The Extremes of my Heart May 16, 2008

My baby lies on my bed, still smelling of lavender soap, fresh out of the bath. His hair, the colour of a freshly minted copper penny, curls tight atop his head. His blue eyes shine with mirth as we play a game of mirroring our tongues sticking out. I kiss his velvet soft round tummy and he squeals with delight.

I can feel my heart expand with absolute unconditional love. The warmth in my chest radiates throughout my body and I know this feeling of peace and joy is infused with the presence of God—this is bliss.

Three days later, my baby lies on my bed whimpering. His whole body is an angry red and he is so hot I can barely touch him. The thermometer reads 40.4°C. I check, that’s 104.7 ° F. How can that be? I just gave him fever medication an hour ago. Why isn’t it working? The decision is made in a fraction of a second—we are off to the hospital. The night is cool. I thank God for that. Then I continue my conversation with God pleading for my son’s health as I drive to the nearest hospital, speeding through the empty roads, adding another thank you for a clear path. I sling my baby close to my chest as I run through the automatic doors of the emergency room.

My heart has imploded. It is encased in a block of ice and ceases to beat, but I can still feel my pulse roaring in my ears. The fear I have for my son’s safety is physically painful. I have to remind myself to breathe. I still talk to God, begging, pleading. He answers me with a temperature drop of one degree. He is here with me. He is here. I hold my baby to my chest and his heat begins to melt the ice around my heart. Everything is going to be just fine.

Three days later, as I change my son’s diaper he gives me a grin and sticks out his tongue. Complete Utter Bliss.

A mother’s escape March 2, 2008

I lay there enveloped in the enticing aroma of lavender mingled with fig, and the lightest hint of ink drifting from a paperback novel. The bubbles caress my nude body, dying little by little as they are exposed to air and movement. I’ve escaped to a distant world in an unreachable era, taking on the persona of a princess being denied her heart’s desire. I know certain bliss…until a loud rap at the door calls me back to reality.

“MOM! I can’t find my English paper and it’s due tomorrow.”

I try to centre myself. “It’s on the counter beside your agenda. Why are you not in bed?” Silence is my reply. Back to the book. Another knock.

“Hon, your son just threw up on my last clean uniform for work. Tell me you’ve hidden the dry cleaning somewhere.”

Deep breathe. “It’s in the front closet… where I always leave it. Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I just bounced him too much after his bottle. Are you almost done in there? How dirty can you be?”

Very, very dirty. I may never come out of the washroom ever again. “I’m getting out now.”

One more scene, one more moment of peace before I go back and face the world. The last bubble pops, and the water now chilled, I pull the plug.

What’s Next Part Deux January 30, 2008

I’m posting part two today, because I received some great advice last night. I went to a Virtues Project workshop and we practised active listening and validating with virtues. My partner happened to be a counsellor, what luck! I told her my latest life crisis and to make a long story short she reminded me that I am still very young, and I have lots of time to go out there and help humanity once my children have grown. She said she is very busy now that her kids are 26 and 28, and her mother is also a therapist still seeing patients at 85 years old! I guess my potential for living another fifty years doesn’t readily come to mind since my grandparents all died in their sixties, and my mother’s health is so poor in her late fifties, and my father is in a nursing home with dementia at 65. I forget that lots of people live and thrive much longer. I was also reminded that I take much better care of my health, after all health is my vocation.

So today, I’m focusing on being present in the present. My husband and I are going on a date this Sunday and I am going to talk to him about taking home learning courses. I’m still debating over Homoeopathy or doing a master’s in psychology to be a therapist myself. Learning from home and being with my children, and when they are gone all day I’ll have a certificate to build a practise with.

I am, of course, still writing and I’ve promised myself to schedule some writing time into my week, and actually write during the time I’ve set aside. Writing may not bring in cash or save the world, yet, but it keeps me happy and sane so I have to make it a self-care priority. I also ordered Writer Mama. I’d still love to make a couple of bucks while home, writing to my hearts content. (Thanks for the suggestion andreamcmann)

What’s next? January 28, 2008

Now that we have more people in the house than rooms in which to house them, we’ve been contemplating buying a bigger home. That, of course, would involve a bigger mortgage. And now the whole house hunting thing brought up a declaration from my dear husband that he feels the weight on his shoulders from us being a single income family. This, of course, makes me feel like I SHOULD be working outside the home. Hubby also likes to point out every news article about the nursing shortage and every classified add for nurses. But what he doesn’t realize is how much my working as a nurse would completely change our lives. Sure, I’d be making an excellent salary, putting our income well above six figures, but it also means working twelve hour shifts, nights, weekends, and holidays. And nursing is very demanding physically and emotionally. And I find that keeping this house with four kids a full time job as it is, I can’t imagine working as a nurse in addition to all this! Hubby complains about the chores he does now, I’m sure we’d both be completely burnt out if I went back to work as a nurse.

So why do I feel so GUILTY about not having an income when the arguments against working are so many?

Then comes into play my own feelings about contributing to society, about what I want to be when I grown up. I have this huge part of me that is not happy if I’m not making a difference in the world. I don’t know where it came from, but I can’t stifle it. That’s who I am, I just have to live with it. I’ve tried my best to convince myself that raising four wonderful socially-minded children is a great gift to humanity, but try as I might it still doesn’t feel like enough. I can be very very hard on myself! Writing is great because I can be inspirational and put out a message of hope, but it takes so long to publish a book and the money takes even longer to come. Besides the fact that it’s not taken completely seriously around here so I have to write in rare moments of downtime, unlike going to work 9 to 5.

I would love to be a motivational speaker, or a teacher, or a counsellor, but all those would require that I do some sort of studying, and invest money and time into myself.

I could go back to practising natural medicine, which involves a lot of teaching and counselling, but it also involves finding patients in the small pocket of the population that believes in what you do– that doesn’t think you are a crook and a quack. And the money is not spectacular there, probably not enough to cover daycare as a girlfriend that I studied with is complaining out. Definitely more of a labour of love. And I would have to take a refresher course as I haven’t been keeping up with the newest research and trends. Again, money and time.

So… I’m stuck folding laundry and mashing homemade baby food, feeling like I should have some sort of game plan for when the kids are in school full time, at the very least, if not sooner. What do I do? Do you ever feel that you need to be more than a mom? Am I totally nuts to want to do more, as if I don’t already do so much?