I just finished reading Operating Instructions, Anne Lamott's memoir abut her son Sam's first year of life. I'm not a huge Lamott fan -- I only vaguely remembering reading Crooked Little Heart when I was a teenager, and an English teacher quoting Bird by Bird. At times I find the "honest, confessional" style of writing a bit much, and I didn't like the political comments in the book. I don't really understand reconciling your faith with demonizing one political party or the other (seemingly a staple of American politics at the moment), whichever "side" you're on. However... she is a good writer! Some of the descriptions and moments she captured in the memoir are bang-on, or created such a unique picture in my mind, that I had to write them down.
"I've had the secret fear of all mothers that my milk is not good enough...but Same seems to be thriving even though he's a pretty skinny little guy. I'm going to have an awards banquet for my body when all of this is over." (An awards banquet ... I love that!)
"His hands are like little stars."
"It's so great to have so many friends who had babies right around the time I did ... because they all have extremely bad attitudes and sick senses of humor like me. It would be intolerable to call a friend, a new mother, when you were feeling down and for her to say some weird aggressive shit like 'Little Phil slept through the night yesterday, isn't that marvelous since he's only eight weeks old, and guess what, I'm already fitting back into my pre-pregnancy clothes.' You'd really have no choice but to hope for disaster to rain down on such a person."
"If I could have on wish, just one crummy little wish, it would be that Sam outlive me."
"I went and stared at the crucifix for a long time and breathed it in. I believe in it, and it's so nuts. How did some famously cerebral and black-humored cynic like myself come to fall for all that Christian lunacy, to see the cross not as an end but a beginning, to believe as much as I believe in gravity or in the size of space that Jesus paid a debt he didn't owe because we had a debt we couldn't pay? It, my faith, is a great mystery. It has all the people close to me shaking their heads. It has me shaking my head."
"Part of my wants my body back, wants to stop being a moo-cow, and part of me thinks about nursing him through kindergarten. I know a woman who nursed her daughter until the girl was almost four, and of course we all went around thinking it was a bit much, too Last Emperor for our blood. But now when Sam and I are nursing, it crosses my mind that I will never ever be willing to give this up. It'll be okay, I think to myself, we can get it to work, I'll follow him to college but I'll stay totally out of the way...
This is the easiest, purest communication I've ever known."
"One thing about Sam, one things about having a baby, is that each step of the way you simply cannot imagine loving him any more than you already do, because you are bursting with love, loving as much as you are humanly capable of -- and then you do, you love him even more."
[upon news of her friend finding a lump in her breast] "Just like that. Boom. Can you imagine? Just like that. I feel a dread like hearing sirens late at night, like I did with my dad. I know it's bad. There's no doubt in my mind."
"Life is full of unexploded land mines, and she [the friend with cancer] seems to have stepped on one."
"I laughed so hard that it broke up the thin candy shell of fear that was covering my heart, and I could breathe again."
[on going up and down a wooden step for exercise] "Everyone's doing it. It's the most now and happening form of exercise, although my person belief is that thin smooth thighs do not necessarily speak of a rich inner life."
"When I held Sam alone for the first time, after Steve and Pammy had gone home the night that he was born, I was nursing him and feeling really spiritual, thinking, Please, please, God, help him be someone who feels compassion, who feels God's presence loose in the world, who doesn't give up on peace and justice and mercy for everyone. And then one second later I was begging, Okay, skip all that shit, forget it -- just please, please let him outlive me."
Tuesday, 22 May 2018
Thursday, 3 May 2018
thoughts on my body, one year postpartum
I've been thinking about my body lately. Which, to be honest, feels a little strange to admit.
The past two years, and especially this past year, have been so darn physical. The process of having a baby and nurturing a baby, at times, made me feel like all I was, was a body. It was a huge adjustment from living as missionaries in Uganda. My life had direct purpose in Uganda. I used my brain to teach students every day. I seemed to be an active player; it was easy to explain how my role fit in the unfurling of God's kingdom. We wrote newsletters, for goodness' sake!
I remember lying in the bath in the weeks after Hudson's birth feeling like I'd been put on a shelf. I seemed to be on a time-out from real purpose, real work. I was on a treadmill of bodily functions -- his and mine -- and it felt like I was consumed by it all. I had to fight with my mind, tear it off of the topics of milk supply and baby eczema and how many dirty diapers a newborn should have in a day. I would rip it away from these things it clung to like Velcro, and turn it in the direction of God. Okay, five minutes in prayer rattling off about things I feel like have nothing to do with me, then back to devouring baby books.
Lying in the bath that day, I felt God remind me of His love for me. His delight in me, His joy in my joy, His love not tied to a list of things I have "accomplished" in a day. Then I felt him gently reprimand me.
You see this journey of motherhood as separate from Me, as in competition with "spiritual matters." Who do you think created it?
Hm, good point. I began to see the two as connected. I began to turn the one in the direction of the other. My challenges and questions became things I could actually pray about it. New things I learned about my body and my baby's body could be directed into praise to our Creator.
