A changing landscape
Things are not the same as they were before, nor am I.
My time is not what it once was, as evidenced by the fact that it has taken me a week to write this post.
My body is not what it once was, as evidenced by the scars, stretch marks and bulges that I glimpse in the mirror.
My creativity is not what it once was, as evidenced by my neglected art nook and dusty half-finished mosaics.
Letting go of these things is difficult.
And yet… therein lies the strange new place I inhabit: while I mourn these losses, at the same time my life is now replete with amazing moments that I cherish.
Seeing Charlotte’s first smiles. Watching her wrinkles fill out into little baby rolls. Dressing her in clothes that Mike and I wore when we were babies. Wrapping her in blankets that were knitted for us by our grandmothers. Discovering that her hair grows in the same direction as mine. Seeing Mike’s nose on her face.
In fact, it is my time, body and creativity that make these moments possible. They were needed during my pregnancy and they are needed now to nurture Charlotte and to help her thrive.
This difficult but wondrous space I inhabit is precious because I know that this too shall pass.
These moments are fleeting.
Already she is a different baby than the one I first came to know on June 19. Her body is larger and much stronger. Her hair is longer. Her gaze is sharper. In the same way, I know that the loss of my time, my body, and my creativity is also temporary. These things will return, albeit changed as I am changed.
Sometimes I want to stop the world from spinning so I linger with this new baby for longer. It’s a deeply tactile urge. My eyes are hungry as I stare at her, watching her every move. I continually caress her rosebud lips and seashell ears. I can’t resist putting her little pink feet in my mouth. I gently press my ear to her chest and listen to the flutter of her heart and lungs. I inhale the delicious scent of her soft skin.
And yet… I am excited for what is to come. The first time she kisses me back. Having her reach her arms out to me. Her first words and the ones that will come after them. Her first steps. I also look forward to reuniting with my time and body and creativity.
New parenthood is a contradictory world.
I love it. And, above all, her.
New beginnings
On June 19, 2010 at 1:15pm, my world contracted and expanded as I gave birth to my daughter, Charlotte.
She is still new enough to count her age in days: 20.
It is hard to believe her birth day was so recent; it feels as though it was a dream that happened years ago. That eventful day was filled with highs and lows. A massive uterine infection caused me to need an emergency c-section after my water had been broken for too long. While I was on the operating table, too sick to lift my head, I felt pressure and then release as they pulled her from me, squalling and kicking. That sound of her first vocalization is frozen in my memory as the apex of the most intensely awe-full moment of my life.
We have been captivated and utterly changed by her arrival.
I didn’t expect to become so sick, and to take so long to physically recover. Since her birth I have suffered infection after infection - it is no exaggeration to say that my life has been saved twice by antibiotics in less than a month. I am glad that my physical frailty has not compromised Charlotte’s growth; yesterday her pediatrician called her a moose for being more than 200g above her birth weight already.
I didn’t expect that I would love parenting an infant, whose physical needs must be tended to at all hours of the day regardless of my own physical needs for rest or food. I expected to feel a post-partum crash - was warned by every doctor and nurse that it happens to most people - but thankfully it never came.
I didn’t expect my motherly love to be so violent and primal. It is not soft and sweet; it is a black roiling ocean with snarling teeth and claws. The force of this emotion can double me over - all it takes is a look from her and I am undone. I would do anything to protect her.
I didn’t expect that the sight of my beloved husband with our daughter in his arms would bring tears to my eyes. He is so good with her and has been so good to me. I can’t believe how lucky I am.
I used to sneer at new parents who put pictures of their baby as their profile pictures on Facebook.
I thought they were forgetting that they were adults.
I thought they had thrown away their identities.
I didn’t understand that a baby is an extension of yourself. Her body is my body. I didn’t need anyone to show me how to hold a baby despite having rarely done so in the past because you don’t need to teach yourself how to hold your arms to your side. When they brought her to my recovery room, I simply reached out and put her in my arms. There was never a moment of awkwardness that I have experienced when holding other people’s babies. There was no fear that I would drop her - how could I drop my own arm? How could I not know how to hold her close?
And she is mighty. At barely 3 weeks old, she can lift her head and inch-worm her way across my body. Her flinty gaze is filled with communication; she is very good at telling us her wants, likes, and needs. Her button nose is the cutest I have ever seen. Her fingers and toes are long and graceful. Her dark hair is soft and wavy.
Not to be a braggart but she is the bee’s knees.
Welcome to the world, little Charlotte. We are so very glad you are here.
Returnings
Now that I’m ready to come back, I’ve found it hard to break the radio silence of the last month.
At the same time, I have both nothing and everything to share.
All is well: The baby is healthy. I am healthy. The first draft of my thesis is a healthy 150 pages.
All is changing: The baby is growing. My body is swelling. I will spend the next month revising my thesis.
All is difficult: I am constantly enveloped in fog of fatigue and aching. I am still learning how to slow down my usual pace. I hope I can defend my thesis before the baby comes.
All is joyful: I am not alone; my beloved has been with me every step of the way. Our hearts are full of love as we prepare to meet our daughter and grow as a family together.
This week I was finally able to return to the pomegranate mosaic. It was patiently waiting for me. I sometimes forget that art is an outlet and not an obligation.
(For the background, I have decided to combine paper and glass mosaics. The blue paper background will be covered with clear glass and grouted in black. I don’t know if it will adhere well but I wanted to try it nonetheless)
Brief hiatus
Hi folks,
The month of March 2010 is hereby known as Jocelyn’s Thesis Marathon. If I want to have my thesis defended before the baby comes, my first draft needs to be submitted to my advisor in early April. Sadly, this means that updates on pomegranate tree mosaic will have to wait until I have more time & energy.
To keep you company in my absence, here are a few links to artists who inspire me:
Aaron Paquette (Painting)
Geninne Zlatkis (Illustration)
Penelope Dullaghan (Illustration)
Mosaic Art Source (Mosaic inspiration)
Daniel Boud (Photography)
See you in a few weeks!
-Jocelyn
An open invitation
It’s hard to predict how long a mosaic will take because they require generous dollops of time, energy, and inspiration. As I currently am on my Reading Week break, I’m happy to report that I’ve had plenty of all three elements while working on the pomegranate tree mosaic. The foreground is now finished, less than a week after the mosaic was started:
I have something special planned for the pomegranate tops, but I need to wait until after the mosaic is grouted to put them in.
Last night was the inaugural meeting of our fabulous pomegranate tree collective. As you can see, we had a blast!
Do you want to join us and make your own pomegranate tree mosaic? Message me (eatpomegranates at hotmail dot com) and I will send you the pattern. The nice thing about the digital age is that we are not restricted by geographic boundaries. If you live in a different corner of the world, you can easily participate digitally!
