b o t t o m l a n d

its alright to cry...

"Feelings are very real things, and they change and change and change..."

Ah, the complex emotional life of a (newly) six year old!  Our little girl is certainly one of strong and varied emotions.  I know that for me, at age 31, I still struggle sometimes to not be overpowered by my feelings.  I have always been a strong "feeler," highly sensitive, (for your enneagram people out there, I'm a 4!) and part of my growth into maturity has been along the lines of trying to have a right perspective on my emotions.  Yes, my feelings tell me a truth about my life, but they are not the whole truth.  As a person living with depression it is vital that I recognize that even if I feel depressed on a given day, it does not mean that my life is a mess, or that I will never feel okay again.  If these lessons are hard for me, as an adult, to learn, how can I hope to teach them to my child?  Marlo Thomas to the rescue again!  

One of the things we've been trying to communicate to Little C with this move is that its okay to be sad about leaving, but we can also feel excited about the new adventure that we're going to have.  Both things can be true at the same time, and both FEELINGS can be true too.

Today in the car we were looking at the Free To Be You and Me book that we got out of the library and listening to the EP that came in the back of the book.  As a child of the seventies, I grew up on this glorious tribute to gender equality and "a land where the children are free!"  We don't have the CD ourselves, so Little C doesn't know each word to every song the way I did, but I think we need to go out and buy it.  Check out these lyrics (are they perfect or what???):

It's All Right to Cry - Free to Be You and Me by Carol Hall

[Performed by Rosey Grier]

It's all right to cry
Crying gets the sad out of you
It's all right to cry
It might make you feel better

Raindrops from your eyes
Washing all the mad out of you
Raindrops from your eyes
It's gonna make you feel better

It's all right to feel things
Though the feelings may be strange
Feelings are such real things
And they change and change and change

Sad 'n' grumpy, down in the dumpy
Snuggly, hugly, mean 'n' ugly
Sloppy, slappy, hoppy, happy
Change and change and change

It's all right to know
Feelings come and feelings go
It's all right to cry
It might make you feel better

{Spoken}
It's all right to cry, little boy
I know some big boys that cry too

I hope that I can continue to model for her the wisdom that our feelings change, and all of them are okay.  There's room for all of these different emotions in her, but as they evolve, they don't alter her core self.  Underneath the shifting sands of her feelings, there is a strong, whole, healthy little girl who is growing in confidence and wisdom with each passing year.  I need this reminder too.

battle hymn of the tired mother

So I finally read this much-discussed book.  (If you don't know what I'm talking about, here's the little excerpt from the Wall Street Journal that started the firestorm back in January).

I opened this book with a fair amount of trepidation, having read the WSJ excerpt with my blood boiling.  (It was actually kind of humorous, me standing there with the article, my jaw hanging open, and my poor little brain going through the mental gymnastics of "I am a progressive, open-minded, culturally sensitive, non-racist person, and this is [gulp] just another cultural perspective.  No, actually, this is CHILD ABUSE!!!")  But I kept hearing Ms. Chua on NPR, and she sounded so... sane on the radio, so I picked up the book.  Also, my curiosity won out.

I read it in one day.  Amy Chua is an excellent writer.  She is funny, smart, self-deprecating and satisfyingly sarcastic.  Also caustic and very demanding of her children.  The good news about the book is that it doesn't get any WORSE than the WSJ article.  Its as though some crafty publisher culled all the really hair-raising parts of the book and printed them in the paper without context.  What you don't get from the article is that she regrets [some] of her behavior, and she's being tongue-in-cheek.  Over the course of the book she admits that she nearly pushed her younger daughter to the point of permanently damaging their relationship.  She never comes right out and says that she's sorry for all of that mess in the beginning, but you kind of get the feeling that she is.  At least, I do, since I like giving people the benefit of the doubt.

What I liked about what she had to say is the idea that by settling for mediocrity we are short-changing our children.  I see a lot of settling-for-mediocrity parading as love in American parenting, and it drives me nuts.  We lavish praise on our kids for things even they don't care about.  I'm with Alfie Kohn that this totally undermines a child's sense of pride in something well done and the development of depth of character.  I want my child to develop an appreciation for excellence and the pride in accomplishing a job well done.  I just don't want to emotionally abuse her to get her there.

