it's an interesting phenomenon to be a mother.  to watch as a child comes helpless and so tiny into this world, depending on you for everything. the exhaustion of caring for this tiny creature is all consuming and in the beginning completely chaotic.  eventually a rhythm establishes. eventually the chaos ebbs and we're able to recognize the beauty and the miracle a little more fully than when we were right in the moment. suddenly that pint-sized babe is a pint-sized child riding her scooter gleefully away from you.

i have found myself pining for those itty-bitty moments again, wondering, what did she smell like? when did he first laugh? how did i comfort her? why didn't i take a little more time to just breathe and enjoy?

i did a newborn shoot a few weeks ago with two tiny cousins. as i nuzzled their downy skin one of the dad's said, "uh oh, she's looking baby hungry again! she must be in heaven!"  i paused and looked down, with love surging in my heart and realized that yes, i was in heaven, but i had never enjoyed my newborns like i enjoy holding my nephew.  those first six months of each of my babies lives i was always wishing that time away, wishing for sleep, wishing for them to be a little older, a little bigger, a little more conversational, a little more... something else.  it breaks my heart to look back and realize how little i enjoyed and just how overwhelmed and disconnected i was.

i've been reading Momma Zenand with each page i turn i find myself wanting to buy a copy for every mother i know.  with each page i turn i find myself cracking open a little wider, tears jumping to my eyes as i feel so understood and acknowledged.  see, this book isn't a parenting book that teaches you how to be the perfect mother with the perfect baby on the perfect schedule, this is a parenting book that teaches you to enjoy the moments, to be present with right now.  my favorite excerpt from the book is this:

"you can change in an instant. you can change your mind. you can change your timing. you can change your approach. you can change your words. you can laugh instead of scream. you can hop on one foot. you can step away from the fray instead of stepping in. you can give up, give in, and go in a completely different direction than you'd like to. you can do the dishes later. what then? what next?the zen master has told you, 'you embody the golden breeze.' you ARE change. you have infinite power to relax, to release, to change, and thus to change everything. if you find that you don't have the energy or the good humor to do so this time, i will understand. there will be many afforded you.

your child is a tireless teacher, constantly probing your self-imposed limits and boundaries, your self-centeredness, your sheer stubbornness. 

it is a thankless job, and who would want it? but each day your child comes to work again, taking up the monumental task.

you must be a teacher too. of agile exits and negotiations, of quick turns and pirouettes. of all the inventive ways to go through life instead of banging it head-on. there is a deft elegance to the mother who has mastered this dance, the dance with no choreography. she is fluid and round. she smiles and laughs easily. she breezes along as though anything were possible.

like a child."

 i have often compared those early days of motherhood to driving head-long into a sunset. everyone around us can see the beauty, some often stop and surrender to just watching as the sun sets in it's glory. but there i am driving, driving, driving, the sun so impossibly in my face wishing that it would just be over so that i could see again.

on our last trip to nevada we were driving home during sunset. movies, giggles, screams and pretzels abounded in the backseat. i was grumpy, strung out on a sugar high that can only come from the over indulgence of a birthday party. i was grumpy from lack of sleep. i was grumpy from lack of attention. as john drove i tried diligently to just block it all out in my mind so that i could sleep until home. as my mind numbed i felt the car slowing to a stop, angrily i snapped, "why are we stopping? i just want to get home!"  john smiled, grabbed our camera and started getting the kids out of the car. in the middle of nowhere the sun was setting and the light was nothing short of glorious.

finally i stopped driving. i breathed in the crisp, dry air. and i simply enjoyed the moment. like a child.

my interview at visionary mom is now up as well, come check out the movement she's creating!