as well does a plethora of random artistic endeavors (batik, bonsais, cooking, interior design, gardening, mosaics etc.) When I was very young, she made me a tinkerbell costume for Halloween with tiny real lights in the skirt so it twinkled. Everyone thought my parents had bought it for me because it was so perfect. As I got older she began to teach me a variety of arts and crafts, I was never limited in what I was allowed to be interested in (as long as I cleaned up.) She would go out of her way to make sure I had the supplies I needed. I got my creativity “bug” from my mom.
Before my family moved to France, my mother worked for a parasitologist at North Carolina State University College of Veterinary Medicine. There were always tons of cool animals at the university (I often went to work with her before I started school.) Her boss had a tank full of poison dart frogs as well as lots of parasite specimens in jars, which might explain why very few things gross me out… I also got to see white tiger cubs as they were part of a breeding program and lots of other exotic animals. A couple times I went out with my mom to the fish farms she inspected too. I got my love for animals from my mother. We always had dogs and cats and I usually always had an (enormous) fish tank.
After we moved to France a lot of stuff changed, my dad got a really good job and was at work more and and my mother became a stayed-at-home mom. My brother and I started going to private schools and she was always thereto help with the mountains of homework we had, as well as bail us out of the trouble we got into at school (which may have been frequently.) I retrospect I think she had a really hard time adjusting to life overseas, she was half a world away from her family (with whom she was very close to) and wasn’t really ever able to pick up the local languages. I don’t know how she felt about becoming a stay-at-home mom, she couldn’t work as she wasn’t able to get a work visa.
I know that I was very hard on her once I hit puberty. We are both equally stubborn and both have that kind of anger that simmers for a long time before going off like an atom bomb. Whenever we sat down to talk it out it would turn into epic battles. Eventually we pretty much stopped talking, especially after my brother went off to college.
In January 2004 we were living in Spain and I turned 18. I dropped out of school and a week later I had a plane ticket and moved to the USA to live with extended family for a few months. The day I left we did not even see each other as my flight was so early in the morning. Neither of us said goodbye. In September of that year I moved to Spokane to live with Michael. I never called her to tell her I was moving (nor did I call her when we got a civil union in December.) She found out through family I guess. I don’t think we spoke for the first year after I left home, which I am sure was as up and down for her as it was for me, my dad and her went their separate ways in that time (though their relationship is so complicated I won’t even pretend to understand it!)
It was three and a half years after I left home that I saw her again. She came to Michael and my handfasting and was here for a few days. I feel like I should have done more to connect with her but I didn’t, I wasn’t sure how to act to be honest. We had both changed so much but still had a lot of wounds.
My mom and I talk a couple times a year. She lives with my grandma now and they can be quite a challenge to keep track of, moving frequently between Ontario, Indianapolis and Florida. Emailing doesn’t ever seem to work out for us (she doesn’t have access in Canada.) She knows I am pregnant and has sent stuff for the baby as well as for my birthing necklace, we exchange Christmas gifts as well. I will call her after the baby is born of course. I do want her to know her grandson. I want to get to know her again and for her to get to know this very different me but I feel it will take a lot of time for us to rebuild our bridges. Sometimes i wonder if it is even possible.
So maybe this isn’t the most joyful birthday post, but it is honest. We have certainly had our trial by fire but I feel like things have begun improving in the past year. I love my mother very much and I know she sacrificed a lot of herself so that my brother and I could have as stable of a home as possible and a good education. And in spite of the teenage battles to be different from her in every way, we are in fact very similar and I don’t mind anymore.
Happy birthday Mom, I hope you have a wonderful one.
We have been through a lot but I still love you very much, I always will.