Amy Chua asserts that "Chinese" parents assume strength in their children, while "Western" parents assume weakness.  This is very interesting to me.  Again, I can see her point, and see how assuming our children are strong and resilient is a service to them, and actually builds self-confidence.  Parents who "baby" their kids and do everything for them drive me crazy.  Kids are strong enough to try and fail, and learn that failure is not the end of the world.  Except when they're not...

And this was my biggest beef with Ms. Chua.  Her approach did not take into account her daughters' individuality.  The problem with "assuming strength" is that sometimes kids really are fragile.  What works with one child isn't going to work with another.  As she admits in the very end of the book, the problem with the Chinese approach is that it's very one-size-fits-all and there's no Plan B. 

Ultimately, this is a book about our highest hopes for our kids.  I just happen to want very different things for my child than Amy Chua does.  I want my child to be creative and free-thinking and curious about the world.  I want her to know the sweetness of excellence, but not fear failure.  I want her to have the courage to try anything, but be comfortable knowing that she won't be good at everything, even something she may work very hard at.  Most of all, I want her to be so rooted in herself that she will let no one push her around, not even me.  Because if she takes it from me, she'll probably take it later from someone I wouldn't want her to be listening to.

We all want to do what's best for our kids, and it's SO hard to know what that is.  I have a lot of faith in other families' ability to define that in their own ways.  What works for us wouldn't work for others, and vice-versa.  I for one am committed to the belief that my child will teach me what she needs, just as I try to teach her what it means to be a part of this family.  She is not the decision maker, but her voice is important.  Dave and I have always tried to be neither "child-centered" nor "parent-centered" in our approach, but rather family-centered.

So that's my battle hymn, such as it is.  And the chorus goes like this:

         what will you dream?

                who will you be?

                    what do you know?

 

philosophy with a five-year-old

Look at this little pip of a girl, playing her fiddle in her "queen's gown" (really, a thrifted silk robe from her dress-up box).  How can I be mad at her?  But mad at her I have been...  She has been so full of SASS lately!  I don't know if its starting school, or the time change, or just her personality (probably all of the above) but she has been talking back so much lately, and its making me c.r.a.z.y. 

Tonight I really flipped out at her after she informed me that she didn't care what I said.  (I may have gotten in her face, grabbed her wrist and growled, "Well, you'd better START caring because I'm your mother!" but it can't be confirmed.)  After I got quite red in the face and very angry with her, she burst into tears and told me that when I talk to her that way it makes her feel like she doesn't want to be in my family any more.  (When I was relaying this story to Dave, his reply was, "Where'd she learn to talk in 'I feel' statements?")  I told her that I was sorry I yelled at her, but that God put us together in the same family, so we were going to have to learn how to get along.  After some snuggles things were better, for awhile...   

Tonight when he was putting her to bed, Dave was talking things over with her, and trying to make the connection between caring for a person, and caring about what they say.  He was explaining that when you care about someone you care about their feelings, how they're doing, if they live or die, what they say... 

Papa:  "Do you care about Mama?" 

Little C, frankly:  "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't." 

Papa: "Do you know what caring is?"

Little C:  "No."

Papa: "If you care about someone you think that they're important.  Do you think Mama's important?"

Little C:  "Yes, but I don't care if Mama lives or dies."

Papa:  "Well, when someone dies, you don't get to see them again, honey!"

Little C:  "Yes you do!  When YOU die, then you get to see them in heaven...  Well, that's what I believe!"

Papa to himself, "Oh boy, how did I get here?"  So much for his great paternal wisdom...  Whooped again by the five year old.

 

the circle widens

At first she was held within the tight circle of my uterus, influenced by me alone.  The food I ate, the air I breathed, the dreams I dreamed, the hopes I had for her, these alone composed her experiences. 

When she climbed out of my womb two month early, the circle expanded to include Dave and I, but also neotatologists, residents, lactation consultants and a constant vigil of nurses. 

Once home, those early months were anchored by the care of Dave and I, as we spent hours taking turns wearing her in a sling next to our hearts.

As she grew, so did that intimate sphere of influence.  Grandparents, aunts and uncles and special friends became treasured faces that prompted a smile.  Before long, books became sources of new stories, and every trip to the grocery store was an opportunity to make new friends. 

When I went back to work a few years ago I was accutely aware of passing off responsibility for her care during those hours, and knowing that she would be exposed to new things as a result.  (Fortunately, my dear cousin was her babysitter!)

