I was treated to a rather spectacular day today. It's my birthday and from the moment I opened my eyes, it seems the world has gone out of its way to make it just lovely... Sunflowers! Sunshine!
Handsome, barefoot men in silly poses, upon giant pumpkins! And beautiful, familiar but ever-changing gardens to explore...
I just love the golden light and colours at this time of year. The crispness to the air. Favourite clothes pulled out to wear again... The BEST hot chocolates and pumpkin toasties, at our favourite cafe... What's not to love about Autumn?
Then home to relax, talk to loved ones, open parcels, read lovely messages... eat a fruity birthday tart for afternoon tea, followed by take away for dinner, from the lazy susan shop!
Did I mention the loot?
I may explode from the awesome overload. Even despite the fact that we were all in various stages of blah and illness, it was pretty amazing... I think the only way the day can get better is if I pop the kettle on and have a cuppa while reading a magazine and mulling over some pretty exciting new adventures that may be on our horizon... Yes, it may have been the best birthday ever. I hope you were out today enjoying it too. xx
Tiny Owlet and I have reached that part of our breastfeeding relationship where she's suddenly extremely busy and rough and strong and very, very focussed. She climbs and twirls and turns - sometimes she trips... um, ouch! She twiddles - well, she tries. Tiny Owlet nurses lots. As much, if not more than ever. Anytime I sit down. I'm glad that she does, because most days she's too busy to eat! When there's sickness in the house, she nurses more, in an effort to protect herself. Time for me to step up the self-nurture...
Tiny Owlet sings and snuggles and when she's not sick, as she is today, she drifts happily off to dream milky dreams... When she is unwell, or if we're just too busy, I'm so thankful that there's always something to provide comfort and a special sense of home... If we're lucky, the world (and Tiny) stops and we look into each other's eyes, just for a moment or two, and I'm so, so glad we have this... because this time really will be over so soon...
Are you breastfeeding a toddler too? Have you? How do you look after yourself on long-long days when you fear sitting down, lest the twiddly fingers lift your top? When Big Owlet was small, I had no idea just how normal it was to breastfeed a toddler. So I stopped just after her first birthday, just as the books suggested... Then Little Owlet came a long and boobs were her whole world! I couldn't dream of weaning her, so she chose to wean herself, in her own time... and let me tell you, it was a surprisingly looong time before she was ready to let go. She needed that connection so very, very much. Tiny Owlet will choose when she's ready too and although I'm not sure she's as attached as her sister was, I'm sure it's a while off yet...
Yep! It's my Bloggy Birthday today! Five years! Have you been following right from the beginning? I don't suppose you have. There were very few posts in that first year. But isn't it cool to have that whole little story of one's family there to look back on? I can see kids grow, babies born, recipes we've made, craft and design and learning and the evolution of our home... and that familiar cycle of mothering, especially that frustrating, love filled period of mothering a toddler. I can see how we move through the seasons. The traditions, abundance... I can learn from the past.
Owlet, for me, began 15 years ago. It was a range of children's clothing and textile designs, based on a book I was given as a child. What I took from Hiawatha's Childhood was the gentle parenting approach and I worked with symbols of universal motherhood, and brotherhood. I guess things don't really change that much, hey? They just keep growing and evolving as common themes rework themselves... And it is lovely to have a place to watch all that growth happen.
I'm feeling change in the air this year. A little more than usual. I'm not sure what or when or how, but it is there. We are quite changed after our long summer and something this year will change with us. It is exciting! And lots to wonder and think about, but apparently it's a year of the dragon thing, so maybe you feel it at your nest too?
Anyhow, I'd like to thank you for following our little journey so far and hope you'll keep reading along. It's so lovely to know you. xx
My heart hurts when I read or see most forms of news media these days. I actually just can't watch or read it much anymore. Most weeks it seems there's something pointing out why the choices I make for my family are wrong. That they make me selfish or militant or that I'm risking my child's health, or their life. It's a very personal decision, deciding how and where you do so many things when it comes to parenting, but one of the first huge decisions we make revolves around where we give birth.
