meditations of a blueberry

"Comparison is the thief of joy." That's what they say. I sit in the light of our Christmas tree, amongst the soft pillows on my couch, wrapped in the cozy comforts of an old blanket and I look around. I see photos of my loves, hear the laughter as they play downstairs, taste my hot coffee on my tongue, and smell the scent of Christmas beside me. Home surrounds me, in scent, taste, sounds, and sight. I am so blessed. And yet. And yet. And yet so often I feel like all this is not enough. Like I am not enough. I look past the carefully placed Christmas decorations that I lovingly and carefully put away each year. Many that I have made, some purchased new, some purchased secondhand. I see the scratches and dents on the walls that has come with 4 kids that are less than careful. Scratches that have come because of previous owners not painting over oil paint properly. I see furniture that we have had for years that has faded or has broken...

Eyes closed, I look up to the sky, breathing in the last wisps of summer while I taste the promise of Fall on the tip of my tongue. I feel the last warmth of the sun's rays rest on my face as summer promises to return again. The breeze gently caresses my cheek as it continues on past, swirling the falling golden leaves at my feet. My babies' laughter and screams waft into my ears like a melodious symphony from a master musician and I smile as I feel a tear roll down my cheek. I stand at the precipice of the next phase of my life. Goodbye birth. Goodbye babies. What has so far defined me for the last 7 years is changing. And with that, comes the realization that I too must change. And yet. And yet, I feel stagnant. Unable to push forward. Frozen in fear at taking the next step. The first step. Uncertainty abounds. And thanks to an unwelcome resident in my brain, I am unsure if this fear and uncertainty is due to its grip on me or not. But no. I r...

Years ago when the only little I was chasing around was E, I went on a few babywearing walks. On one such walk, we took a break at a playground for the bigger littles to play and while I was nursing E, I overheard a conversation that has stuck with me since. A wonderful and wise mama was having a conversation about being finished having children. She said she had expressed possibly wanting more children when her partner said to her, "there is more to being a mom than pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding." (it was a long time ago, I may have the exact wording slightly wrong.) For years, those words have rattled around in my head, but I didn't truly understand them until now. Tonight, I took the crib down and changed it into a toddler bed for the last time. And although we didn't use it much with Miss A, it was still a symbol of babyhood that remained in my bedroom. The symbols of babyhood are slowly leaving my house. Baby clothes here, infant bucket seat there,...

Who am I? When the caterpillar builds her cocoon, does she know of the intense change she's about to endure? How her body will literally melt into goo and miraculously turn into a butterfly? Does she know how one day she will stretch her wings and fly? Is that little caterpillar afraid? Does she exist at all in the butterfly? When a woman has her first baby, she changes from just a woman to a mother. She knows it is going to happen, but she doesn't exactly know how much it will change her, no matter what anyone tells her. Her body changes physically, yes, but her heart and mind do as well. The woman she was before is still there, but she has forever changed, never to be the same again. Sometimes if we are not careful the woman gets lost in the mother. She gets lost in the day to day tasks of diapers and laundry, lunch and bath time, snacks and cleaning, reading books and rocking babies to sleep. And if you have multiple children close together, this is even more ...

I've moved on. From the baby stage. From the nonstop diaper changing and being the sole source of nourishment. From the endless nights of clusterfeeding. From the pregnancy heartburn. From the feeling of a baby digging its foot into my ribs. From torpedo bellies. From not being able to see my toes. From not being allowed to sleep on my stomach. From strangers' inappropriate questions. From nonstop leaky breasts. I've moved on. And yet, I linger. In the sweet baby squish that still remains. In the smell that I can still faintly smell amongst her baby fine hair. In her still pudgy little fingers and toes. In the way she still snuggles into me, like I am the only one there. In the eyelashes that rest against her cheeks as she sleeps. In the memory of how it felt to carry life within. In the urgency of her latch when she's tired and is looking for more than just nourishment for her belly. In the lines and marks that pregnancy graced me with as a reminder to the miracle ...

Today is my birthday. 34 years ago I was a squishy newborn curled up in my mom's arms as my mom was amazed, terrified, and in awe that she was now a mother and wholly responsible for the new life before her (or at least, I imagine that's how she felt because that's how I felt when my first was born). I came into the world surrounded by love, chocolate cake, and crocheted blankets. 34 years later and I am once again surrounded by love, chocolate, and a crocheted blanket from my Nana. 34. 34 is the age that I picture my mom at when I think of her. Sometimes with a perm, sometimes with short hair. But always full of love, even when I hurt her in ways that only a teenager can hurt a parent. 34. I don't feel 34. I swear yesterday I was graduating high school and getting ready for university, but that was almost 16 years ago. Now I'm closer to my 20 year reunion than my 10 year reunion. I think back to my 18 year old self and wish I could tell her that her life ...

A couple of years ago, I trained for a half marathon. I committed to running in rain and snow and wind. I ran over icy roads and through freezing winds. I ran through slushy puddles and an April blizzard. I lost many toenails and ended up with a very hurt knee. It was not easy. I was not a runner before, but I sure felt like one after. It was not easy, but when my feet hit the pavement in Vancouver, it was sure worth it. As I ran up the hills and felt my body's strength, it was worth it. As I ran beside the sea line and breathed in the salted air, it was worth it. As I saw that finish line looming in the distance and gave my body that final push towards it, it was worth it. When I finally crossed that finish line and collapsed on the side of the road with such a feeling of accomplishment and exhaustion, it was worth it. But for all my training, I wasn't ready for the emotional and mental side of being in a race with hundreds of other people. I just couldn't train for the me...

Being pregnant is a time like no other. It is wonderful and beautiful and scary and ugly all at the same time. There are changes happening to your body and to your mind. You're confused, amazed, determined, and trying to make the best decisions possible. And people throw information and opinions at you like they would throw water on you if you were on fire. Seriously. Being pregnant is like an invitation for hearing someone's opinion . Opinions that all start with "you should" or "you shouldn't." And what happens with all these opinions? They permeate your brain and without you even knowing it, they poison you. You start thinking "I shouldn't eat this," "I shouldn't need a nap," "I should feel this way," "I shouldn't feel this way," "I shouldn't wear this," etc, etc, etc. It's impossible to get away from, and truthfully, it continues far into motherhood. I often find myself thinking ...

http://theydonttellyou.wordpress.com/2012/04/12/there-are-only-two-days-in-every-week/ There is a secret about motherhood that nobody really talks about. Sure, moms will talk about it with each other. You'll hear them whispering about it in the corners of Starbucks when they manage to get out for a coffee date without any kids. You'll hear them talking a little more loudly about it as kids run around their legs at the local playground. You'll see new moms on message boards wondering if they are alone in dealing with it. You may even see hints of it when you look into their eyes. It's a dark secret that a new mom will try to deny for months and months. It's a secret that will make her cry, yell, and feel awful. It's a secret that will make her wonder if something is wrong with her, or if it's her kids. It's a secret that shouldn't be kept. Moms-to-be should know this secret. They should be prepared so that when it happens, they aren't hit with...