In the dim, dark house
the furnace rumbles and blows
breathy hellos into the corner of each room.
In this airy darkness
I try to lie still
while my toddler—
having made his nocturnal migration
into my bed—
sleeps beside me.
The baby in my belly wiggles
and flutters,
hoping for a snack.
Such a boy…
not yet born
and already wanting breakfast before dawn.
“Must I tiptoe, Mother, into this world?
Tread so softly I won’t be noticed—
hold in my newborn cries
in a wake of silence
for the one gone before me?
Must I pretend I am not here?”
“No, my little love, no,
for we want you and the world needs
your little bright light
as much as any other.
There is no one else
who could ever be you.”
Fall is coming.
The leaves blush crimson
and purple plums swell;
their dark bloom
splits open sweet flesh
and reveals the kernel of new life inside.
And so my round belly will
swell, blossom, bloom
and I’ll split open
revealing the flesh of my flesh
bone of my bone
seed of my hope
fruit of my love…
And from my fragile flesh—
my heart split open—
the seed of new life be nourished
and a new tree will grow.
I’ve been keeping this sitting in my heart for a while, so you could say this post has been a long time in coming. As you can guess from the title, for those of you who don’t already know, I am expecting a baby this November, after having lost my little Josephine in labour last September 30th. It is hard. Beautiful but hard.
I’m normally one to be on the phone with mom buddies the second the little plus sign shows up on the pregnancy test, but this time I’ve been much more hesitant to talk about things. My usual excitement has been tempered by the confusing feelings of having lost my last child, and not knowing how to experience a simple, trusting hope that everything will be fine.
I do hope and trust, but in a more complex and nuanced way. Not in the way of thinking things will always turn out how I want them to. But hoping in a plan that’s bigger than mine, a vision far wiser and more encompassing than mine. In a love stronger than death, knowing that no matter what, I can never truly be separated from my babies.
Sometimes children are so wise. My five year old told me, “Don’t worry, Mummy. Either the new baby will come be with us, or will go be with Josephine in Heaven. So it’s ok.” What strength and clarity of vision!
It is hard to take this risk again—the risk that I might not see my baby smile or breathe until I meet him in Heaven—but it is a way of affirming that I am still alive, still have hope, still believe in goodness in a world where hard things also happen. Besides, the only way to ensure my heart could never be broken again would be to stop it pumping, but risking brokenness is essential to being open to life and to love. It’s part of the fragile thing called being human.
Several of my close friends have lost babies and have been able to have one after. Those babies are a beacon of hope for me. I rejoice in each one of them. I realize they are miracle and a free a gift, rather than a right. We think we have so many rights, but we forget that people can only come to us as gift, in the freedom of love.
I also rejoice in the children I do have, just seeing them running around full of life, dancing and laughing, and I think to myself, “They made it. That incredible journey…like little travellers from a far off planet, they made it through the epic journey of the few inches from womb to world, and arrived home.”
So as November approaches, please keep me in your prayers. Especially my little one, that he may arrive safely into his mama’s arms, and that this time, my tears will be of joy. And for all of you who are in the same boat, know my heartfelt prayers are with you as well.
1. As a mom you have tons of inspiration and new material every day: kids are so creative and unafraid to be original. Only a five year old making spanakopita with her mom would imagine that leaving the thicker stems on the fresh dill in the recipe might lead to jail time.
If we leave the hard bits the people at the potluck will say “Ugh! Gross!” And then they might put you in jail. But I’d be sad cause I like you. But then we’d say it was an accident and we tried to take them off, and then they’d let you out again.
Whew! Who knew making spinach pie was so dangerous!
2. You might think moms get no “me time” to do quiet things like writing, but that problem is easily solved by insomnia. It’s very quiet at 1:30 am. Perfect for writing! After all, you can’t wash dishes or do laundry at this hour, so you may as well do something creative!
3. If you don’t have insomnia, don’t worry: third trimester pregnancy will solve that for you! Between heartburn, baby kicks, and Braxton Hicks contractions you’ll be all set!
So you see, motherhood, insomnia and writing are perfect bedfellows! Just forget about the sleeping part…and rejoice in being a mom blogger! 
Some people think they know about pennies…
shiny bright little things that make children happy
and help them dream dreams of being big,
the kind of thing you carry in your pocket
just for luck.
But they know nothing of richness
of real treasure
unless they know my Penny.
My Penny is worth a million bucks.
She is the kind one whose eyes I can see twinkle
even over the phone as I call, yet again, to say,
“So, are you bored without me?”