And now, this fall, we have entered a new phase as a family as my girl has ventured off to kindergarten.  I have been accutely aware of how she has entered into the care, not just of her teacher (already much beloved) but of the whole local community.  She is making new friends, quoting to me from authorities I do not even know.  How can I argue with the words of a five-year-old I have never met?

I have a lot of trust in the foundation we have built as a family these past five years.  I know that Dave and I will continue to be her primary influence for a while yet, at least.  It feels good to know that the local school is a good one, and that in this small town there is a sense of mutual care and responsibility. 

I also feel a sense of grief.  I wonder sometimes, did we do enough to impart our values to her?  Have we given her the tools she needs to navigate a world that is often at odds with those values?  Mostly I just grieve that she will never again be so wholy "ours" as she was as a baby.

This must be "the long goodbye" that the poets speak of.

 

strep throat, scarlet fever, and all the rest

 

In the week prior to Valentine's Day, we spent six days in a state of profound sickness and misery, particularly on the part of Little C, but when the little one is sick, everyone is miserable!  Over the course of the week she went from a simple fever of 102, to an itchy red rash covering her body, to a fever of over 104, to throwing up (which she NEVER does!)  All of this was accompanied by much crying, moaning, very little sleep, and general yuckiness.  Lots of pleading inquiries of, "Mama, why does my body hurt so much?"  It was not fun at all, but we were somewhat relieved to finally get a diagnosis on the second trip to the doctor in 2 days: a double ear infection, strep throat and scarlet fever.  I know, scarlet fever?  As my friend Elaine said, it sounds colonial!  But apparently it's a normal enough reaction to the strep bacteria in the body.  According to Dr. Sears:

There is a characteristic rash that sometimes accompanies strep throat. This appears as fine, red pimples all over the trunk (chest, abdomen and back) that feel rough, almost like sandpaper and may look like a sunburn. This rash, with strep throat, is called Scarlet Fever. Do not worry; this is not serious like it used to be. It is simply the body reacting to a toxin produced by the strep. It does not mean the infection is more serious than strep throat without a rash, and it goes away with treatment.

Once she started on antibiotics, she improved quickly, much to all of our relief.  I am not quick to rush to antibiotics, and in fact this was her first round of them since her birth, but this time they were certainly in order.  It took a while to get all of our energy back afterwards, though, and it took me a number of nights to start sleeping better again.  Something that was a great comfort to me through the ordeal is my beloved book Naturally Healthy Babies and Children by Aviva Jill Romm.  Her chapter on "Fever" is excellent, and I frequently revisited it for the reminder that fever itself is not something to be afraid of, but is rather an indication of the body's response to infection.  She writes:

The role of fever in illness is not completely understood, but prior to "modern medicine," traditional healers considered fever to be an innate fire motivated by the body's vital energy to heal the organism during illness or infection.  During the past century, Western science has promoted the idea that fever itself is an illness and has sought to suppress it with aspirin, acetaminophen, and antibiotics.

Current research on the human immune system is revealing that fever is not a disease but an immune system enhancer and stimulant.  Fevers are now known to cause the production and release of chemicals in our bodies that actually combat infections.  Increased temperature may also create an environment inhospitable to the growth of pathogenic organism that in large population in the body can lead to severe consequences.  What wise women, mothers, and traditional healers have known for ages, conventional medicine, still in its infancy, is just beginning to acknowledge.  We may yet "discover" that it is the widespread suppression of the immune system that is contributing to the rise of autoimmune diseases.

Fever has another effect that often goes unnoticed.  When children recover from a fever, they often demonstrate new skills and abilities.  It is as if the heat of the fever served as a motivating developmental force.  After a fever, a child frequently seems even stronger and healthier than before, as if impurities had been burned away, leaving the pure gold of the child's soul.  While none of us wants our children to be ill, in our efforts to eradicate all illnesses with any means necessary, we have forgotten to see the subtler nature of the natural physical response.

That whole last paragraph is fascinating to me.  I have observed this in Clara so many times.  Perhaps it is just because I was looking for it, but as a baby, she frequently would run a fever, and then we would notice that she had surmounted some developmental hurdle in the days or weeks following.  Coincidence?  Perhaps, but I am glad to know that I do not need to be afraid of a fever in and of itself.  I don't want to romanticize the body and it's natural systems.  I know that there is a time for medical intervention, (Certainly, when I had a uterine infection and went into labor at 32 weeks, I was grateful for "Modern Medicine,")  but there is so much wisdom to be learned from our bodies and their natural systems, and I want to observe, honor and support the wisdom inherent in my own body and that of my daughter. 

