Celebrating ‘Motherhood’ – in all it’s forms.

Celebrating ‘Motherhood’ – in all it’s forms.

              To all the women waiting to become mothers; the women waiting for ovulation, waiting for a positive test result, waiting for an embryo to implant, waiting for the next round of IVF….I see you. Happy Mother’s Day. May today your mother heart be strong and patient. May you celebrate this part of your heart that is holding space for motherhood – preparing and planning and focusing on faith. Be kind to yourself today; hone in on your self love and self care skills.
              To all the women out there navigating baby loss today. The mothers who miscarried, the mothers who gave birth to sleeping babies, the mothers whose babies went to sleep one day and didn’t ever wake up: the mothers whose every single cell of their beings aches today with a love and a pain that words can never begin to do justice to. I see you. Happy Mother’s Day. Today we celebrate your strength and your humanity and your love –  the most tenacious Mother’s Love there is – a love that crosses an incomprehensible veil between this earth and a place beyond. May today you offer yourself the most tender self compassion you can muster. No doubt the heavens will make sure the night stars shine even brighter tonight.
              To all women out there who are pregnant, at 6 weeks or 42 weeks pregnant and any or all of the weeks in between; the women who are feeling like ethereal pregnant goddesses and the women who feel grumpy and heavy and who are praying for labour to begin just so they can see the end of the physical struggle of pregnancy. Maybe you woke up this morning to the first signs of labour. Maybe today you will meet your baby for the first time? Wherever you are in pregnancy (or in labour!); I see you. Happy Mother’s Day. May you take a moment of stillness and connection with the baby/babies inside your body to acknowledge and process this miraculous and radical transformation internally and externally. May you enjoy the unfolding; even if it’s just for a moment here and there amongst the physical discomfort.
              To the women out there in the beginning of the 4th trimester or “the newborn cocoon”, the women mothering singletons and twins, triplets or quadruplets even: those early weeks of parenting tiny little humans who are acclimatizing to life on earth is really intense. You’re probably feeling like “all you’re doing is feeding, eating, sleeping and soothing” and yet this is some of the most important and the hardest work in the world – and you’re doing it! I see you. Happy Mother’s Day. Keep on taking it one day at a time, one feed at a time, one sleep at a time….and if that all feels like too much….?
One. Breath. At. A. Time.
Relax your shoulders, make space to breathe, close your eyes and allow my promise to sink it: “It will get easier!”
              To the women out there parenting bouncing babies, one year olds, two year olds, threenagers, teenagers, grown up children….whatever stage of development or sleep regression  or rite of passage you are parenting your little humans through: I see you. Happy Mother’s Day. As you look back on all the Mother’s Days that came before I hope you can give yourself a huge pat on the back for all your flexibility, your perseverance, your tenacity, your patience and your commitment to parenthood. Parenting little humans is such a juggling act – and you’re there in the thick of it (or you came through it!) doing it year after year after year, no let up. On this Mother’s Day I see your hard work on all those 364 days in between the annual day of recognition. Look in the mirror today and offer yourself three things: acknowledgement, appreciation and forgiveness. Forgiveness for all the moments that you didn’t quite parent the way you wanted, and more importantly forgiveness for the moments that you didn’t acknowledge and appreciate yourself for the fantastic job that I am certain you’re doing; for the moments that you let yourself be racked with guilt over something and nothing and you forgot your fabulousness. Walk away from the mirror and somewhere today indulge in at least one act of radical self care. Even if it’s just enjoying a scoop of your favorite ice-cream in the bath once all the little humans are in bed with their eyes closed.
              To all the women out there navigating parenthood alone; and to the men navigating parenthood alone – for there is significant part of you that plays the role of “mother” too. To those parents flying solo….even if they regularly feel like they can barely swim with their head above the surface. Maybe you feel a little lonely this morning; maybe your little human(s) didn’t know it was Mother’s Day and perhaps no-one reminded them or wrote you on their behalf.
I see you. I feel you. I hear you.
Happy Mother’s Day!!!
May today you Mother yourself too. May you offer yourself the unconditional regard and love that you offer your child/ren today. May you celebrate your breathtaking strength and tenacity and energy and perseverance and all the other powerful forces that you embody. And whatever you do – don’t forget your super hero/ine cape today! Wear it with pride!!!
              To all the women out there who are grandmothers and great grandmothers – who have seen and mothered through multiple generations. We are here because of you; you bore babies who grew ovaries and wombs which made and carried your grandchildren and great grandchildren – you brought us to the earth – and we have the pleasure to watch you dote on the generations that came after you. We cherish your wisdom and experience, you laid the foundations for our mothering and sometimes that means that we learnt through you what not to do, and sometimes we see you making sense of the new ways of mothering.
I see you. You are awesome! Thank you!!!
              To everyone out there missing their mother today….maybe your mother passed away, maybe your mother lives on the other side of the world, maybe you are estranged from your mother, maybe your mother has Alzheimers, maybe your relationship with your mother is not as close and emotionally nourishing as you wish it could be, maybe your mother abandoned you.
I see you. There are some significant taboos around our relationships with our mothers and around familial struggles which still persist and can make talking about anyone of these scenarios really difficult. That struggle is so real and so hard, and can be very lonely and isolating – especially on Mother’s Day. May you find an aspect of your mother, or your ability to self mother, or another mother figure in your life, or even simply the ‘Divine Mother’ who you can celebrate today. May there be a memory or aspect of your life which you can access easily and comfortably which can bring you some joy to reflect on today. Be kind to yourself and offer yourself adequate space to honour the varied emotions which may come up on this day…..it’s all valid.
              To all the other one of a kind mothers out there: the step mothers, the adopted mothers, to the foster mothers, the fur baby mothers, the motherly figure who chose not to have or who couldn’t have babies, the not so motherly figure who chose not to have or couldn’t have babies, to the women who are contemplating motherhood but are not quite decided, to the mothers who gave up their child/ren for adoption, to the mothers who aborted their babies, to the mothers who mother projects or art or gardens or the earth or who mother other women in their care provider roles…..and to any person who identifies within themselves their mothering abilities who I have missed here:
Happy Mother’s Day.
I see you. I love you.
 Thank you for all that offer the world as a mother.
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This incredible image was created by https://www.instagram.com/merakilabbe/ please go check out the rest of her fabulously feminine creations.
946 Days

