Archive for March, 2013

March 25, 2013

once upon a time

while cleaning my bathrooms today, i remembered being encouraged, long ago, to open a naked housekeeping business. afterall, i loved to clean and, apparently, looked good doing it. i immediately realized that the adage “there is no time like the present” is quite mistaken.

March 24, 2013

shedding skin

my husband mentioned the other day that i was “looking fit”.
the truth is, i don’t. not even a little bit. i look loose, lumpy, and tired (of course), but i do not look one thing fit. i do, however, look like i’m trying and, perhaps, i look like that’s working. and, that’s good.
afterall, it can be a process accepting your child-bearing physique, sometimes a fraught one, and the journey doesn’t end when baby delight arrives for, as you may well know, you are transformed, in many ways, regardless of whether you continue to carry the life in you or any life-growing weight.

though making, nurturing, and delivering my children taught me just how powerful my body is, the months immediately following birth are challenging- awkward as my form adjusts: my bones with creaks and groans and my skin, out-of-place appearing. then, worse perhaps, the middle months, those lodged somewhere in the middle of my pregnant self, my post-partum self, and the self i feel i “should” look like.
i don’t mind being changed, as it is after making a life, but it does take me time and space to reconcile. like tonight, while getting out of the shower, i came face to face with myself in the mirror. with my hair slicked back, skin and stretch marks reddened, and my milk producing breasts dominating my proportions, there wasn’t a lot of self-love in the room.

it just wasn’t pretty.

fortunately, a heap of my sweaty clothes were also in view. i’m getting there, i thought, regardless of how long i have yet to go.

March 23, 2013

cleanse

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March 13, 2013

hard to swallow

the truth is, i’m not much of a “mommy blogger”. i don’t do what you’re supposed to do, i guess.

i can’t stay on top of daily updates, i am not organized (or interesting enough) to list to do’s and we did’s, i lack the genes required to decorate with cute design features or photo logs. i don’t fall under the categories of creative, crafty, or custom (there is only one ‘c’ word that might apply to me and my mom reads this so i’ll spare both her and you the vulgarity).

i’m not funny on purpose, i don’t have much entertainment value, and god eff’n knows i  am not sexy (these days, in particular). i don’t blog as a way to promote my services, my business, my trade. i’ve got no giveaways, contests, or anything very merry to share. i won’t offer advice, parenting or otherwise. i don’t advertise my words any further then sharing them with my limited social network, and i’m the first to admit that i am from the dark ages with regard to web networking.

i don’t have a problem with this.

i do have an issue, however.

the thing is, i have been fortunate to have somehow established a wee bit of public interest but, because i have the emotional resiliency of a newt and am not short on the coo-coo factor, it’s causing some real panic up in here. i am so.out.of.my.league.

so, yah. on top of being sleep deprived, full-time harassed by my preschooler, and sucked dry by my baby, i somehow now feel pressured by unspecified new expectations of myself which is confusing, stressful, and a complete buzz kill. the flow has been officially compromised.

you see, writing is an expression of chance for me: when inspiration, interest, energy, focus, and time connect in some spontaneous and random way, encouraging and allowing me the opportunity.  these moments of fluidity are happening less and less lately and i fear that this is more about feeling pressured to perform, or my ability has been poisoned by some twisted social insecurity now that i think i am somehow part of the blogger realm.

point is, pardon the absenteeism. spare me some patience. momma’s gonna get her groove back. oh, and if you have any cures for ruminative and paralyzing neurosis that does not include heavy drinking (see above re baby and power nursing), do share. i need all the help i can get.

peace, hh.

March 10, 2013

these bones

these hips once spun through the air, landing
hard

against wet cedar
and,

like forest ghosts,

splintered when no one was looking.

my pelvis and pubic bone also burst

on impact

when my left side met forcefully with the consequences of sleep deprivation, bad weather, and speed.

these bones, all halved,

separated my core in four,
and, along with other misfortunes,

left me unable to move, sit, stand, walk, and function- for months.
by bless they healed,

stubbornly,

like the rest of me,

humbled yet angry at my vulnerability.

this rim,

though fused,

woven and knit to whole, became uneven, slightly,

at the back,

where my spine escaped a worse fate,
and a limp lingers yet,

though the only traces of tragedy people notice are the scars on my face from the pole i acquainted- also splintered, but in my skin.

this skeleton,

mine,

found movement again

-early-
my fire making it so,

despite caution

and brought me back to ‘normal’ so i could move on,

even if my body continued to suffer in movement beneath me.

this frame: silenced neglected ignored, even,

became wound

tight

unable to withstand my insistence without pain

but, amazingly, continued to persist and prosper regardless of the failures of my lifestyle.

years later, this pelvis, still with memory of injury, carried me in, ripe and full, to term

twice

widening

and relaxing into careful opening

releasing years of tension and making room for my body to deliver his body and, then,

alone without tone still,

worked for us again and held its ground,

while i slumped over exhausted limbs, labouring across excruciating hours for his body, too.
these bones they screamed as i screamed,

squatting,

in a scene out of a movie where it might all have went wrong but didn’t…

shuddering

while they expelled life and showed me, laughing, again, that they could.

this said,
these hips this pelvis this core

once fluid,

went uncared for and now lack lubrication to allow for the pairing of movement and grace.

locked,

often,
my middle groans at the thought of impact

but having displayed capacity and

infinite power
i am in my frame anew and hesitate, no longer.
these bones,

once betrayed and then held to blame, unjustly,

taught me
(again)
of resilience
when,

today,

they took me future forward

further than all the days since spilt cars and bodies became part of my story.
these legs, this girl, running- because i still can.