When I occasionally get the yoga bug and stretch into the Sun Salutation, I pretend like it’s actually the Son Salutation. There’s a kids’ song that goes with it, and I sing it this way:
“Son salutation, dance for my son….”
I am your witness. How I was chosen to be this person, in this wild and squeezy-heart speck of this time, is part of the Great Mystery of Us. It is wrapped in many, many layers of gorgeous silk and bark and batik wrapping. I untie the ribbons of straw – the same color as your threads of hair – slowly. Each time a layer is exposed I giggle. And then cry. And then smile with a giggle and a tear in my eye.
I think they call this BitterSweet.
The tears are bitter. The love is sweet. It mingles, merges, somehow works out to the Perfect Package.
You – that dandelion puff that wafts gently into the air. Harming no one, flying with the winds and catching the thermals. Letting go of yourself – limbs and heart unattached – so that you can adventure onwards.
You – the little mossy inchworm who sllloooowly makes his way to his destination. Not yet crawling, but rocking back and forth upon your hands and knees while staring intently at the path before you.
You – the plaintive whistle of the locomotive as you cry out for “Maaaaaaaaa ma ma ma maaaaaa!” for the first time last night (after I gave you over to daddy for 30 seconds).
You – the hungry hungry hippo who reaches for every bit of food but who purses his lips when anything pureed comes your way. You aren’t ready, yet. Your digestive system has told me loud and clear. You have no teeth yet. Mamamilk is your comfort and nourishment and I am happy to give it. It flows like the river of Love reaching her arms out to the diamond moon.
But you – you, the teething little mister who nurses every 30 minutes (or more) each night. Crying out, latching on, getting some sips, popped off, binky in mouth, falling into slumber, awakening in 15 minutes or so. Repeat.
That. THAT – oh little man, please, can that taper off? (MB says that it probably won’t. You are a mama’s boy and that’s that)
So sleep-deprivation is the hissing snake that slithers and squirms into bed with us each night. It taunts and teases and reminds me that the sun is already rising. Somehow, I still manage to dream. Two mornings ago, after just drifting back to sleep, I astral traveled for about one minute.
I found myself standing in the doorway of my father’s home. I looked down to see a blue skirt blowing in the cool breeze and noticed the soft winter-light filtering through the aqua sky. I basked in the glow of perfect weather, quiet solitude. In a moment, I realized where I was. And then I realized I was REALLY there, astral-traveling. I had a few thoughts: “Lyric is still sleeping next to you so be still…YOU ARE REALLY HERE!…reach out and touch something”. And so I stepped down the stoop, and reached out to the brick pillar holding up the porch roof. I watched my hands slowly and deliberatly grab the corner of the bricks. “Yes! I’m feeling this!” My fingers slid along the mortar lines, feeling the coarse grain of the mud and clay that was spread over 30 years ago.
I told myself to go inside and move something so my Dad knew I’d been there. I started to turn to my left to enter that’s when Lyric woke me up again.
Pulled from one realm into another. Swept off my astral feet.
You – my mid-noon dancer, strapped into the Ergo carrier. We sway and shake our booties and you grin up at me with eyes crinkled like the pages of my old diary. Words leap off those pages: oh gratitude, oh potion of crazy mamalove, oh oh oh ohhhhhh sweet child of mine!
You – my usher. You usher in my big emotions, midwife my anger, and hold tenderly onto the shoulders of my chaos. You usher in hope and love – literally waving hello and goodbye to family members with your outstretched palm.
You – the connection between me and your sisters. The womb connector. The little one who smiles into his sisters eyes as he nurses – her holding his fingers. Sharing stories over a drink, from the well in which you grow and where we come to know each other best.
Little son, you have anointed me with speckles of your silent wisdom and the reminder that motherhood is rad. I get to DO this! I chose it and then you chose me and we are reveling and rolling in the green grassy hills of our choosing. With lots of grass stains to prove it. So rad.
My son, thank you. Oh, a million times and a million stars of thanks!
I love you like THIS….
and like THIS…
Oh, and like THIS…
Oops, how could I forget, like THIS:
And SHE loves you like THIS:
And HE loves you like THIS:
And well, we all just love your smiling face like THIS:
Because we love youuuuuuuu!