946 Days

On Friday we stopped breastfeeding.

946 days.

31 months and 1 day.

2 years and 7 months and 1 day.

One of the longest, most rewarding, and most fulfilling jobs I have ever had. Yes : I said “jobs” – because whilst it was wonderful and tender and wrought with hormones and body doubt and body gratitude and self doubt and self care and self neglect and ideological ambition and realistic set backs and unwaivering perseverance and effortless ease and sublime miraculous grace : it was work. Holy work. I do see it as me having chosen to take on a job to nourish you, my child. A job commissioned by nature to fulfill as long as we both enjoyed the process and relationship of nourishing and nurturing / drinking and receiving. It was nourishment and nurturing of a complex and multifaceted nature. A journey and a relationship shrouded in blissful connection and sometimes underpinned by deep struggle. A journey that has naturally ended at the perfect moment; for both of us.

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One of the only photos I have which shows the nipple shield we used at the beginning.

I still can’t quite believe that it is over; and to be honest it isn’t quite “over” as we are still talking about it between us: still touching Ninnie and feeling together how Ninnie is changing, laughing together at the incredulity of there being no more milk drinking. Ninnie is your name for my milky breasts – you know the word “breasts” but refer to my breasts (still now a few days later) as Ninnie.

If anyone would have told me when I was a few weeks pregnant that I would breastfeed you for this long I would have laughed in their face(!!!) I thought I would breastfeed for 9-12 months until you transitioned into food, and didn’t need the calories anymore….but then there you were, and my natural instincts blossomed and my rational mind was convinced after doing the research….and there you were: relishing the milk. Loving your safe haven from the exciting world, your body growing and flourishing so powerfully, your immunity and your health so strong – your desire to continue so palpable as each and every time you arrived at the breast your body relaxed and your nervous system reset.

