This Mama’s Dharma

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.

Dearest Sami,

You are half a year old today. It is so hard to believe that just six months ago today you emerged out of my body, tiny and screaming your way into this world. That day seems like yesterday and so far away. You continue to be a powerful force of love, laughter, tears, and curiosity, growing bigger and stronger every day. You are full of life - it lives through you and is so amazing to watch.

As you grow older, you get more and more engaged in the world around you. As long as you are awake, you are almost never still - you are always looking around at your surroundings. Everything is fresh and new and interesting to you. When I give you a bath, you squirm around so much that it becomes an adventure. You’re my squirmy bug!

And then when when you are still, you are totally lost to slumber, adrift in another world. I adore holding you in my arms, rocking you and feeding you until you go to sleep. There is nothing, nothing in the world more peaceful than the sight of your face when you are sleeping. I wonder what you dream about. I hope your dreams are pleasant and beautiful.

You love people and they love you. You smile at just about everyone you see, and they get happy just at the sight of your big smile and the laughter in your eyes. Everywhere we go, you steal the show.

Your dad and I love you beyond measure. We’re so proud of you, just for being who you are. We will always love you, without conditions or expectations. We can’t wait to show you the world and for you to show the world to us. We look forward to teaching you and being tought by you. I suspect we have much to learn from you.

I love being your mother, and I am sure that even when you are a grown man, I will always remember you like this, as tiny and fragile and strong and aware as you are now. You will always be my baby boy, so full of love and life. You are and you will always be a blessing on this earth.

Happy 6th month birthday!

Love,
Your Mom

Mr. Sami is approaching 6 months and I can’t believe it! I am so proud of him - the little bugger.

Sami has started screaming - he is an awesome screamer. His shrieks pierce my very soul. His blood-curdling rebel yells resonate throughout the universe. Sami screams in happiness, he screams just to hear himself scream, and he screams in dismay, rage, and frustration. I love what my little 16-ish lb wonder can do with his lungs. He’s finding his voice, the little guy. I like to think that it is the future activist in him coming out. I can imagine him yelling someday: “Whose streets - OUR STREETS!”

He is so much more into his surroundings these days - especially other people. He flirts like a madman. When he sees a person, he stares at them for a second, as if sizing them up, and then he breaks into a slow smile. Inevitably this results in many expressions of appreciation at his ridiculous cuteness. I think Sami is going to have a way with people, if this is any indication. He is wildly social.

I will never forget last yesterday - Sami and I slept the day away. It was disorienting and weird but lovely. We slept cuddled up together on the ugly rocker-recliner for 2 hours, then he woke up a bit hungry, I fed him, and we were both back to sleep for another two hours. When we both woke up it was past 4 pm. I have had a cold that I can’t seem to get over and I think li’l Sami just sensed that I needed lots of sleep, so he gave me the opportunity to rest.

Other Sami thingies:
He looooves to drink water out of a cup. He makes a funny face at the taste of water, but then he goes back for more.
He tears up magazines with gusto.
He loves to suck on paper.
He still “phantom-nurses” when he’s asleep.

Did I mention that I think he’s the cat’s meow?

I always fall into cliche when I want to describe my love for my son. It sure is hard to find fresh language around it.

I love saying it in arabic: “Bahebak ‘ad al-bahr wa samakaatu” - My love for you is as deep as the ocean and all the fish in it.

I think this is something I will say a lot to my son as he grows up.

I could use it as ammunition against myself, that I am a terrible mother…but that is so old. I always use everything as ammunition against myself and it’s just…tired.

I want to try to set a positive example for Sami - I am going to try to love myself unconditionally and I am going to try to love him unconditionally. Maybe it’s one of the most courageous things someone can do in this day and age.

The pieces of the puzzle keep coming at me in different things I am reading and hearing - that conditional acceptance of ourselves and others is one of the plagues of modern life. We are always searching for something outside of ourselves to validate who we are. It’s the cause of all manner of neuroses and addictions. I don’t blame my family for loving me conditionally - they couldn’t help it! But I would like to try to awaken and be more conscious. I have to heal these wounds to the best of my ability - I have a son to raise and I want to raise him as consciously as I can.

I am going to practice watching the thoughts of self-hate as they come up and just let them go- starting with this one: “I am a bad mother because I don’t write in my blog enough!!”

