From June 24 - July 17 we went to Damascus, Syria to visit my husband’s family. Our trip was overshadowed by the fresh outbreak of war between Israel and Lebanon. The urge is so strong to take sides, but I cannot. Before I began meditating, I used to react to such developments with rage. And while watching TV nonstop in Syria, seeing the pictures of dead children that they so not show on US television, I wanted to be angry. Angry is safe, I know angry. But I cannot seem to summon anger. I just feel an overwhelming sadness, grief, and a heaviness weighing down my heart. I want to DO something to alleviate the suffering in that part of the world, but it’s hard to know what to do that will help and not make things worse. So I am trying my best to practice mindful breathing and invite an answer to that inquiry.

Another thing that struck me about Syria is how I am so not used to having family around me to help out with childcare and give me a little bit of a break. Hani’s mom and sister were always there, playing with Sami, feeding him, even changing diapers here and there. Even Sami’s 10 year old brother kept an eye on him for a few moments here and there while I was not in the room. Sami was no longer my sole responsibility during the daytime hours, and that was weird for me. At first, I felt useless with so many other arms around to hold Sami. I felt bad if I was not hovering over him every second, and perhaps even a little jealous that he was bonding so well with his aunt, for example. But about halfway through the trip, I let go and trusted that it’s a good thing that Sami is bonding with his family - and it’s OK for me to be off duty for a little bit.

Now that I am back home and solo caregiver during daylight hours, I feel that same strange sense that it is not natural for a mother and baby to be alone all the time. I love spending time with my son, don’t get me wrong, but I feel that we are meant to be a part of a larger community. I’m still jet-lagged so not sure if this makes sense. But now I miss those extra arms that held my son with such love and tenderness.

The other thing that happened during the trip was that Sami fell out of bed — I was sick, half-asleep, and in the early morning hours went to get him a bottle. I failed to put pillows next to him as a protective barrier and he just rolled out of bed onto the tile floor. That was one of the most horrible moments of my life. I came back into the room to hear his screaming his poor little lungs out. He was fine, though, and stopped crying after a few minutes. I fed him and held him as he slept, and refused to go back to sleep. I sat for half an hour, a vigilant mother hawk, just making sure that he was really OK. Looking down at his sweet sleeping form, I cried. If only I was exclusively breastfeeding, that wouldn’t have happened - I would have just rolled over and nursed. But that’s not fair. It could have happened at any time - it just happened to occur when I was going to get a bottle. One of my mom friends who exclusively breastfeeds told me about her son falling off the bed. Breastfeeding is wonderful but it will not save our children from all kinds of danger.

I guess most mothers have this experience at some point or another, but there are few feelings worse than feeling like you have let your child down. Hani’s sister said that Sami must have had guardian angels protecting him, because there was absolutely no sign of his having fallen onto the hard tile. Not a bump or a bruise, not even a red spot on the skin. Amazing.

Sami also sprouted his two bottom teeth during the trip, and has started scooting around on the floor. Lots of milestones this month!

He’s getting so big, and is just so aware. I love his presence and awareness. It’s an incredible thing to witness.