Tent time.

Inspiration envelope & tea. The past week I have been preparing for the upcoming new moon in small ways. This weekend I have been devoting myself to Tent Time. Getting in tune with the subtle, deep movement within myself. Getting into my body and into my environment. Rooting. Cataloging the inspiration of this time, storing it, setting intentions for growth as the light returns with the waxing moon.

On this night I burned a lavender smudge stick, listened to music while dancing with baby, ate sacred sustenance-- almonds, dates, papitas, apricots, sipped a special nursing Mama tea, and while Arlo napped I painted my toenails deep red and did some henna art on my body.

Inspiration wove around us like the smoke swirling through the air. Cleansing and reviving. Through the upcoming days I hope to catch glimpses of my stained skin and remember the bits of creative energy that played about us as we smiled and existed so nicely together, Mama and baby.

Studio

My greatest work of art.

It takes a tribe.

When he wears blue his eyes look blue. They are all colors.

 

This day was another extensive day of nursing. I was more mindful of my intake though, and felt much more capable of meeting Arlo's needs. We nursed and lounged and had awake time with dancing and singing. We also made a big pot of immunity boosting chicken noodle soup which I hope to post the recipe for soon.

I had assignments due by midnight and with the nursing being so frequent I had a hard time getting in any study time. Josh got home from work knowing that he would be keeping watch over Arlo so I could study, I think this was a rather intimidating thought. Gracefully one of my dear mama friends called to invite me out,  which I had to decline. When I explained our night she asked if Josh would like for her, her little one, and her husband to help out. Needless to say Josh was very gracious and accepting.

They stopped by and visited for a bit and then the tribe decided to go for a walk so I could be distraction free. It was Josh's first time wearing baby Arlo and I must say, my heart flip-flopped. They looked so snug together. After the walk the group decided to walk to their house and my dear mama friend volunteered to nurse hungry Arlo.

I got my homework turned in. It was so nice to be taken care of like that. I am so grateful for the tribe we have found here in Columbia.

Buddies

On this day Arlo and I went to the park. We had a palette under the tree with the most rustling leaves left on its branches. The tree was oak, there were hundreds of little bumps under our bums, the blankets cushioned well. About five minutes into our time there a squirrel decided to yell at us. We said to the squirrel, "Oh,shoo, we're not hurting you. We're not gonna take your nuts. We can sit under this tree too!" The air was crisp, we bundled. Arlo was alert and doing big wiggles with his arms and legs. We talked, looked, and when Arlo got hungry we nursed with the squirrel chattering on.

On this day Arlo nursed extensively, nearly every half-hour/hour. I wasn't as mindful as I could have been about my rest and calorie intake in regards to the increase in his consumption. By the end of the day I was in a very negative state mentally and emotionally. It became very apparent that I must be nurturing to not just Arlo but to myself as well, the health of our entire family is dependent upon it.

Waking and Resting

Our days our so full of learning. Subtly, quietly deep lessons are spun tightly around us. He learns-- I have feet, I have a voice, I have a mama, I have a daddy. I learn-- there is always time for dance, we can sing through out days, resting is most important, snuggling the best cure for nearly anything that ails us.

We had a mighty big day: seeing friends, dancing, discovering a scarf, carrying light into darkness. Now is time for the rest, putting all those bits away in our minds, letting out bodies rebuild themselves. I am thankful for this cycle. I am learning so much about being awake and resting.

Cleansing

Today I bathed our little god. The basin warm and soft, smelling faintly of lavender. Incense swirling around our ritual. I worshiped the roundness of his belly and the plumpness of his cheeks. He was in bliss discovering even more deeply his relationship with his feet-- concentrating on their movement, trying very hard to catch them with his hands. He smiled happily in his little cocoon of discovery.

He enjoys the water, I like to think it reminds him of where he came from. When his skin experiences the sensation of the wet warmth of the bath his eyes alight with recognition, like he is saying, "I remember this." And we both grin. I remember it too. Our gentle months of internal connection, I have no doubt we communicated then just as we do now. The switch between that internal relationship and this external one can be jarring at times, for both of us. But on days like this I feel we are adjusting well in this fourth trimester.

Often times I feel as though I am decoding a very secret and special message by knowing this little soul. Each time I understand his wishes I am just blown away with pride. And the emotions that come when I can't quite figure it out? Well, those are the moments when I feel possible the most helpless I have in my entire life. The complexity of this relationship is astounding.

It is startling the juxtaposition of death that has developed during this time of new life. I have been holding sacred space today for my Mamaw, Margaret Ann, and my mother. The depth of the feelings I am experiencing with my Mamaw on the cusp of passing are raw. Today I allowed myself to spiral gently into them, resisting the urge to distract myself away from them. Becoming a mother has added a new complexity between the relationship my mother and I abide in. And now, with the possibility of her mother passing beyond this world of air the feminine wound that is present in my being is beginning to throb again. I think about the relationship my mother has with her mother, about how she named me after her and that must mean something special and deep. I remember little stories I have heard about my Mamaw: how she used to put her hose on in the car on the way to church because her mornings were spent trying to ready her six children; how one night my papaw (a recovered alcoholic) came home so drunk and was causing a ruckus and she hit him upside the head with a frying pan. I don't know many stories about my Mamaw, so I have taken to trying to imagine what it must have been like to love an alcoholic, to raise six children with a partner so crippled by addiction. And I think about her life now, how she has surrendered her body to care for my mentally ailing Papaw who's identity is only secure in the light and presence of my Mamaw, he cannot remember his children or grandchildren, but he knows the love his wife has for him and it is his world.

In this time of honoring saints I honor my Mamaw.

(more bath photos here)