Oh Amy. I’m so in this right now!!! Thank you for sharing. I’ve felt like a horrible mother lately. And I kept expecting to be able to come up for air but the toddler years are wreaking havoc on my nervous system--mine are 18 months apart so they were (mostly) babies at the same time and (mostly) toddlers at the same time. I just weaned my youngest when he turned 3 last month and the hormone shift has been brutal. I wanted to keep nursing forever, my babies on my back, but I also wanted to dive deep, be in my own skin alone for the first time in 5 years. But I have no idea how to be or what to do now, the water is so dark at the bottom. I want to swim to the other side of the lake alone and I also want to start all over and have our third and last baby (the possibility of which is up for debate right now, given the challenge we’re facing right now with our two). I’m so mixed up. And I’m so exhausted and “I still feel like I haven’t really come up for air. I couldn’t have known then really what I was in for, how much strain toddler-parenting would but on my delicate nervous system.” “I’m better and worse at this.”
I'm not a mother - I'm not even a parent - but this was such a beautifully insightful piece. It feels so enriching to read such honest words on a subject outside of my experience.
"Two things to feel — like motherhood is a long swim underwater with held breath. Where will I resurface? Where will I be then? And another — with my child on my back, I am not able to dive like I am made to. I can’t feel what I long to feel, my solitary body swimming deep underwater, unseen and mysterious and myself. I have to stay afloat for them." - This part in particular really struck me.
And this - "We all love each other and that's the lake we are on." - That one hit like a sudden and unexpected poem among the prose.
Oh my- I resonate with this deeply. The mother-animal I see myself and my experience as is an opossum. They also carry their babies on their backs, wandering around loaded up with babies clinging to them. I have two children, 6 years and 18 months old, and I work full time in a school with small children... So often, at the end of the day, I feel like I've done nothing but carry a bunch of kids on my back, tending to everyone's needs but my own!
This was beautiful Amy. Thank you. I'm gonna listen to the loons on Spotify. I'm not a mother yet but I can feel your words echoing to me from the future.
I've been thinking this for weeks, but this post has prompted me to ask: do you know the music of Joanna Newsom?? There's a line in one of her songs that is just "Hotdoggin' loon!" If you haven't discovered her, I can't help but think you might enjoy. She is my favorite. She hasn't put out an album for 9 years, becoming a mother of two in the time between, but she's just been doing some shows and playing new songs with motherhood themes and they blow me away.
Also, the sad song part of your writing here reminded me of a very short snippet of one of her new songs, called Little Hand. You can find it on YouTube:
We took a little walk across the lawn.
It was two o’clock, with my soft shoes on.
I met you at the dock. "May I cross the calm?"
I called. "May I tag along?"
Hear you bawl a little sad song. It’s a sad song,
keep singing it, honey, it ain’t long.
Sing and I’ll keep you safe and warm
until the dawn: DSRV-2 Avalon.
Wherever you are, wherever you’ve gone,
leanin’ your cheek in to the apple yellow dawn o' Highway One.
We’ve been itchin’ to meet you. Recommission and meet you.
Oh I relate to this so much. The loon mother is such a beautiful metaphor. About a year post partum with my second I felt distinctly like a worse mother than I had been with only one kid. It’s a season. We aren’t meant to do this so alone, and even those of us with family nearby tend to have limited help/community.
A little while ago I went back to work, remote from home. The first time I was able to walk into my backyard without a kid following me, or worrying about leaving my kids inside for a few seconds, was a revelation. I didn’t realize how minutely my movements were constricted till I had a break. I don’t know exactly what my point is, other than it’s hard. Joyful and beautiful and loving and so, so hard.
I loved this thank you. Oh my gosh. You bring it out so well.
And instantly recognised Wild Geese by Mary Oliver pinned behind your print in the image. A fraction of a second after I had thought, “There’s something in this that reminds me of Wild Geese”. Exhale.
“The experience of motherhood as living nostalgia” - Yes! I’m constantly thinking/writing about this. Even when I’m almost in the moment (not something that comes easily to me!) suddenly I’m remembering when they were babies or thinking about how quickly they’re growing up. And yes, the energy demanded by a toddler is exhausting in both a physical and emotional way. For me with a 5 y.o. and nearly 3 y.o. it’s the evenings that are the most draining when they’re both exhausted from a day of school and childcare or like last week when they were hyper after being stuck at home due to illness!
Thank you Amy. I always know I’ll find comfort when I come to read your writing. Relate so so so much to this all. Sharing so many similar emotions and literal situations with a wild 3 year old and my own sensitive nervous system.
I learned recently that this isn't actually true, but in ancient European and medieval lit/iconography, mother pelicans were depicted piercing themselves in times of famine to feed their fledglings with their blood. I've clung close to that image and now wish it was true.