She is the one who makes me tea
when I arrive in a fluster
of post-transit with kids business
and sit my big belly down
in the office sofa seat.
She is the one who knows,
(6 babies later)
everything about me,
and with her magic spinning wheel
tells me when the latest Eastland will arrive.
She is the one who gives the kids stickers—
their favourite part—
besides getting to push the Doppler button
and hearing the new babies heartbeat,
and certainly reason enough
for them to request a new sibling
every year or two…
So my beautiful, wonderful Penny
know how much you are loved
and that you will always be
part of the birth story of all my children,
and more than that,
ever a part of our family.
If you promise to come
and have tea with us at our house
we will even give you a sticker!
Have you had the chance to do much art lately?
I ask my artist friend as she chats
confidentially with her toddler on her lap,
which is blossoming with baby belly
under her bright pink shirt.
Not too much, she replies,
Just surviving and getting ready for baby,
but looking forward to nursing as a time for inspiration.
Yeah, I reply, It’s that quiet contemplative time
that is the source of inspiration for sure.
An openness to the divine, she replies,
That’s where art comes from.
I want to tell her that right now
she is cooperating with the most divine creation there is—
that of a human life—the artistic triumph of the world,
a piece of art that is by its very nature immortal
but I get interrupted by one of my kids who needs a new towel.
So I can’t tell her that she is weaving with sinews of love
painting with brushstrokes of hope
writing with stories strung on tiny ropes of DNA
forging new paths for faithfulness
strengthening family bonds with tiny bricks of beauty
cells diverse and unique
splendidly forming into
a new child of promise.
In the midnight darkness
put on your dancing shoes
Get up out of apathy
Break free from this werewolf skin
growing over you
Choose to dance
through the suffering
Strip away the heaviness
restricting you and breath
Find a way to dance
until that thick black fur falls off
Throw down those claws
and release those dreadful teeth
Let tears wash away
the moonstruck thief
whose madness has stolen your peace
Turn off all the lights
and dance at 2 am
Remember that beauty hidden deep within
the teenage passion for life
feelings too strong and deep to express with words
Reveal the maiden with the glowing skin
the one whose laughter shows the joy within
who can dance like nobody’s business
and loves to, even 9 months pregnant
You are that same girl
who danced in the Kootenays
laughing with Janine
as her blond hair fell over her face
and her arms wove a tapestry
in the half-lit room
filled with music
Soon the stillness will be over
my night vigils will be broken by tiny cries
tiny eyes and tiny fingers
a little sweet mouth seeking comfort
A snuggle of a precious person
I’m holding for the first moment
of forever
Until then
you’ve wished to spend this time with me
your child
in silence and contemplation
to help me remember the depths within
buried by the business of day
Carry me the way I’m carrying her
because I need you just as much
Help me see in the fiery heartburn
and endless nighttime trips to the bathroom
the forge of your love
shaping me by these vigils of prayer
for the great work you have for me
entrusting me with another soul
a little person to love forever
Bless her abundantly
this little one squirming in my belly
and through her
bless the world
After living in the jungle for quite some time, I have been able to make a detailed study of the little known creature called the pregosaur. Here are my findings.
Pregosaurs are large, sleepy beasts with ferocious appetites and dreadful tempers. Neither nocturnal or creatures of the day, pregosaurs sleep in small fits throughout the day and night, and frequently wake to roam in search of food.
After feeding, they often fall asleep, but are prone to waking up shortly after belching gas and roaring terribly. Other wildlife wakens them at risk of their own lives, due to this peculiar crabbiness.
Pregosaurs have difficulty getting comfortable, perhaps in part due to their distinctly shaped body, which includes a large protruding stomach, so it takes them a long time to settle in their nests. Their belly appears swollen, and seems to have life of its own as it ripples about in strange movements when the pregosaur is resting.
Their skin is rather like that of a chameleon, capable of taking on the shades and patterns of the jungle around it. Thus you will find floral pregosaurs, spotted pregosaurs, striped pregosaurs, etc. It is quite the sight to behold a pack of them socializing. They communicate through a variety of sounds from growls and moans to what sounds like hysterical laughter. They like to carry each other food in their claws and eat it together as they interact.
Some go together to the steaming mud pools to drink herbal soups or that dark sludge called caffeinus perkius, which seems to make the pregosaurs a lot more cheerful.
After nearly a year in this strange stage of development, pregosaurs morph into a new creature: the Momosaurus Reck. But that is a topic for a future study!
Just East Of Crazy Land 