Having a baby is a gift. Of course it is. Especially when he is as plump and juicy as Finch is. Especially when he is so lusciously relaxed and happy as Finch is. Especially when he has a warm sweet little head which nuzzles just perfectly under my neck. Even when he’s kept me up all night nuzzling and slurping All those things .
But also this.
He teaches me to get out of my head. I’m in my head alot. Fretting planning thinking. It doesn’t help much. Well, I guess it holds this huge groaning haphazard rocking ship called Our Family together and gets it from this day to the next, vaguely clean, fed and sometimes educated. So yes my thinking does have its uses, but its also a bit excessive, and usually doesn’t contribute greatly to my emotional well being.
I almost never get through a batch of thinking and feel relaxed and connected.
My brain might ache, I might feel frazzled, although perhaps a little more organised. Kind of slightly anxious and uncomfortably full
Finch doesn’t think much.
That’s not to say that he has issues in his development, but he’s only a year old and he lives entirely in his sensory body. He knows stuff , like where the blender is kept so he can take it apart, how to escape through the cat flap, how to steal my porridge, but he doesn’t need to make lists about when he’s going to do it.
Every sensation is all consuming for him, the wisp of steam curling in the morning sun from the teapot, the sudden roar of the blender, the soft sweetness of a ripe blackberry in the garden and the dry scratch of earth on his tender bare skin. If he wants to nurse his little head butts against me and if he’s really desperate and in the sling waiting, sharp little teeth will nip my skin on my chest. He lives in the moment, connected to each second by a pearled thread, sinking his little body into it, every pore open and alive to its delights.
Its easy to laugh with him pretend to bite his ear..blow raspberries on his tummy and play peekaboo behind a muslin. Sometimes I can be overly serious and stressed and forget to play. Forget to have fun. Forget to be silly and roll around on the floor doing nothing useful. Forget that racing through my to do list and feeling ‘good’ because I have achieved alot is less important than simple playful connection..whoever it is with. And whatever it is. The dishes I’m washing, the person I’m talking to, the meal I’m eating. That’s not to say I often have playful connection with the dishes, but hey, its better than rushing through them planning and fretting and breaking a mug in my distraction with the future.
Finch is really good at playing.
He’s also pretty good at nursing. And I’m not one of those funky mamas who feels comfortable feeding standing, doing the groceries, cooking etc. Nursing is my ticket to sitting….I’m not choosy where, but a cup of tea is good. He makes me sit…and lately he’s started kicking any reading material out of the way which is aggravating but also makes me stop filling my head with more stuff.
Less stuff in my head means more emotions
Busy days mean less emotions…well apart from anger and frustration
Nursing and playing mean more.
Emotions and feelings like joy grief and peace.
That’s what Finch helps me with.
Those feelings are always there but sometimes its hard to access them.
Being still, in the moment, deeply and playfully, connected to the texture of now; the grainy, soft ,velvety, spiky, hard,
But in those quiet moments of being still and present,