Hi. 
Welcome to my happy hippie misadventures of self discovery in artistry, marriage and motherhood merrily carrying the baggage of mental health and an autoimmune disease. I promise to keep things interesting and almost always look damn good while doing it. BTW my baby ruins lives and you'll hate me for my husband. 
Namaste.
luv/Te' 

The landing of my Son or Rowan's Birth Story Part2

This time last year I'd only just discovered I was pregnant.  

January 2nd. My positive test and mostly I was so afraid. Not of being a mother; oh no, that was a role I'd worked tirelessly for. I think it may have been most instinctual. My body knowing of a impending trial my soul had previously signed up.  

Nic was sick asleep in our room and I took 4 tests not feeling the liberation or joy I deserved. The feeling of readiness Id worked to earn. Mostly just panic and I had a hard time breathing. I sat down with myself and remembered where I was. Who I was with. What my life look like in present tense and it took a minute for it all to make sense. 

2 more tests and tears. Alone outside in the 50 degree North Carolina chill I recorded the moment and let myself feel. Excitement. Let go of the fears. He's coming. Subconsciously I could already feel my stomach rumbling and I needed to get safe on my mat. 

i walked in the door of WYC late as usual. I always made the decision to be there early yet self sabotaged constantly and it rarely happened. This time was a last second decision of survival to get on that quarter inch ocean blue foam, the place I feel most at home. 

I don't remember the drive or even what I wore. Just counting my breathes and knowing it's 108 rounds of in and out to get me to the hardwood floor. The room was packed that day. No room or space for me to lay. I stood in the doorway clutching my mat unable to back out. One of the days the only place I knew to go was in my body on the floor. A quiet hero opened his eyes in meditaion and kindly smiled before scooting over. He softly tapped the shoulder of the woman next to him asking if she'd move too to accommodate me. 

Us. 

My baby would be almost 3 days old before I'd be alone again. I remember that first moment of realization when I moved my right hand below my ribcage to feel his ever present feet only to find empty. Nic and Ro were in the living room and I had retreated to our room for sleep. My body was so quiet. My feelings so one sided. I felt a loneliness like I didn't know existed. Grateful and inexplicably saddened. 

Judd was the mans name who moved over for me. He held space for my movement. Sat tall while my forehead pressed into the mat, arms stretched forward, rocking back and forth in either hip I cried.  

For all the sacrifices I'd made.

The work that I'd done.

The fears that's id conquered. 

The landing of my son.  

 

to be continued  

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