Motherhood, Shakespeare And The Pitter Patter Of It All

Well, the first day of flaking came and went. Labor Day 2013. The first day I did not honor my commitment to this writing/posting daily in 30 minutes. By the time the busy day came to a close of sorts, it was 10:42pm. Was I going to find the energy to blog? No. (Then came the second day. I wrote this post yesterday and will finally post today.)

Right now, as I type this with my right thumb, Mr. P is napping on me on the boppy. His darling head is resting in the crook of my right elbow, where my bicep meets my forearm. His whole being is curled up into mine as his even warm breath brings me a kind of peace and abundance and ebullience I’ve never known to this extent. As if each breath is a puff of love-life-air into the deflated tire of my tired-mommy-psyche. With each burst of Mr. P air, I find the reserve to type this to you, one fumbling thumb-letter at a time.

Meanwhile, I’m giving the same kind of love-life-air to Mr. P. My heart beats slowly and rhythmically in my chest, causing his cuddle-nap-place to rise and fall in perfect symbiotic symmetry to his beats. I am thinking, now, of my first day of Shakespeare 101 way back in the other-life me at Bucknell. It was co-taught by one of the more conservative Shakespearean scholars on campus, and I believe in the field, too and by this radiant and brilliant in both brains and bright beauty Indian professor. As conservative as he was, she was as refreshingly liberal. Her voice was music to my sponge-learning-creative-peak ears. They started the first day of class with this lecture:
(This is etched in my mind for over 15 years, so please, don’t quote me)
Context: they were talking about the Shakespearean rhythm of iambic pentameter…
And it beats rhythmically like the heart… Ba-buh-ba-buh-bu-buh. And it makes my heart beat to the rhythm of his words. Pitter patter, pitter patter…
And the words and the rhythm to me are so powerful they make my heart stop.

This, to me, is the perfect description to motherhood. My baby and I with hearts beating pumping love and blood and air into each others spirits so much so it makes my heart go pitter patter most of the time AND at the exact same time when I’m so struck by the power of our lifeblood that then my heart stops in its tracks frozen in time and space so I can notice, really notice, the beauty of it all.

Except when I’m so frazzled that I can’t even notice any of this, which in these 11 months, is quite often.

I am grateful for this moment, away from places to be and people to see. Away from laundry and dishes and to do lists. I am grateful for this sleeping angel and this moment to share our love and life with you.

Good things, darlings.


Day 26. (I debated, how do I number this when I skipped a day? And then I thought of fly lady: “you’re not behind, just jump in wherever you are” and Gemma saying “adelante, darling!”