 

 So we drank a lot of herbal tea, read a lot of books, snuggled by the wood-stove, and played lots of games of Guess Who? and Go Fish!  One good thing that came out of this time is that I feel like in some way it reset our family dynamic.  I think Dave and I are looking at Clara with new appreciation and respect (seeing her little body fight this sickness, and her little soul struggle to stay cheery was truly inspiring) and she seems to be more tolerant of our parental care and direction.  That awful place of a month or so ago, when it felt like we were constantly battling wills, seems to have passed, at least for now.  For all of this, I am grateful...

What are some of your favorite sick-time rituals and healing agents?

a stay-home-day

The little one was sick today and so we hunkered down and stayed home.  It felt so good.  She's just fighting a cold--nothing too serious--but she was steadily going down hill all morning, crying about everything and nothing, and I just couldn't bring myself to take her to the babysitter in that state.  My mother-bear instinct said, "She just needs to be with her Mama!"  It felt like such a relief to call in to work and just focus my energy on being present to her, rather than our normal routine of rush-rush-rushing all over the place.

Lately I have become aware of how much of the time she and I "connect" with negative energy.  Our points of communication seem to be too frequently negative than positive.  I all too often find myself asking her to hurry up, or not letting her "help" with dinner because I can do it faster, or correcting her for something she is doing.  This isn't how I want to parent!  This isn't how I want my home to be, and what I want my child to grow up with!  I long, I ache for her to grow up knowing her own sense of self-confidence and capability.  I want her to know, not just think, but know that she is a unique individual with beautiful things to offer the world, and the courage to share her gifts.  And I want her to remember her mother as someone who enjoyed being with her, and was fun to be around, not someone who was always depressed and stressed out.  How do I both accept who I am, and move forward into who I want to be?  I am learning...

One thing I was able to successfully focus on for a time today was connecting with her in positive ways.  We had a great time crafting together this afternoon, and sat on the couch for a good half hour looking at paint chips and magazines for inspiration as to what color to paint our kitchen.  It felt so good to be on the same team with her again, and yet I know that one good day together won't totally revolutionize our relationship.  I know that to break this cycle of negativity, I am going to need to discipline myself to see her at her best, and to look creatively for these points of positive connection.  I know that this involves slowing down and refocusing on where I really want to be putting my energy.  But it is SO worth whatever effort it does take.  In the grand scheme of things, why wouldn't I take an extra 15 minutes to include her in making dinner?  What else could possibly be more important than connecting with my daughter, teaching her that she has an important part in our family, and that she is capable of contributing in meaningful ways?  There is nothing more important to me than that.

**My camera battery is DEAD--caput!--so no new pictures for a while...  Does anyone have any ideas why a Nikon-D40 battery would just up and die after only 1 year of moderate use? 

I took these shots last week on a painting day, but I thought they were fitting.  That bottom shot is the result of unsupervised painting.  Papa D and I were talking in the next room, and I should have been suspicious when Little C was really, r e a l l y  quiet, but indeed my suspicions were not aroused till she piped up, "Mama, don't look at me me when I go into the bathroom!"  If she's telling me not to look, it's not a good sign.

the encouragement of light

How did the rose ever open it's heart and

give to this world all of it's beauty?

It felt the encouragement of light

against it's being,

otherwise we

all remain

t o o

f r i g h t e n e d.

-Hafiz

I have probably quoted this Hafiz passage before on here--I LOVE it--but it just seemed to articulate so perfectly what I am feeling right now.  I am so grateful for all your responses to my last post: on Facebook, via e-mail, by phone, and by so many lovely comments here.  I am very moved by your stories, by your care and concern, by your encouragement, mostly just by your willingness to walk with me on this journey.  Nearly as soon as I posted my cry for help with Little C, the love started pouring in, and I instantly felt safer, and less alone.  So thank you for providing "the encouragement of light." 

There are a few things I'm aware of right now, after some space from the emotions of that post, and after many real and virtual conversations with you all.  One is that I am the caretaker of one amazing little girl.  At 4 1/2 her negative behavior is not in any way a reflection on her character.  Of course, her deep sense of standing up to injustice is a quality that Papa D and I prayed she would develop (Justice is her middle name...  No, really, it is!) and while now I am currently the source of most of the "injustice" she is aware of, hopefully, as she grows, she will continue to speak out about injustice where she sees it. 

