Sami has a cold. At least I think it’s a cold. His little nose is all stuffy, but he is able to breathe through it OK. And he’s sleeping a little more than usual, poor guy. But he’s also very smiley and happy. I took this smiley picture of him yesterday. It’s my favorite picture of him yet.

I blame myself for Sami’s cold. What did I do wrong? Did I not wash my hands enough? Did I not tell others to wash their hands enough? I wiped my friend’s daughter’s nose once last week — did I wash my hands afterwards? I can’t remember. I thought he was supposed to get immunities from my breast milk that protect him from illness! HOW COULD HE GET SICK? HOW? And then: I’M A TERRIBLE MOTHER!

I need to put a few drops of Rescue Remedy under my tongue and chill out. The kid has a stuffy nose. He’ll be OK. If it doesn’t go away in a few days, I’ll call his pediatrician.

I think about how as a parent I want to spare Sami from any kind of suffering, but I can’t do that. I can love him and care for him as best as I can, but the kid is going to get a cold now and then. He’s going to be uncomfortable and in pain now and then. He’s going to have experiences he doesn’t want now and then. That’s the nature of this life, and I cannot protect him from everything, as much as I want to. And even if I could, I would probably be doing him a disservice. I think of the story of the Buddha’s enlightenment — it was only when he left the confines of his charmed life as a prince and witnessed old age, sickness, and death that he was driven to seek enlightenment.

Last year when I was four months pregnant and on a two-week meditation retreat I requested an interview with James Baraz, one of the teachers there, who is also a parent. I asked him about parenting and practice, and something he said stuck with me. He said that in parenting, three of the four Bramaviharas (the “heavenly abodes” or sublime states of mind and heart in Buddhism) come easy — lovingkindness, joy, and compassion. But the fourth–equanimity– comes harder. I find that to be true in my own experience. It feels almost impossible to accept the way things are, especially when they are less than ideal. Yet it would be a great gift to Sami and to myself if I could cultivate more equanimity in my life. Not to detach and become apathetic — that’s not equanimity — but to be able to be fully accepting of what’s happening, to be open to it, even if it’s unpleasant. Of course that doesn’t mean you like it, and you can and should do what you can to make things better in the future, but in the moment you just accept what is. Like the equanimity phrase goes: “Things are just as they are.”

This all reminds me to renew my meditation practice. My practice may not look like it did B.S. (Before Sami), with lots of classes and retreats and stuff. Those things are great, and it’s a real privilege to take part in them, but I sense my practice now is about cultivating mindfulness of all my daily activities. I feel like I am being asked to take my practice to another level. It’s so much harder to be mindful in daily life–and so much easier in some ways, when on retreat, when everything and everyone around you supports your practice.

A dharma teacher once said, “Sit, and know you are sitting. The whole of the dharma will be revealed.” Nursing is what I do most these days. So I can nurse, and know I am nursing, feel the still-slightly-sore right nipple, hear the sounds of his breathing and his funny little babblings, feel the touch of his little hand on my breast, the tension in my upper back, the love and tenderness I have towards my son. I can hold Sami close when he cries, and just be with the escalating high-pitched wailing, the anxiety, the desperate desire to comfort him, the frantic mental search to figure out what’s wrong, the sensation of his stiff little body straining against mine, the relief when he relaxes into my shoulder and his sobs subside into noisy little gasping breaths, and then…peaceful sleep.

This morning, I washed my breast pump parts in the sink and caught my mind before it drifted off. Just washing pump parts. Feeling the warm water, smelling the scent of the soap, watching the slightly nervous tenor of my emotions around Sami’s cold. It was not easy, to stay with my present experience, but it felt good. Simple and good, just to be with something as mundane as washing pump parts. Everything is sacred. I just am not aware of it most of the time, as I am so often busy being elsewhere. These moments will never come back again. I want to live my moments.