Well, I’ve been nearly pain-free (with a few twinges here and there) for about 10 days now…and once again, I am humbled and awed by the results of that experience. I am so grateful to my body. Pain is my greatest teacher. I have been strongly reminded that self-neglect just doesn’t work for me. My body can’t take it. I literally have the kind of body that cannot bear the excess weight. I can’t carry the baggage.

But it’s not just about the weight. These physical pains have emotional and spiritual counterparts. I store rage in my back - anger bulges from my discs, resentment inflames my sacroiliac joint. When a healer friend was doing Reiki on me recently and dared to suggest this, at first I was just plain annoyed. I don’t want to be doing more Inner Work. Can’t I just be done with that shit? But of course, I am never done. I have so many more lessons to learn.

So I am working on taking time for my physical and mental/emotional/spiritual health. I am waking up at the ass-crack of dawn and going to the gym. It feels so great to rise early, to head out into the cool spring morning, to move my body, to sweat, to inhabit myself.

And on the creative front - recently I hired a creativity coach to help me get myself back on track creatively. We had our first session this morning and it was amazing. I realized that I have been largely in a state of creative anorexia since Sami was born…and even before if I want to be honest with myself.

We talked about time and how to make it into a game: How much time can I carve out - 10, 15, 20 minutes at a time - to preserve my creative dreams? I’m on a mission: Time-Snatcher!

I want to state for the record: I love being a mom. Caring for Sami has been magical. I love him more fiercely than anyone or anything I have known. But lately I have been feeling twinges of something like PPD (I hate labels though) - just a feeling of persistent sadness, overwhelm, emptiness, a feeling of “Is this all there is?” - and now I realize it is because I have been starving myself creatively. It’s like awakening from a trance or a dream and realizing how sick I’ve been to deny the writer in me. I miss that part of myself and really want to reclaim it. I have been writing about this for a while, but I finally feel ready to take action to change things.

So today I feel hopeful. I feel less PPD-ish and more like myself. This is what happens when I take the time to nurture the places within me that starve.

I know it’s a Hallmark holiday. Mothers should be honored every damn day for all that they do and all that they are. But there is something about Mother’s Day. This day matters to me, somehow. It has always mattered to me.

Mother’s Day is simultaneously a holiday of mourning and celebration for me. I celebrated myself today, and was celebrated by my family. Hani took us out for brunch. He told me that I was a great mom, and how I need to hear that, because how often I doubt myself as a mother. I never doubt my love for Sami, but I doubt my ability to be a good mother to him. (There is no real evidence to support this, but I think the failed breast-feeding has something to do with it. But I digress.)

Today, on my first Mother’s Day as a mother, I mourned the loss of my own mother. When I think of her, there is an ache in the middle of my chest, a hollowness that won’t go away. It’s always there, but the pain is particularly acute on Mother’s Day. I want to call her and wish her a happy Mother’s Day. I want to tell her what Sami is doing, share his latest milestones, let him babble into the phone for her to hear.

Instead, I called my two living grandmothers and wished them happy Mother’s Day. I sent them flowers. I honored them in my own way, and felt good about doing that.

Today and always, I now feel myself part of a string of mothers who birth their children and find that the capacity of their hearts to love has been expanded wider than they ever imagined. Now, somehow, I am more connected to my own mother than ever before. Mother’s Day hurts, it still hurts, it still sucks, but it is tempered by a joy that is now a permanent feature in the landscape of my heart.

Happy Mother’s Day, mama, wherever you are.

I hold my baby son in my arms, hardly able to believe I am somebody’s mother, and I think of my own. She died ten years ago, in the middle of the night, leaving me with a hole in my heart filled with questions. I will never know the details of my birth, for example, so I wrote my son an 8-page long birth story. I will never know when I first smiled or rolled over, so I keep a detailed list of his milestones. I write to ward off grief, to grasp on to life’s lovely, slippery moments.

I kiss the top of my son’s head, and feel a tingle on my own scalp, where my mother once kissed me. The memory of her love warms the cold, fearful places in me, when I remember to summon it. I gaze at our picture, a mother-daughter moment of laughter, frozen in photo booth black-and-white. I always have my camera nearby. I take pictures so that my son will know how much he is loved, in the event of my untimely death.