From my own experience, when I became pregnant the first time and went to ask for options and advice, I was only given one choice. "Which hospital? Which Obstetrician will you be seeing?" I wasn't informed of my options. I was asked to pick a name off a list and hope that I got in because they all book out so quickly and if I wanted the hospital with the great food, I'd need to get in super fast. So I did and I felt so grateful. I put my trust in my care provider, as she urged me to do, and happily counted down days until birth. I was asked not to worry too much about the details, to just go with the flow, trust her, she knew what she was doing. As each appointment rolled around, I was trained to be used to hands inside me, a loss of dignity. "It's all part of it", she said. I was told to not worry about water birth, "the statistics show that it leads to a higher rate of epidural". A concept I've since found to be proven incorrect. But still, I trusted.
When my time came to birth my babe, it was at a time chosen by my care provider. It suited her schedule, fitting in around scheduled surgeries and before the weekend. My labour was induced, painful, difficult and quite without dignity, but still it was a fairly positive experience, so I trusted it was right. It was the best I could expect. But it had unlocked a hidden power within me. It was a defining moment for me and I felt like I'd triumphed, despite the odds being stacked against me. I started to gather more information for myself. I read and talked and asked... I'm so thankful there were people to talk to and help me find the information I needed! I found there were other approaches and what had been so uncomfortable, what had gone against my instinct, was no longer an option for me. I learnt that to choose a birth that supported me did not make me selfish, for the mother and babe are so intertwined for those first moments and months, their health and survival depends on the respect shown them as a unit. I began to trust in birth and the process and that it could exist without all the technology and chemicals and machines that go ping! Birth works better where there is trust. No fear.
By the time I came to birth my third full-term babe, I trusted in birth and my own body so much that I was comfortable to birth my babe into my own hands, with my midwife in the next room, behind a curtain. She was there for moral support more than anything, her wise-woman presence providing the energy I needed. I also trusted that my babe could find her way to my breast in her own time and latch on without assistance. I trusted that our bond would be strong from the beginning. It was. Unlike her oldest sister, who spent her first minutes in the hands of strangers and was handed to me as a small, tight bundle, like a loaf of bread with a red, squooshed face and a hungry, confused mouth. There had been moments in the hospital that showed glimmers, but until we were home, that primal instinct was suppressed. I was to expect that, and to trust that the midwives knew more than I did. It took me and Big Owlet until we were at home, in our own space, five days later, to really begin to connect. It took a good few weeks of processing and learning on my own, getting informed in my own way, that I learnt to trust in body, my baby, in myself.
So often we are trained to fear birth, to fear death and fear the messy bits in-between. We prepare for the worst case scenario. And even though there are so many natural processes that we don't have full grasp of yet, we are asked to trust the experts, because they know better than we do. But the truth is, we each have a power to know, to listen and hear what is right for us. Whatever our choice, we know when we need assistance and when we don't. If we put aside fear and trust in our primal instinct, we know. And when we are fully informed, we take responsibility for our choices, because we trust.
When things don't go to plan, that is where questioning comes in. Even if we trust in birth, life and death, it can be soul rattling. There is always grief and pain in loss. And there are always people who know better. Experts who believe they could have saved the day if given the chance. This week, a friend of mine listened as people told her they'd have saved her baby. That they knew better. They questioned how much she loved her baby, ignoring the obvious grief. Until she stood up and gave them a little insight into her journey. Into her unwavering trust in birth, life, death... and love. I'm so thankful that she gave so much of herself through this process, but it is a whole lot more than one person should have to take on and I think we, as a society, need to take responsibility for that. If her baby had been stillborn in a hospital, it would have, most certainly, been just one of those things... There'd have been no coronial inquest. In-fact, the coroner wouldn't have even been called, for stillbirth is more common than you'd think. It is part of life and what we accept when we create new life from love.
We need to trust that people make choices based on what they believe is right and that those choices are is going to be different for each and every person. There is no black and white. No absolute right and wrong when it comes to life and death and birth and all the messy bits in-between. It is organic and although hindsight might provide us with answers, in the moment there is only love and trust. My wish is that we'd learn to trust each other to make the correct, informed decisions for ourselves. That we'd learn to love, despite and because of difference, and not hate. That the internet was only full of support, rather than trolls. More information, less opinion. And that we'd not need to feel defensive when others talk about their happiness with their choices.
