womanhood

a work in progress

Category: Motherhood (Page 1 of 23)

Ok.

It’s ok

It’s ok to go slow.

It’s ok to show up late.

It’s ok to feel everything.

It’s ok to not know where it’s all going.

It’s ok to be late for after school pick-up.

It’s ok to send out deliveries a day late.

It’s ok to not be on top of your insta-game.

It’s ok to online shop when you shouldn’t.

It’s ok to feel jealous and not understand why.

It’s ok to eat that dairy milk when you wish it had been 80% dark instead.

It’s ok to pause.

It’s actually good.

So for all my A-types.

Just know, you have my blessings for every time you fuck shit up.

With love.

X

K

Dear Aru (May, 2018),

Oh my darling.

Sweet sweet boy.

You are growing up so very fast.

Becoming such an incredible human.

So persistent when you want something or when you need a question answered.

I admire that you in. Although I appear exasperated often.

You are cautious, it is in your core.

Perhaps it came from a past life, perhaps from your time in the womb, perhaps from your star sign.

Just know, it is ok to take a risk every now and then.

It is ok to fall and hurt.

Your friend is right by you, and he won’t let the cut be too deep.

Dearest Aru.

I may or may not choose to have another one.

Are you ok with that?

Some part of me dies with the thought that you might not have a sibling.

But do I really, truly, madly, deeply, want another?

I just don’t know.

I simply don’t know.

I want one for you.

That’s for sure.

But for me?

I don’t know.

Could I bear more sleepless nights?

More crying?

More whining?

Could I bear the emptiness of being a mum?

Yes.

For me, those early years often felt empty.

Empty of a cause.

Empty of an end point.

It’s who I am.

Seeking the next step.

Tick. Tick. You have arrived.

Motherhood isn’t like that.

It’s about being okay in the all day, every day.

There is no acclaim, no accolades.

It sucks, but there is some part of me that cares about that stuff.

We’ll see sweet pea.

We’ll see.

Maybe I’ll change.

Maybe I won’t.

I love you the same.

But learn from me.

A life lived for someone else, even if it is you,

Isn’t a life lived truly.

X

Dear Aru (April end, 2018),

You’re the sweetest thing, but I don’t know why, I’m grumpy all the time.

I’m trying to ease off at work.

Maybe meditate more, maybe get back into yoga.

You’re my sign.

You’ve always been my sign.

My sign posts.

The one person in the world, whom I mistreat the most.

You just asked me to read to you and I said no.

You haven’t had your dinner and I’m so disappointed.

I’m sorry sweetheart.

I wish I could be loving all the time.

Or at least a little more.

Instead of filling you with my neutral / nothing vibes.

I’m sorry.

Xx

K

The nerve centre.

It had been dead.

Unloved.

Broken.

I’d seen blood and body rush out.

Forming rivers in a shower.

Fusing and departing.

I’d seen a life.

It breaks you in so many ways.

We think the worst of it is in the womb.

Or in the mind.

But it’s also there.

From where it leaves.

And so.

For nights, for days on end.

I’d sought something.

To fill the void.

The doctors said six weeks of no sex.

But they were happy to stick up a plastic cold probe up my vagina and wiggle the shit out of it.

And I had no idea.

My vagina.

Had been through a trauma of it’s own.

And now I realise.

How fucking insensitive and unaware we are.

Of course it feels.

Of course it breathes.

It is life.

It is the creator of life.

And when it was finally loved.

I wept.

And wept.

And wept.

In the dark of the night.

Finally maybe, I could begin to feel anew.

We don’t know.

What the body goes through.

What the vagina goes through.

Heck, we don’t even use that word without cringing.

For weeks.

I have been seeking.

Love.

Solace.

Someone listen to me.

Someone cradle me.

Someone feel this pain that I feel.

Someone.

And I didn’t know it.

I sought it emotionally.

I sought it physically.

And slowly, slowly, conversation after conversation,

Some form of healing begins.

X

K

Note: I wrote this a long time ago. It was one of the first time we’d had sex after the miscarriage and I was in tears. In the middle of it all. And I couldn’t find the words to write “sex”. But I feel that. It is important. For us to know. Our skin feels things. Not just our mind. Like a knee hurts when we fall. A lower back hurts when we lift too heavy. Perhaps, a vagina hurts when it looses a baby. And maybe, we need to find the words to express these things. Because those words, as inappropriate or even as indecent as they seem, as so important. To express. X

A Friendship

Hey.

