meditations of a blueberry

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,...

As the sun prepares to set on another August 1, I sit alone in my thoughts surrounded by people I love. And though I know the love is true and that I'm not alone, I feel guilty. Guilt for forgetting. I almost forgot the date. Eight years ago, August 1 marked the beginning of the end . I almost forgot today. I almost forgot that we found out that the life that we were so eagerly expecting was not to be eight years ago today. When I realized that today was the anniversary of that awful weekend , my heart seized. The guilt began to seep into my brain. The tears flowed from my soul. How could I forget? For eight years, I have sadly anticipated August 1, reliving the pain through my memories. Wondering if there was something I could have done, though I know there was nothing. Remembering the moments of fear until it was finally confirmed. This year, I thought about it a few times throughout July, and then completely forgot. I think about it often, but usually this time o...

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 ...

Dear postpartum depression, You are not my friend. But I have come to realize that you are my constant companion. Not a welcomed companion, mind you, but a companion nonetheless. No matter what I do or say, you will be there. At what point do you cease to be postpartum depression and just become depression? Because if I'm being honest, you have always been there in some capacity since I was a teenager. Sometimes laying in wait for the perfect moment to show yourself again, letting me believe that you have gone and I have won. Sometimes hiding in the shadows, reaching out with your long fingers caressing my soul and whispering your evil little nothings. Sometimes screaming your lies in my face while your talons dig deep into my heart and mind. Sometimes I've been able to ignore or fight, and sometimes I've succumbed to your attempts to discourage and destroy me and needed someone to come help me fight you. But now, I've realized that you are alwa...

There is a saying about friends that has been in my heart since I was a teenager. "Some friends are there for a lifetime, some for a season." It's true, but it's more than that. Some friends are the taxi cabs in our lives. They don't always take us where we want to be, and sometimes they turn out to not be who we thought they were. Sometimes they turn out to be creepy and we rejoice moving on, and sometimes we are sad their time in our lives is over. Some friends are the lighted traffic signs in your life, directing you on your journey. They do not follow you, but they point out the way. They are the guide posts that direct us, the maps that help us through. Some friends are our reflections. We see what we need to see when we look at them. Sometimes we don't like what we see, but if we are honest with ourselves, we know we need it.  Some friends sit with you in the quiet depths of your soul. They know you. Intimately. They recognize ...