I touch my son’s impossibly soft cheek, and wish that my mother could know his silky warmth. At the same time, the image comes unbidden, of her corpse cold and graying in the ground. I wonder at how my heart can hold so much joy and grief, without breaking, without bursting.

Yesterday I rocked Sami to sleep in our brand new, wine-colored, cheapo rocker-recliner. It’s butt-ugly, but damn! that thing is comfortable. Perfect for nursing and rocking and other baby-related activities. The little guy fell asleep in my arms and I reveled in the deliciousness of holding my sleeping baby. His little cheek rested on my chest, his mouth sweetly agape, and his chest rose and fell steadily against my body as he breathed short baby breaths.

I was about to read or do something else to zone out, and then I decided to use his nap time as a meditation. We sat together and I watched my mind go a million different places as I held my sleeping child. When I came back to the present moment, it was exquisite - so pleasurable and sweet and perfect.

But the pull of thought is so seductive. Every thought was either anxiety (about the future), planning, or regret about the past. All of the thoughts felt pretty shitty, although there were some pleasurable fantasies about things I wanted to buy for the baby. But even those consumption thoughts don’t really feel so hot. It’s not thinking that’s the enemy, I remind myself, but getting caught up in the thoughts. Every time I “woke up” from thought, and came back to the present, I was reminded of how much joy there is there.

Even when pain is present - and boy, has pain been present for the past 10 days - there is joy in the moment. There is no suffering, only pain, and the pain is NOTHING compared to natural childbirth. It’s manageable. The reality is only as grim as I make it. I want to be depressed. I want to wallow in great, open waters of self-pity, grief, and regret. But there is a bigger, more vibrant part of me that doesn’t want to be depressed - that wants to be free. Today I choose to nourish that part of me that wants to awaken.

Last Saturday, I threw out my back. That means I have been living in pain for exactly five days. I feel like a science experiment: how does one cope with being pain free to all of a sudden being in extreme agony? Hey, I had a natural childbirth, which was by far the most painful experience of my life - but my mind and body still do not tolerate pain. And this is truly painful. Every move is predicated and followed by pain. I can barely lift my son. I can’t care for him in the way I would like to. I am grotesquely bent over to one side, twisted like a woman in her 80s, not a 30 year-old.

What’s the worst for me is that I licked this, or at least I thought I did, and now it is back. With a fucking vengeance. It’s the baby weight, I tell myself, and rail at myself for gaining so much weight during pregnancy, and not taking it off right away. My mind goes to the past, blaming and shaming. You fat, lazy, disgusting cow. This is what you deserve for bragging about your weight loss and your back healing through diet and acupuncture. Then it goes to the future, a harbinger of doom. You will always be like this, it tells me. You will have to live like an invalid, never going out. You will not be able to care for your son. Your husband will ruin his business staying home caring for the two of you, grow to hate you in the process, and your life will be ruined. Yes, the voices of the past and future are very seductive.

The objective fact of the matter is, there is inflammation in my back, which makes movement painful. I can still walk, albeit crookedly, and I can still pick up my son. Tonight I bathed him. I can still play with him and interact with him. I am alive and he is alive and my husband is alive and this is not a life-threatening situation. Tomorrow I am going back to the acupuncturist. He helped me earlier in the week (I had a setback today due to pushing myself too hard) and he will help me again. Eventually, I will heal, I hope.

Hani told me the other day that he thinks this is my body sending me a clear message to take fucking care of it. I have spent all my energy caring for the babe, and none for myself. Once I lick this, I am going to join the gym and get myself back in shape. I am HIGHLY motivated right now. Pain motivated me well before, and it will again. There is so much more at stake now. I have a son to think about. It’s not just about vanity now - not wanting him to have a fat mama. It’s about being able to care for him in the most basic way, to eventually run after him and play with him. I’m not saying that any mother with a disability that doesn’t allow her to do those things is any less of a mother - it’s just that I am pretty sure it’s within my ability to turn this situation around, like I did once before.

The only way I am going to stay sane through all of this is to focus on the objective facts. It’s when I go to the past and the future that the suffering begins. This is just pain. Pain + resistance = suffering.

Wow, writing this has really helped me to feel a lot better. All of this stuff has been rattling around in my head making me crazy.

On a lighter note, Sami discovered his feet today! What a joy to see him grab that little foot and place it in his mouth.