Afloat

Many would wonder why if I fought this long and hard to find Pacifique why now I would be torn inside out, feeling inept and awkward with my ability to parent him. I used to be a good mother: loved mothering fiercely. People even wondered why "me" of all people had to lose a child; as if the mother who frequents the Rutland, VT Wal-Mart and slaps her child when he yells would be more deserving of such a retched circumstance.

Pacifique is gorgeous: he has the most luscious sateen skin, huge eager eyes, a squeal of pleasure that ends in qiggles half of the time. Heck he even cuddles right into my chest and sucks his three fingers: a habit that pre-existed our time with him, a method of self-soothing necessary for orphanage survival. But now he presses against my heart and lays his warm head just under my chin, and yet I am beside myself at times with anxiety, impatience and anger. He cries and I want to stop up the hole where the noise comes from with any material nearby. Something spills or drops and I am fuming. The normal follow up question would be, "what the heck is my problem?"

I've decided that the learning curve, especially without the running start of pregnancy, required for parenting two children is a steeper incline that anyone with only one child could ever have anticipated. I have never been in this territory before: dividing my already precious little self between the needs of two children. But moreover, I realize that I have work to step into the position (that isn't even the correct word choice)of MOTHER for this wee one, Pacifique. I have been so far reluctant to become or believe that I am his mother.

I think of the woman, his mother, who brought Pacifique into this world. She grew this child under her own beating heart, fed him with her body and her breath, and rode the waves of pain that opened her entire being to allow Pacifique to push past her body and become his own separate life here on Earth. I know what it is to lose a child forever. I imagine this mother everyday, and what she might be doing or feeling. If she walked back thru the door yesterday I would have handed him to her saying I had done the best I could while she was gone. No way could I stand between a mother and her child. But it is time for me to step into the honor, the sacred path, of being Pacifique's mother. Today, I drew my protective circle around him and donned my mama bear claws. Today, if the woman who birthed our son walked in the door, I would pick him up, clutch him to my chest and pray for what to do next. No handing over, no more thinking I am just the temporary guardian of this little soul.

My blessed friend and midwife for Ariah held the space for me to see this aspect of my disconnect to Pacifique and to my mother-self. It has been uphill since, and for the first time in days, I feel I am alfoat. This is uncharted territory, this new life with Pacifique. With the support of many around me, I am slowly coming home to myself and stepping into the love that awaits me and us all.

Tonight Pacifique awoke crying, very early compared to the normal routine of needing to eat. Ariah and I ran up the stairs and found him crying unlike we had heard before. She wanted to pick him up, but I knew he needed his mother's touch, and I scooped him up and encouraged her to rub his back instead. He burped. Twice. Still he cried, but snuggled into me with his entire being. Lied against my core, my heart, with the warmth of his whole everything. This little fellow needs me and only I can sooth him like I did. He soon fell asleep, trusting me with all his weight, to hold him fully. And I will... forever.