We breastfed through a lot. We breastfed through our mutual recovery from a Caesarean birth after a long labour; for a few days we supplemented here and there as my milk supply came through – and despite the gruelling pumping schedule we breastfed through it. We breastfed through your Upper Lip Tie and for 9 weeks we breastfed with a nipple shield. We breastfed through the protracted death of my granny; your great grandmother. We breastfed through your first teeth, and your first mild fever. We breastfed through the arrival of each and every tooth that arrived – and at 12 months you had 14 teeth…each one bringing fresh chafing for my resilient nipples. we breastfed through the second level three day doula training I attended when you were 12 weeks old – your loving aunty bringing you at breaks and lunchtime. We breastfed through the flashbacks I started to have as part of the PTSD that was triggered in those first few months post partum; we breastfed through the ensuing migraines. We breastfed through a move to the UK for a few months; through the emotional rollercoasted that turned out to be. We breastfed through our happy return to Amsterdam. We breastfed through the first student births I attended, we breastfed through the “interuption to service” that the births and the hospital internships brought. You even had the privilege of breastfeeding from a friend whilst I was at the first full overnight birth. We breastfed through your first virus and your salmonella. We breastfed through your learning to walk and your increased sleep talking – thankfully no sleepwalking yet. We breastfed through the uncertain months of the beginning of self employment; me often reassured that whilst I wasn’t able to afford to put organic food and line caught salmon on our table as I had wanted – at least I could still offer you the breast -and that was as close to organic as it gets right?! We breastfed through your start at nursery, we breastfed through your decision to use the potty and the toilet. We breastfed though 2 years and 7 months of single parenting; and whilst a lot of parents in partnerships may not understand that there is a difference…that is no mean feat!

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Ruby the cat getting passively high on the oxytocin!

So how did it all come to an end?

On Friday night as we went about settling down for sleep after stories and tooth brushing; you said “Big Ninnie first” and out of nowhere I heard myself say “It is almost time to stop breastfeeding Jasper. You are a really big boy now, you can do so much for yourself, and Ninnie’s job is done – you don’t need to drink Ninnie anymore.” Your concern was initially mainly if you could drink from Ninnie tonight – naturally – your primary concern at 2y 7m is the present and immediate moment and the moment playing out in such a way that pleases you!!!

I cherished you as much as you would let me whilst you drank. I stroked your toddler head, your long blonde hair – totally different from the dark dark brown head of hair you were born with. I felt the size of your head; the solidity of it. I reminisced back to the first days of our journey when despite weighing 4.448kg at birth; you felt so tiny and fragile in my arms next to my blossoming bouncing balloon like breasts. I felt the full length of your little but solid toddler body next to mine and realised happily that you too will probably remember our breastfeeding journey in the longer term. This makes me so happy.

I have whispered into your ears at various points in the days since with tears in my eyes and my throat choked; “Ninnie will always love you – even though there is no more milk for you to drink; you can still put your head on the soft roundness and remember all the lovely milk you have enjoyed.”

The next night as we turned out the light after stories I invited you into my arm for a cuddle and you said; “Can I have Ninnie?” I smile in the half light (expecting the worst) and say “Oh no – we have stopped drinking Ninnie remember?” Tired after a lovely long day you say; “Oh yeah!” and lie back in your sheepskin.

Falling asleep the next afternoon; you are fidgetty and can’t get comfortable. You lie vertically on my body, your head over my heart, your arm outstretched over “Big Ninnie” (my right one) and fall asleep like that. I cherish the closeness; my heart hurting for you a little. Is it my projection or is this you searching for reassurance?

Last night you tried again – with a knowing and cheeky grin as you ask; “Can I have a little drink?” I laugh and say “Noooooo – the milk is gone now….”

“A tiny drink? A really really short drink?” you venture.

I reply with a clear voice defying my mental uncertainty; “Oh that would be so nice wouldn’t it; but Ninnie doesn’t have milk anymore – feel how wobbly they are now! They are very different now….” I’m half wondering if I should actually offer you some but the dread of the feeling of the dwindling milk being drawn up through the already very different feeling ducts persuades me not to(!)