A few things brought this all to mind again lately. Reading a book where the author talks about how yoga helped her reconcile herself to her body, helped her to heal after being ravaged by bulimia and a warped view of sexuality. Listening to a message this morning about God's definition of beauty compared to this world's. Reading a Time article last night -- "The Goddess Myth" -- criticizing this earthy ideal that mothers are being held to. The writer claimed that the pressure to embrace natural childbirth and breastfeeding is hurting mothers. I don't want to add to that pressure or paint a fantasy. A lot of days, being a new mom is boring and repetitive. Other days it's really hard. But, having said that, I have been caught by the beauty in this process. Surrendering to the processes of pregnancy, normal infant development, breastfeeding ... It has freed me to find joy in this season. Becoming more attached to my baby, not less attached, has been the best thing for my postpartum mental health. My body has taught me a lot in the past year, and even though it looks different than it once did, I love it more than I ever have.
I had always thought of that verse, about our bodies being temples of the Holy Spirit, to mean that our bodies house the Holy Spirit. But today, I'm thinking about the way temples around the world have been built. Every little bit of architecture, every bit of the design, has meaning. Sweeping, majestic cathedrals are meant to stir you to worship. As Christians, our bodies not only house the Holy Spirit; they also give us endless material to be freshly awed by the imprint of our Creator.
This body
I'm seeing it in a new light
Holding it out
Separate from me.
This time I don't see
All the things that I would change
All the things that don't match
The girls in the magazines.
This time I'm looking with awe
Wonder
Gratitude at this design.
This body, at this season,
Is the
Centre of my home.
Everyone circles around it
This body hold us
Together.
My husband desires this body
Returns to this body
It keeps us close.
My baby needs this body
Nourished by this bdy
It binds us close.
These arms,
These hands,
These breasts,
This warmth
Are the comfort
The solace
Of my family.
Before words could be understood,
Before smiles could be shared,
This body was my son's
First definition
Of love.
This body moves to rhythms I can't understand.
This body creates
This body grows
This family
Shaped by
This body.
At the steps of this temple
I worship.
This body is beautiful.
October 2017
The past two years, and especially this past year, have been so darn physical. The process of having a baby and nurturing a baby, at times, made me feel like all I was, was a body. It was a huge adjustment from living as missionaries in Uganda. My life had direct purpose in Uganda. I used my brain to teach students every day. I seemed to be an active player; it was easy to explain how my role fit in the unfurling of God's kingdom. We wrote newsletters, for goodness' sake!
I remember lying in the bath in the weeks after Hudson's birth feeling like I'd been put on a shelf. I seemed to be on a time-out from real purpose, real work. I was on a treadmill of bodily functions -- his and mine -- and it felt like I was consumed by it all. I had to fight with my mind, tear it off of the topics of milk supply and baby eczema and how many dirty diapers a newborn should have in a day. I would rip it away from these things it clung to like Velcro, and turn it in the direction of God. Okay, five minutes in prayer rattling off about things I feel like have nothing to do with me, then back to devouring baby books.
Lying in the bath that day, I felt God remind me of His love for me. His delight in me, His joy in my joy, His love not tied to a list of things I have "accomplished" in a day. Then I felt him gently reprimand me.
You see this journey of motherhood as separate from Me, as in competition with "spiritual matters." Who do you think created it?
Hm, good point. I began to see the two as connected. I began to turn the one in the direction of the other. My challenges and questions became things I could actually pray about it. New things I learned about my body and my baby's body could be directed into praise to our Creator.
A few things brought this all to mind again lately. Reading a book where the author talks about how yoga helped her reconcile herself to her body, helped her to heal after being ravaged by bulimia and a warped view of sexuality. Listening to a message this morning about God's definition of beauty compared to this world's. Reading a Time article last night -- "The Goddess Myth" -- criticizing this earthy ideal that mothers are being held to. The writer claimed that the pressure to embrace natural childbirth and breastfeeding is hurting mothers. I don't want to add to that pressure or paint a fantasy. A lot of days, being a new mom is boring and repetitive. Other days it's really hard. But, having said that, I have been caught by the beauty in this process. Surrendering to the processes of pregnancy, normal infant development, breastfeeding ... It has freed me to find joy in this season. Becoming more attached to my baby, not less attached, has been the best thing for my postpartum mental health. My body has taught me a lot in the past year, and even though it looks different than it once did, I love it more than I ever have.
I had always thought of that verse, about our bodies being temples of the Holy Spirit, to mean that our bodies house the Holy Spirit. But today, I'm thinking about the way temples around the world have been built. Every little bit of architecture, every bit of the design, has meaning. Sweeping, majestic cathedrals are meant to stir you to worship. As Christians, our bodies not only house the Holy Spirit; they also give us endless material to be freshly awed by the imprint of our Creator.
This body
I'm seeing it in a new light
Holding it out
Separate from me.
This time I don't see
All the things that I would change
All the things that don't match
The girls in the magazines.
This time I'm looking with awe
Wonder
Gratitude at this design.
This body, at this season,
Is the
Centre of my home.
Everyone circles around it
This body hold us
Together.
My husband desires this body
Returns to this body
It keeps us close.
My baby needs this body
Nourished by this bdy
It binds us close.
These arms,
These hands,
These breasts,
This warmth
Are the comfort
The solace
Of my family.
Before words could be understood,
Before smiles could be shared,
This body was my son's
First definition
Of love.
This body moves to rhythms I can't understand.
This body creates
This body grows
This family
Shaped by
This body.
At the steps of this temple
I worship.
This body is beautiful.
October 2017
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