I’m loving this poem right now (below) - a powerful reminder of the complexity of being Mom when we are not with our children. Though my little ones are now 7 & 9, I read these words and can still acutely feel the intensity of those first times away from my oldest son – also at yoga! My boys are on their way home now from 3 days at grandma’s house. This feeling of their presence within me, even when we apart, continues to this day – and is one of those things about motherhood that I could not have imagined possible.
This Monday we begin a new Mama Renew group – a circle of mothers will come together to explore who we are as women And mothers. We will not talk about our children, and we will not talk about parenting. This in no way denies our identity as mothers, nor the ways in which our children shape our daily life. Instead this time of exclusive focus on ourselves opens the way to a healthier balance and more authentic presence with our children.
Whether you have a babe in arms, or a child almost as tall as you are – please enjoy this beautiful writing. And if you’re in the Vancouver area, join us for Mama Renew this Monday!
Yoga as Mother by Brittney Corrigan
For the duration of my hour
and a half yoga class, children
are playing loudly on the street outside.
Though I don’t need a reminder
to think of my son. Even when I am
not with him, I can feel him in my body.
It is impossible to clear my mind in meditation.
Impossible to be the corpse that is shavasana. I am
always aware of his small hands, his loud voice.
My lower back, slightly sore
from lifting and carrying his twenty
pound, wriggling, body.
My arms, stronger now in warrior
after holding him for ten months.
Stronger legs holding horse stance.
My breasts, full of milk because
it has been two hours since he nursed.
I cannot rise into cobra without noticing.
My belly, trimmed with extra skin,
my core not as strong as before
his small life grew inside me.
When my limbs shake holding plank,
when I am taking Ujjayi breaths in downward
dog, I am thinking of 21 hours of labor.
No asana will ever be as long, or as
difficult. Thinking of his birth
puts all effort into perspective.
If I could birth this child without drugs,
with such focus, without sleep, then surely
I can hold chaturanga one more breath.
If I can love someone this much, this
fiercely, then surely I can let each thought
go and clear this mind. Kapalabhati.
Breath of fire. Skull shining.
Like my son’s head emerging in such
heat. I will never be able
to be empty.
See more beautiful poems from Brittney on parenting here….
Brittney Corrigan http://brittneycorrigan.wordpress.com/