After a Years-long Hiatus: Poetry

I feel so alone,
Trembling and tiny
In a dark wasteland

I want to be held
As a baby is held,
As I hold my baby
And drink in the scent
Of her hair.

I want the comfort
Of a mother’s arms,
Of one who knows me.

I want to be told
That I will be okay,
That I did what I could,
That all will be well,
And believe.

I want to go home,
To feel I belong
Somewhere safe and warm.

I want to believe
I can somehow learn
To utterly cherish,
And to be cherished
In return.

I want sacrifice
Recognized as love
Without price or fear.

I want there to be
Hope in my broken heart
That my Savior can come,
Break away my pride
And teach joy.

But I feel alone,
Trembling and tiny
In my own wasteland.

Doctor Ely

Last night, I went to the nurse midwife for the first time for the new baby. Ely came with me, charming everyone with her usual vivacious self (which was good, since I felt anything but charming or vivacious.)

When we entered the examination room, she immediately alighted upon the toy chest in the corner, proceeding to remove every toy. Her favorites were by far a four string, wooden guitar made in her size, a stethoscope and a reflex hammer. After showing her the guitar, she checked my ears with the hammer and immediately began to listen to my arm with the stethoscope.

After the nurse found the baby's heartbeat, she emulated her, listening intently with her stethoscope, standing on a little stool by the bed. As soon as it was clear the nurse was done, she hopped onto the bed. "My turn!"

I dutifully listened to her stomach and heart with the stethoscope, and checked her ears with the hammer. Only then would she go.

What a bright and brilliant star she is!

The littlest one will be feisty. It took several minutes to find the heartbeat, during which you could hear the little leg kicks and arm swipes as the baby tried to fight off the stethoscope.

Am I in for trouble?

Innate Compassion

Yesterday, I was feeling down. Being sick all the time is increasingly draining on my physical stamina and my emotional outlook. By the time I retrieved my daughter from her daycare, I was really unhappy. My daughter asked me if I was alright. Wanting to teach her that sometimes it is okay to be sad, I said, "Mommy is just a little sad right now, sweetie. But I'll be okay."

She replied, "Mommy not sad. Mommy cute!"

And, in an instant, my bad mood vanished.

A Small Kindness Which Means the World

I spent my first day of silence in Church with barely repressed feelings of frustration. I found it difficult to hold back the tears. But, as I left early so as to avoid potential sympathetic conversation and further embarrassment, one of the Brothers followed me out. He asked if I was okay. He said I looked stressed. He seemed uncomfortable, but he was asking me anyways.

It seems like such a little thing, but it was beautiful beyond measure.

The Lord is good and glorious, and people aren't so bad, either. Every such kindness helps me worship Him a little more.

Beauty in Transience

One of the messages in the Last Unicorn is that although there is beauty in immortality, there is a far more poignant beauty found in things that fade and die.

Yesterday, my daughter spouted the line "leave me alone!" It affected me more deeply than I would have thought. I always knew she would someday leave me behind, but this simple statement of toddler independence nearly crushed me. It is the beginning of the end. It means that I will savor the scent of her hair when she cuddles me more deeply than I even did before. I will treasure every soft touch, and every sweetly concerned "don't cry, mommy."

It pains me to know that I am not capturing every second of being with her, holding it like a fluttering butterfly. I get too caught up in cleaning, cooking, unwinding from my day. How I try to freeze every feeling into a secret place in my heart, where the finger-tip memory of the feel of my dog's wiry fur is still tucked away, to bring out only when I need it most.

With a startling prescience, I see myself holding a pillow to my chest, alone in my room, closing my eyes and breathing in the remembered tickle of her soft hair. I can't imagine anything more precious. Even my whimsical mind cannot conceive of anything more beautiful than these moments, now, spent with her. Eternity cannot possibly be beautiful in the way that this is beautiful, because eternity does not die.

Full Moon

A few nights ago, the moon was full. I'm not sure what it is, but when the moon is bright enough to drown out all the artificial light I am surrounded with, it fills me with a shivery, silvery, quivery sort of power. Perhaps it is the string of women in my ancestry, gazing at the moon with that peculiar feminine connection. To me, the sun is always too harsh, burning my eyes and skin. The moon is soothing and gentle. I can see by its light without squinting. It doesn't suck moisture from me, leaving me headachy. I know it sounds a little new-agey Wiccan-esque, but I believe that it is merely enjoying a snapshot of God's creations with no sense of worship towards the moon. It delights me when the moonlight throws objects, worn by daylight's harsh mundanity, into mysterious yet crisp relief.

Sometimes I feel such a connection with the world around me, it seems I can almost tap into the power of God running through all things. Suddenly, I feel as though I am part of a vast living computer, not nearly as disconnected as I usually feel. When I feel that, for the briefest moment, I realize I am home.

Sneakiness

My daughter, whom I shall call Ely here, is developing her understanding of when she is in trouble. Today, as I was in the checkout line, unbeknownst to me, she grabbed a York Peppermint Patty and tried to taste it through the wrapper. I caught her in the act with an "Ely! What are you doing?" From the first syllable of her name, she hurriedly stuffed the candy back into the box and gave me her angel eyes.

"Angel eyes" is what I call it when looks at me with her wide, brilliant blue eyes and smiles sweetly. It is hard to be irritated with those eyes. I had to check the candy. Sure enough, she bit a perfect half-moon bite through the wrapper, and although the wrapper itself was not broken, I was certain no one would want to eat a York Peppermint Patty with indentations from Ely's teeth. I had to buy it, accompanied by firm verbal assurances to my daughter that her behavior was not acceptable.

The lady at the checkout stand disapproved of how I chastened my daughter. It embarrassed me, knowing I was having to discipline my child in public, but what choice do you have with a two-year-old? They don't understand discipline for something in the past. I am gaining more and more sympathy for mothers with small children, now that I am one.

After we left the store and returned to the car, I was strapping her into her car seat and lecturing her. "Lectures" for such a small girl consist of repeating "What you did was wrong. That candy did not belong to you. Candy, no. No touch!"

Upon hearing this lecture, my daughter lifted her arms and soulfully said "Kisses, mommy?" Of course, I gave her kisses and told her I love her, but I didn't let go that easily.

"What do you do when you see candy?"

"No touch!"

"Good! Good girl. You are very smart. Don't touch candy without asking mommy first, okay?"

"Yes! I love you, mommy!"

"I love you, too, honey." She is truly the light of my life, even in her mischief. It is difficult to keep the balance between love and teaching, but she helps me remember that I am not far different. I can see, now, why God sometimes does what He does in my life.

I'm not a big fan of York Peppermint Patties, though I can eat them. My husband categorically hates mint. Therefore, there is a York Peppermint Patty in my freezer. Perhaps I won't ever eat it. It reminds me that the world is a very different place to a two year old, where finding the beauty and intrigue in a pretty, shiny wrapper outweighs understanding of ownership. It reminds me that I don't know everything.

And there is no other Peppermint Patty in the world quite like that one, now.