Another thing that a friend pointed out to me is that she is the daughter of my husband.  Now that might seem patently obvious, but for those of you who know my husband, you know that he likes to raise a little hell.  In fact, I seem to recall some hazy memories of him patting my pregnant belly and say, "Oh, I just hope she's a little fireball!"  So he got what he asked for, and therefore he can deal with her until she's 6.

Another truth that came home to me is that I take her behavior WAAAYYY to personally.  I don't think this struggle is unique to me--I think lots of moms have a hard time drawing the boudary of "self" and "other" in response to our small children, maybe especially to our daughters because we identify with them so much.  But when she has a fit about something or other, she's just being a 4 year old.  I don't need to be offended, I just need to deal with it.  And, if at all possible, I should really try to be the adult in the situation. 

I have also been reminded of how much she and I both need rhythm and consistency in our life together.  It's no accident that I reached this breaking point right after the holidays and a lot of busy, busy weeks strung together.  We might need to make some changes to our life to provide a greater sense of structure for her, and for me. 

There's more to be said, but I'm VERY tired and need to go to bed.  As I have been reminded through this, at the end of the day I love her so deeply, if imperfectly, and she knows that, she really does.  And maybe, just maybe, I can turn some of that mothering love towards myself, and rest in gratitude and acceptance.  Thank you all for being with me as I find my way.

 

i love you badly

I have been in such a hard place lately in my relationship with Little C.  I don't know if it is a 4 1/2 year-old thing or that my hours at work have increased significantly, but she and I are having a hard time getting along a LOT of the time, and I hate it. 

My whole life I wanted to be a mom.  For 12 years, before having my own child, I took care of other people's children, and imagined what I would and wouldn't do as a parent myself.  I adored Little C's babyhood, but I also looked eagerly forward to the age when she would be old enough to go for walks in the woods with me, and sing songs in the car, and curl up reading Little House In the Big Woods together.  So now we're here, and I'm miserable.  Or at least grouchy a lot of the time.  I am particularly struggling with discipline, and what to do when I really do need her to comply with one of my requests in a timely manner.  Is that too much to ask of a 4 1/2 year-old?

Papa D and I talked ad nauseum, before and after Little C's birth, about how we wanted to create, not a child-centered OR parent-centered family, but a FAMILY-centered one--where we live together in a dynamic community and the needs and desires of all of us are taken into account.  We specifically and deliberately have tried to cultivate a relationship with our daughter that is not rooted in demanding absolute, instantaneous compliance, but that is flexible and mutually respectful.  We wanted our relationship as a family to be based on trust and positivity, and not on fear or expecting the worst of one another. 

And now I feel like all this good philosophy is coming back to bite us.  We spend a lot of time and energy being flexible and accomodating her needs and desires, but when we don't, she throws an absolute fit.  It hasn't always been this way.  When she was an infant and toddler, the adjective I would have used to describe her most frequently is "flexible."  For her entire life, our work and home life have intersected, first at a boarding school, now on our farm, so she has always had to go with the flow to an extent.  She's never been one to be "over-indulged" (whatever that is, anyway) or have each and every whim met instantly, though of course I've tried really hard to be a responsive mother, and I have been. 

I think that's the kicker, actually.  I was crying to Papa D yesterday, after a particularly gruesome fight (sometimes it feels like she's 14, not 4) and confessing that one thing I really resent is that I worked so damn hard all those early ears, getting up at all hours of the night to care for her, nursing till age 3, never letting her cry alone, cloth diapering, protecting her from myriad potential toxins and chemicals (at least the ones I knew about).  I loved it, and it was what I needed to do at the time for my own sanity, but it was EXHAUSTING!  And now she's a "big girl" of 4 1/2, and I feel like she should be able to give a little too, or at least to understand when I say, "Mama's really tired today, and I need you to be a really good listener."

I know I'm being unreasonable right now, but I'm tired.  I don't usually use this space as a venting platform, but I hope you will forgive me, and accept my frustration and self-pity right now.  What I'd really love is to hear some stories.  I know I'm not alone in this, but I feel like SUCH a bad mom right now.  Is anyone out there?  How did you survive?

Memory

After reading about the Soule family's gaming antics, I got thinking about what kind of games Little C could play.  We've never really done "games" with her before, but some of my friends with slightly older kids are moving into the realm of Crazy Eights and other card games, which sounds like so much fun.  For now, I think Memory is about our speed.  

