Not In Baby Yoga Anymore

In June, so much changed. We had this really hard tragedy that sent a ripple deep into our lives and community.

This was the beginning of a dark and intense period.

At some point in August, I realized how this one event had become the start of a growing up, a maturing, a strength that we all had to step into.

And we did.

As summer turned towards Fall, our little kids became big kids.

And with that came a whole new season.

Of anxiety and dyslexia-

Of middle school phones and texts, tears and anger-

Of growing pains.

Of quiet.

Of confusion.

Of “ I can’t”

Of “ I hate her. “

Of, “I’m stupid.”

And the deepening love that comes with another year together.

Of Shabbat dinners with friends, of beaches with warm waves in the Fall.

Of later dinners and inside jokes created by us, a family.

Of joy.

Everything is changing.

Last week, I realized, “ I’m not in baby yoga anymore!”

This part of parenting, letting them feel into their lives, without rescuing, shaming, blaming, storming.. oh my goodness this is hard. This is a lot.

When they were little and we spent so much time in baby yoga, I could swaddle them and nurse them and walk them and sway them and all was well. And the days were so long, and the nights too- and like any other stage of pregnancy and parenting, no matter what people tell you, until you are in it- you just can’t know what it will feel like or taste like.

I used to spend a lot of time on the floor with them, and now I spend a lot of time on the floor alone.

A preview for what’s to come- the life just over there that is coming my way, one day at a time.

I now live with 3 curious, loving, stubborn, opinionated humans, a whole new world.

Not just a mother, not just a son or a daughter, but all of us, complex humans with a love language, a voice, an operating system.. How do we find this beat together?

More relationships to attune and attend.

Have I spent enough time with Mel?

With Saylor?

With Milo?

with Me?

More nights I now have thoughts that wander in the darkness, “ Should I help with this? Should I ask her about that? Should I research this? Should I let go of that?”

I always wonder how parents without a meditation or spiritual practice get through these nights. I lean so heavily now on my breathing practice. My hand to heart and belly practice. My own journal. My woods. My friends. My tears. My Mentor. My self-trust. My love for all aspects of life. Holding on tight to it all. Delicious and juicy and deep.

It’s messy. And yet, it’s real.

I wish I could close this with words of wisdom but honestly, I’m in the middle of it.

It’s still raw.

It’s here right under the surface, always.

I know myself well enough to know that when I hit a bump in the road, writing, talking and sharing helps my heart and my healing.

I know I’m not alone, I feel totally and completely supported in all ways.

AND, I know this is something that every Mama has to go through in some ways, on her own. It’s a rite of passage.

This paradox, alone and supported.

I close my eyes and picture myself walking through these gates, they are so big and tall and beyond what I experience in daily life, VAST.

And as I walk through, there are smiles and hugs and tears and all my elders.

All the mothers of the world, from all of time.

Cheering me on. Holding my hand. Supporting me, in ways that only we know how to do.

“We got you.” They say.

“ I got me, too.” I reply.