You read my words and offered me an out.

When I told you.

Miscarriage.

You booked the place and made sure it was cozy.

It was just what I needed.

Pizza.

Leather upholstery.

Chocolate fondant.

I didn’t even notice the absent fireplace.

Woman to woman.

Mother to mother.

You just.

Listened.

And you just.

Felt.

Allowed me to fall apart in a paragraph.

Which turned into a short story.

And fall apart some more.

In the awkward way that I do.

But you felt.

And you didn’t say a thing.

To justify.

To accept.

To correct.

To adjust.

To fix.

To make it better.

All that bullshit.

You didn’t offer.

You just let it be.

And from one mother who has lost a baby,

To another mother who has lost a baby,

You were exactly what the universe prescribed,

For this hurting heart,

That can’t quite figure out,

Why.

But has to accept.

That it is.

For that.

I can only, ever thank you.

X

K

Dear Aru (April end, 2018),

It’s dawning on me.

That I made your life work around mine.

I wanted you to come along.

To be adulting.

To meet pattern makers.

Sit patiently in the office.

Play on your own, with whatever was around.

I made your life work around mine.

And that is a GOOD thing.

(Don’t you go trying to guilt trip me on this one).

But.

I also think.

It’s important for you to do things you want.

And for me to work around your life (a little).

A cricket class here.

A lego session there.

Reading an extra book.

Or just cuddling for a little longer.

That is so hard for me sweetheart.

So so so hard.

Especially when I could be ironing, tidying, cooking, emailing, photoshopping, insta-posting etc. You get the gist.

I have always, actually, not always, but often chosen productivity over you.

Productivity and Netflix.

So I’m going to try and be better.

Try and get it together.

And be a little less having it all together.

For you.

For me.

For us.

X

Mild

There is a mild depression.

It’s like nothing really.

It’s just a little harder to wake up.

A little harder to give a shit.

A little harder to love a little.

It’s a nothingness.

There was a baby inside of me.

And now there is nothing.

But nothingness.

And I’m resigned to being ok with it.

And yet not.

X

K

Dear Aru (Mid-April, 2018), 

It’s been a long time. 

A long, long time.

You’ve been patient with me, while I’ve been catty with you. 

It’s hard to explain to a 3 year old what a miscarriage is. 

Or even think it’s appropriate for them to know. 

Mummy had a baby in her tummy and then the baby died. 

So mummy is sad. 

Daddy is in struggle town as he assesses our drained finances. 

Contemplating whether to sell the apartment or get a loan. 

Mummy and Daddy can’t be there for each other, like they usually are. 

Because some major shit went down. 

Is that how it goes? 

And I know. The ship will turn. The winds will change. The sun will shine. 

But maybe one day. 

When you’re going through some shit of your own. 

You come here. 

You read this. 

And you trust. 

That.

You’ll make it through. 

Just like us. 

X

Your Maa. 

With child.

NOTE: I wrote this a good 7 months ago and I don’t feel the same way. I wasn’t going to post it, because it just felt bad to say that I ever felt that way. But I think part of this whole thing, is being ok with feels. And I realise, it’s totally ok. Xx K

//

So you are with child. 

And I love you darlingly so. 

My heart beats for you. 

You are my blood. 

My love. 

My mother. 

My sister. 

My friend. 

My world. 

And I know. 

That this sinking feeling inside me. 

I want to quash. 

This fear. 

You but not me. 

I’m not there yet. 

Not with child. 

Yet. 

I feel. 

The why. 

And I want to quash it. 

But instead. 

I let myself. 

Feel it. 

Feel the sorrow. 

The simple one of not getting what you want. 

The feeling of someone else getting what you want. 

I let it wash over me. 

And I know. 

It will be ok. 

X

K

Page 1 of 23

Powered by Life, Love and Everything In between.

Subscribe

Oh hi, please subscribe if you'd like posts to come auto-magically to your inbox.

I promise, no spam. xx K

Yay! Cannot wait to share more with you. xx K