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So many sweet moments like these; here you are 5 weeks old.

I am so PROUD of you that you seem able to navigate this change with such confidence. Seeking out affirmations of our love and attachment, yes, but in what seems to be a secure manner. Our relationship is changing again – again! Oh how the wonderous journey of parenthood embodies the only certainhood we have in life: that nothing is certain – that nothing lasts forever.

In these last days of our breastfeeding journey (is it appropriate to say “The Wrap Up”?!?! Too soon maybe?!?!) I have laughed, I have cried, I have massaged and soothed my breasts in deep loving gratitude, I have reflected a lot on what the breastfeeding journey has meant for me, what I hope it has meant for you, and what it has meant for us as a mother and son. There are so many memories – some fleeting and funny, some raw and intense, some euphoric, some I have shared with others, some that will simply remain between you and I; and some that I hold close in my own heart just for me. It is also incredibly beautiful; that on the day that our journey stopped – the breastfeeding journey of a dear dear friend and her absolutely scrumptious newborn daughter began. The cycle continues!

I want to end with gratitude. Gratitude for you and your unwaivering determination from just minutes old, gratitude for your grunting and sucking and stroking and patting and burping and slurping, gratitude for my breasts and my body, gratitude for the healing nature of our “successful” breastfeeding journey after a birth journey that wasn’t what I had hoped for us, and last but not least – deep gratitude for all the people around us. The women, the dearest friends and family, the birthworkers and teachers, and the supporters who made our journey possible with their glasses of water, the delicious nibbles and snacks, the warming tea, the hand on the shoulder, the gentle reminders about techniques in those early days. Gratitude for their understanding when everything stopped so that I could sit down and nourish you; the knowing loving glances in cafes; the spoken words of tenderness, encouragement and support on the days when I was hollow eyed and “over it”; and everybody and every act of support in little and big ways since: THANK YOU.

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The last photo I have of you breastfeeding – already some months ago. You were stroking Ninnie so softly with the back of your hand.
~ In this room ~

~ In this room ~

In this room; I dreamt of you.
In this room; I prayed for you.
In this room; I chanted to you.
In this room; I imagined you.
In this room; my hands traced your protruding limbs.
In this room; I grew you, you grew me.
In this room; I giggled at your hiccups, I prodded you with light/sound/cold water then filmed your wriggles.
In this room; I wept – laughing and crying – for all that you came from, for all that you inspired, for all that you would yet transform.
In this room; I rested and cuddled The Pig as I waited for you and my body to symbiotically ready yourselves.
In this room; I awoke to the first signs that finally, you were coming.
In this room; we journeyed a little that day – waves rising and falling, a deep descent following each tidal surge.
In this room; it was decided that in fact you would not arrive earthside here; in this room.

I imagine the stillness in this room the moment my heart stopped as I saw you emerge in that room.
That room and all it’s vivid shades of blue, smooth hard shiny surfaced; sterile…yet bringing forth a life so vital, so precious, so warm.
I imagine the stillness in this room as you cried and my heart burst open wider than ever before, then exploded again as I said your name and you silenced your cries, opened your eyes, and looked for me in that room.

In this room; we were finally left alone together – the moment I had feared and yet a moment of many that I relished; just us two.
In this room; we got slowly acquainted with each-other and our new pace of life as our wound healed over.
In this room; we learnt how to breastfeed: you latched, you drank, you burped, you snoozed – I pumped – the room scented a milky sweet sour.
In this room; I changed your nappy for the first time.
In this room; your auntie swept you up in her arms for the first time.
In this room; we looked at each-other, we laughed at each-other, we cried at each-other, we sang to each-other, we slept next to each-other, we awoke next to each-other.
In this room; still now all these months on, it feels like our cocoon. Our place, safe from the outside, suspended from time, blanketed in love, ringing with laughter.
In my memory, this room shall forever be etched in crystal clear clarity and gratitude.

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