Tonight, I'm thankful for the people out there talking about their choices, even in the face of ridicule and hate. I'm thankful that they fight for the choices of all of us, and I happily stand alongside them. I'm thankful for the people out there informing us and helping us remember our own primal power. I'm thankful that they work to help us come from a place of love, rather than fear. Because in the end, life, love, death... it's all about love and trust.
Here's a snippet of an upcoming film that works to offer just that...
The fabulous women making the film could do with a little extra support to get it finished, but I hope you'll have a look, visit their site and give them a hand to do just that and share their labour of love. xx
"Oh! I've got something for Tiny!" Said my friend, Katy as she pulled this beautiful jumper out of her bag... "It has owls, so I thought of you..." I can't tell you how many times I've looked at that owl cable pattern and sighed, thinking my knitting skills are nowhere up to that yet... So thank goodness for gorgeous people like Katy, who find it "easy" ;) We've been so blessed to have people think of us when they see owls. I'll have a little wander through and show you some of our owly things over the next week or so... Did you know this Friday is my 5yr bloggy birthday? Yep, five years of Owlet. It also marks 5yrs since we were the proud owners of our nest... Doesn't time fly?
Are you blessed with people who knit lovely things for you? Do you have a *thing* that people see and think of you?
It's like a blister. This creative impulse of mine. It'll burst if I don't do something about it soon. Some days I think it'd be much easier if it wasn't there at all. If I could just ignore it. I'm so fortunate to have been given two things in my life that I'm passionate about. Two things that I love and find utterly absorbing and that I do naturally. Mothering and creativity. They go hand in hand, but unfortunately sometimes, one can override the other... For me, creative expression is meditation. It feeds my soul. Mothering is undoubtedly life changing and defining and the most important thing I will ever do. But it is not sustainable, for me, without creativity. And I'm not talking about creative ways to fold a nappy, or communicate with a toddler, or strew new concepts for the owlets to learn... Creativity in the form of colour and paint and drawing and stitching and fabric and print... Even if no-one ever sees it, playing with all those things, learning and expressing and releasing are just as important as a cup of tea, a warm bath or a cuddle on a hard day of mothering.
The last two years are the longest period of time I've spent without creating much at all. First there was school art classes, then art school, then a design degree, followed by working in design jobs for years and years.... Then came Big Owlet. And three months later, I became itchy to design and create again... so I worked from home, designing until Little Owlet was a toddler, finally sewing some bits and pieces to sell at markets and in the owlet shop. Not all of them were my favourite form of expression. Not all of them were free. And some led to creative burnout. But the legitimate forms of creative work I've done have given me an outlet. They've exercised that part of my brain, of my soul, that needs it. And that's just the thing, to me, because the rest of the world noticed those forms of expression- requested, graded and in some cases paid for them - to me they were legitimate. Right now, I recognise that I need to make time for creativity even if no-one benefits. I need to make it a legitimate form of self-nurture and I need to prioritise it. It is my meditation and as important to me as breathing. Just as mothering is. But without creativity, mothering suffers.
So this post is where I make myself accountable. In the last year, I've tried to replace legitimate creative time with important responsibility - things like groups to attend and organise. I've crowded my days with social outings and owlet centered activity. I've said no to a couple of design markets I'd have loved to be part of, because there's just no time and support to help it all get done amongst all the mothering... And right now I need to shift focus. I need to make time. And play and meditate and breathe. Today I began reading The Divided Heart again, which is so raw and honest and true, like reading the back of my mind and my heart. I sat down with an old book of paper Huz gave me 15 years ago and some paints he gave me too and I played with the colours, swirling and blending and doing nothing aside from watching them work together, as I might have when I was a child... Just painting with no end result in mind, purely in the moment. Nothing else existed. Especially not responsibility. And a weight lifted. It was a start. Who knows what will become of it, this time focused on creating for no-one in particular. But I hope it becomes something worth sharing one day and that the creativity flows freely, without blisters and bumps and alongside mothering, with ease.
Do you make time to create? Is it important to you?
