Today was one of those days. Seemingly productive and busy, but if you took stock of 'achievements' then suddenly measurable progress drops to the wayside. I guess it's all a matter of perspective, expectations and how you qualify achievements. Motherhood has a funny way of challenging everything you once believed about what a successful day looks like, and what achievement feels like. Whereas sweetness once lay in the grander show of achieving 'things' and doing 'stuff' and being seen, now the sweetness lies in the spaces between, the small victories repeated over and over, the unseen but felt moments, lessons back forth, the life of your children, yourself, your family cultivated and tended for another day. Repeated days, rhythms, a grind or a hum that before you know it becomes memories of a life lived, children grown, and the season of the mother shifting to the season of the crone. These are the days of our lives, and a lesson I am learning is to cherish them in the here and now, that the mundane can be both the most exquisite and dragging, it's just a shift of perspective and that how you live your days is how you live your life. In a blink of an eye they're grown and you're old (if you're lucky).
Things that happened today, in no particular order:
My twins did not sleep during the day, making doing measurable and achievable tasks difficult
14 weeks after my c-section, I finally felt my body was ready to try yoga again
I was vomited on numerous times. To be noted: I was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, which had old baby vomit on them, I smelt of vomit.
I did not have my breakfast / lunch until 2pm and instead got through the morning by eating a block of chocolate.
I did not shower until 4.30pm
First day back at school after the holidays : I managed to get my son, the girls and I ready and out the door in time to walk to school, drop my son off, then continue to walk around a large block for some much needed exercise and podcast listening time.
I did the dishes and loads of washing and vacuumed (the latter only after my mum came and held the babies).
I breastfed, a lot, to the point where I had concerns that my body wouldn't keep up with supply and demand .... maybe the girls are having a growth spurt?
I looked at the weeds in my garden and sighed.
I made at least one conscious effort to fuel my body in a healthier way than I have been previously. I tried to honour it with good nourishment.
Which brings me to the title of this post, honouring the body that's served.
Today, after a long and lengthy absence and 14 weeks since giving birth via emergency c-section, I finally felt it was time to step on the yoga mat again, and restart my yoga practice. I am but a novice, with a practice that spans less then five years. I was by no means a yogi of great repute nor a prodigy on the mat, yet in yoga I felt a connection to a way of moving my body that made sense to me, tuning my mind, a practice that was available to me at all times at all stages of my life. Before pregnancy I had attended classes in Christchurch, and since moving to Levin, had been practising using my YogaGlo subscription, and I was progressing slowly but surely. Pregnancy derailed my practice. I had smugly imagined I would carry on through my pregnancy, and in the beginning I did, but as with everything in this pregnancy, my expectations were derailed by realities. It has been such a path of teachings through the disruptions of ones perfect expectations, it's been humbling, heartbreaking, horrible and bliss, a real stretching and rending of who I once was. My yoga practice was no different. I thought I would be in an InstaPerfect yoga preggo bubble, but instead I was tired. Tired and tired and tired. No nausea, just a debilitation fatigue of both the body and the mind. I gave up on my practice so quickly in favour of rest, naps, lying down, sitting. There's not right or wrong, I try not to beat myself up about it, it was what it was, it is what it is. That was almost 8 months ago, and finally today I felt the pull to return. It was dire. It was hard. It was challenging and disheartening . My body was so stiff, it was weak, it creaked and was tender, my joints clicked, by back hurt (especially at my epidural site). My body was soft and doughy, I was hyper conscious of my c-section scars knowing what once was whole had been cut, I could barely touch my toes, my mind was even fuzzier. I was truly returned to square one of my practice, day dot. I did five shaky distracted minutes max, attempting my sun salutations and realising I had forgotten parts, that my muscle memory was not as good as I had hoped. Lyra was asleep but Rune sat in her bouncer watching me curiously, I tried not to get distracted by her sweet face, I tried to focus. But like I said, it was dire. I felt like giving up and I felt like shit.
But, after giving it up after five humbling minutes, I thought about it, and about my body. I needed to honour my body which had served, served me well, served my children, and continues to serve. How dare I disparage it, after what it had been through. How dare I run it down because it was not where it once was. My body had served and it had served well. It nourished my babies, grew them both, nurtured them then and continues to nurture them now, hold them, feed them, give my sleep and soul. My body endured to bring my twins into this world, natural labour, examinations by many, consenting to needles and succumbing to the knife in the end. My body held much stress and grief during my pregnancy, and after while the girls were in the NICU, still it served, it endured, it continued and still does to this day. I am thankful. I am grateful. It is worn and it is tired, but it is not done, it should be honoured. So that's what I am going to try and focus on , honouring my body which has served. Honouring it by continuing with my yoga practice, and accepting that I need to start at square one again. Honouring it by taking that journey slowly, and releasing my expectations of achievement and success, replacing those with honest joy in progress, one step at a time. Honouring it by nourishing it as best as I can, making better choices and fuelling it well, sleeping instead of Netflix or late night phone scrolling. Honouring it by loving my body in every state it moves through, looking in the mirror and seeing strength and beauty, not being held down by hate for my new mother softness, heavy milk breasts, twin mama tummy. Honour the body I have in the here and now, the work it has done, continues to do and will do.
Thank you body, thank you for serving me well, me, my family, my children, my ancestors. I am the house of my ancestors, my womb holds them all and brings them forth into life each time I give birth, drawing the continuing branches of our tree.
I stood on the yoga mat and inhaled. I smelt baby vomit, it was all on my top. I inhaled and was happy, raised my arms higher. I am in the season of the mother, full and chaotic, embrace and enjoy, learn from it all.