Oh Amy. I’m so in this right now!!! Thank you for sharing. I’ve felt like a horrible mother lately. And I kept expecting to be able to come up for air but the toddler years are wreaking havoc on my nervous system--mine are 18 months apart so they were (mostly) babies at the same time and (mostly) toddlers at the same time. I just weaned my youngest when he turned 3 last month and the hormone shift has been brutal. I wanted to keep nursing forever, my babies on my back, but I also wanted to dive deep, be in my own skin alone for the first time in 5 years. But I have no idea how to be or what to do now, the water is so dark at the bottom. I want to swim to the other side of the lake alone and I also want to start all over and have our third and last baby (the possibility of which is up for debate right now, given the challenge we’re facing right now with our two). I’m so mixed up. And I’m so exhausted and “I still feel like I haven’t really come up for air. I couldn’t have known then really what I was in for, how much strain toddler-parenting would but on my delicate nervous system.” “I’m better and worse at this.”
Thank you for giving voice to a very lonely feeling.
I'm not a mother - I'm not even a parent - but this was such a beautifully insightful piece. It feels so enriching to read such honest words on a subject outside of my experience.
"Two things to feel — like motherhood is a long swim underwater with held breath. Where will I resurface? Where will I be then? And another — with my child on my back, I am not able to dive like I am made to. I can’t feel what I long to feel, my solitary body swimming deep underwater, unseen and mysterious and myself. I have to stay afloat for them." - This part in particular really struck me.
And this - "We all love each other and that's the lake we are on." - That one hit like a sudden and unexpected poem among the prose.
Oh my- I resonate with this deeply. The mother-animal I see myself and my experience as is an opossum. They also carry their babies on their backs, wandering around loaded up with babies clinging to them. I have two children, 6 years and 18 months old, and I work full time in a school with small children... So often, at the end of the day, I feel like I've done nothing but carry a bunch of kids on my back, tending to everyone's needs but my own!
This was beautiful Amy. Thank you. I'm gonna listen to the loons on Spotify. I'm not a mother yet but I can feel your words echoing to me from the future.
I've been thinking this for weeks, but this post has prompted me to ask: do you know the music of Joanna Newsom?? There's a line in one of her songs that is just "Hotdoggin' loon!" If you haven't discovered her, I can't help but think you might enjoy. She is my favorite. She hasn't put out an album for 9 years, becoming a mother of two in the time between, but she's just been doing some shows and playing new songs with motherhood themes and they blow me away.
Also, the sad song part of your writing here reminded me of a very short snippet of one of her new songs, called Little Hand. You can find it on YouTube:
We took a little walk across the lawn.
It was two o’clock, with my soft shoes on.
I met you at the dock. "May I cross the calm?"
I called. "May I tag along?"
Hear you bawl a little sad song. It’s a sad song,
keep singing it, honey, it ain’t long.
Sing and I’ll keep you safe and warm
until the dawn: DSRV-2 Avalon.
Wherever you are, wherever you’ve gone,
leanin’ your cheek in to the apple yellow dawn o' Highway One.
We’ve been itchin’ to meet you. Recommission and meet you.
If you listen I’ll teach you a sad song....
Thank you for sharing this, I looked her up on YouTube
Oh I relate to this so much. The loon mother is such a beautiful metaphor. About a year post partum with my second I felt distinctly like a worse mother than I had been with only one kid. It’s a season. We aren’t meant to do this so alone, and even those of us with family nearby tend to have limited help/community.
A little while ago I went back to work, remote from home. The first time I was able to walk into my backyard without a kid following me, or worrying about leaving my kids inside for a few seconds, was a revelation. I didn’t realize how minutely my movements were constricted till I had a break. I don’t know exactly what my point is, other than it’s hard. Joyful and beautiful and loving and so, so hard.
I loved this thank you. Oh my gosh. You bring it out so well.
And instantly recognised Wild Geese by Mary Oliver pinned behind your print in the image. A fraction of a second after I had thought, “There’s something in this that reminds me of Wild Geese”. Exhale.
“The experience of motherhood as living nostalgia” - Yes! I’m constantly thinking/writing about this. Even when I’m almost in the moment (not something that comes easily to me!) suddenly I’m remembering when they were babies or thinking about how quickly they’re growing up. And yes, the energy demanded by a toddler is exhausting in both a physical and emotional way. For me with a 5 y.o. and nearly 3 y.o. it’s the evenings that are the most draining when they’re both exhausted from a day of school and childcare or like last week when they were hyper after being stuck at home due to illness!
Thank you Amy. I always know I’ll find comfort when I come to read your writing. Relate so so so much to this all. Sharing so many similar emotions and literal situations with a wild 3 year old and my own sensitive nervous system.
I learned recently that this isn't actually true, but in ancient European and medieval lit/iconography, mother pelicans were depicted piercing themselves in times of famine to feed their fledglings with their blood. I've clung close to that image and now wish it was true.