I had a flash of genius in Lowes the other day when we were buying paint for the kitchen.  Little C LOVES those squares of paint colors, and was quickly grabbing as many as she could reach while I talked to the man about the paint I was buying.  When I turned around I joined in, pulling out pairs of disparate colors in a lovely fall rainbow.  We brought them home, laid them out on the table face down in rows, and voilå!  Memory!  We had so much fun with it that I'm laminating the squares (ah, yes, one of the perks of my job is free access to a laminator!  So much fun!)  Anyway, I'm always looking for cheap and easy homemade toys, so I thought I'd share it with you! 

Note:  My camera batteries are dead, and the charger has not yet been unpacked, so for now I'm taking pictures with my computer!  Hence the poor photo quality...

When is the time for Love to be born?

I have a lot of newborns in my life, both in person (my nephew) and friends from college (here and here).  New babies always bring to mind the fragility of life and the “risk of birth” (as Madeline L’Engle so eloquently calls it).  Soon after my own daughter’s surprise arrival, some dear friends gathered around me for a “Mother Blessing,” each sharing something to strengthen and encourage me in my mothering journey.  One of things that has stuck with me the most from that day is something my friend Christina shared, this passage from Kathleen Norris’ printed lecture “The Quotidian Mysteries” which elucidates the connection between birth and death.  I have found it profoundly freeing to see my own beloved child as one who will certainly die one day—does it sound odd that I take comfort in that thought?  I don’t mean to be morbid, but somehow the knowledge of this truth makes my time with her seem more precious and also reminds me of how little “power” or “control” I have over her.  As powerful as my love for her is, and my desire to protect her, ultimately, I cannot—her life is out of my hands, literally.  It is good to be humbled in this way, for me anyway.  So I share this passage with you now in the hope that all of us mothers can encourage one another in the “long goodbye.”

We are asked to make all that we have been taught and trained to do—as nurses, educators, theologians, poets, doctors, secretaries, accountants or what-have-you—available to God.  Especially when human need is at its greatest, and we know ourselves to be incapable of meeting that need on our own, we are asked to find our strength in Jesus Christ.  And we are asked to make our most serious and intimate commitments with very little idea of how long they will last, or what will be required of us.  The ordinary demands of a pregnancy, for example, require a woman to find the strength to give birth to a child who, even if it is healthy, will need daily nurturing for years, who will most likely devalue and rebel against that nurture in adolescence, and who will eventually leave home for schooling, work and a marriage of her own.  At the deepest level, a pregnant woman must find the courage to give birth to a creature who will one day die, as she herself must die.  And there are no promises, other than the love of God, to tell us that this human round is anything but futile.

In one of my poems, “Ascension,” I tried to restore a sense of gravity and beauty to the image of a mother and infant, which is often sentimentalized in our culture.  I wrote the poem because of a simple juxtaposition in my life.  On Ascension [the feast day celebrating Christ's ascension into heaven--more here] one year, my mother phoned to tell me that my sister’s water had broken and she had gone to the hospital to have her second child.  And all day I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind that as Jesus was rising to heaven, my sister was pushing down for all she was worth.  Here is the poem that resulted from that meditation:

            ASCENSION

            Why do you stand looking up at the sky?—Acts 1:11

            It wasn’t just wind chasing
    thin, gunmetal clouds
    across a loud sky.
    And it wasn’t the feeling that one might ascend
    on that excited air,
    rising like a trumpet note,
 
    and it wasn’t just my sister’s water breaking, 

    her crying out,
    the downward draw of blood and bone…
 
    It was all of that,
    mud and new grass
    pushing up through melting snow,
    the lilac in bud by my front door
    bent low
    by last week’s ice storm.
 
    Now the new mother, that leaky vessel,
    begins to nurse her child,
    beginning the long good-bye.

Excerpt taken from "The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and Women's Work" by Kathleen Norris, which happens to be one of my favorite books on femininity, depression and spirituality.  I highly recommend it and anything else by Ms. Norris--she's one of my favorites!  And here is the Madeline L'Engle poem that I referenced above.  She is another one of my favorites!

THE RISK OF BIRTH

This is no time for a child to be born,
With the earth betrayed by war and hate
And a nova lighting the sky to warn
That time runs out & the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honor & Truth were trampled by scorn--
Yet here did the Saviour make his home.

When is the time for Love to be born?
The inn is full on the planet earth,
And by greed and pride the sky is torn--
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.

Madeline L'Engle