tonglen- a moment of actual Buddhism

What do you do when it's 3 am and your baby is up again, inconsolable?

You think about all the other parents who are up at 3 am with you, holding their inconsolable babies. You breathe in and think about how they feel just like you, how you're connected to them because you're all up at this ungodly dark hour, trying to soothe a baby, trying not to think about how deliciously warm and soft your bed is. You breathe out and think of the peace we all want to feel, the comfort we all want for our babies.

I remember practicing this as suggested-- in the middle of a traffic jam. I was holding my breath, in a hurry, when I remembered that every other person on the road felt the exact same way. So I breathed in our frustration, breathed out some peace and unwound a bit, and lo and behold. Traffic didn't move faster but I felt a lot better.

Pema Chodron says it in another way here.

when your kid asks why the tree shines so brightly...

you tell her or him it's because of the eels.

"If we could gather all electric eels from all around the world, we would be able to light up an unimaginably giant Christmas tree." I think this is the greatest quote ever. Inventor Kazuhiko Minawa found a way to harness eel energy to light up a Christmas tree! It's so popular in Japan! Reuters says so.

Talk about being energy efficient. What a fun way to teach kids about that!

ok to go

Ever since Minkie said her first word ("duck," at 8 months ish), I've been secretly and happily holding on to the notion that she will not be small and pre-verbal forever. She will one day be able to tell me her wants, her needs, her dreams, her peeves. She will be able to get herself a glass of water and go the toilet on her own, maybe without even letting me know. She will have ideas.

At some points I felt some guilt for feeling relieved that infancy doesn't last. And then a little apprehension realizing that none of this lasts.

But I also realized that it's ok-- maybe even a good thing-- to not want to hold onto infancy and want her to remain an infant forever. Maybe it's a good thing to let go of each stage and to let her grow. I'm sure there will be a stage I want to hang onto, and I'll have to remember this then.

Someone once said that from pregnancy onward (or, from starting the adoption process onward), parenting is a continual process of letting go.

weaning

When I was pregnant, I think I read somewhere that pregnancy and parenting all comes down to the art of letting go. Continually, over and over again. At birth, at cutting the cord, at every stage as the child continually grows into her own space and personhood.

I am at the weaning stage. It is a gradual process for Minkie and me. The slowness is hard. It's one step forward, one step back (which sounds like we're not progressing toward weaning, and it sometimes it feels like we're not, but I think we are, so let me amend that to two steps forward, one step back).

I miss having regular cycles. I miss the progesterone high of pregnancy (that's some good stuff, progesterone). It's a rough landing. Minkie's having a growth spurt and wanted to nurse more lately, and I found myself melting into bliss this evening as she nursed because nursing is the one time I totally focus on beautiful things. I think about flowers, about D, about cheery things. I do not worry about the state of my parents' relationship, my mother's mental health, my husband's lack of sleep, my own harried schedule.

As weaning continues, I will have to answer the hard question: when during the day will I provide myself the opportunity to lavish in beautiful thoughts when Minkie no longer needs to nurse?

reverence

I came across the word "reverence" in a poem. Just reading it makes me want to slow down. The word itself inspires quiet, slow contemplation, and an expectation of the divine. It reminds me of "river." The ebb and flow, the grace of water flowing over rock, the edges blotted by mud and flowers. Watching Minkie as she plays-- banging something over and over, inspecting the floor really carefully, feeling the texture of the wall-- it's another way to slow down. Maybe it's a good way to practice feeling reverent.