Mama Goddess

Hola lovebugs,

I’ve been feeling a little bit nervous about sharing this.

Quite vulnerable.

And yet, I couldn’t not share it either.

I’ve been sharing about life + spirit + biz since the beginning.

I’m pretty much an open book.

So I couldn’t not tell you all this either.

Plus, it’s pretty dang hilarious when ya think about it really.

*

Not so long ago, I shared with you my decision to only have one child.

Writing that post and sharing it with you was immensely healing for me.

It was really a call for all of us to make + celebrate + love our own decisions, our own choices.

I’d felt so much external pressure to want another child that it was a great relief to say:

No. This is my truth. This is how I feel about that right now. This is my choice.

After writing it, I just felt a deep sense of peace with my decision.

Like I didn’t have to fight anymore as to why my choice was okay. That it was okay for me to make a decision that was right for me.

It was like liberating myself from some ancient family patterns about not being able to choose.

*

When I wrote it, I didn’t believe for a single moment that I would want any more.

But I know enough about life now to never say never. (Even when I really did believe it would be never!)

So I wrote:

I’m immensely grateful that I have a choice. And that I’ve found peace with what I am wanting right now.

I also understand that one day I might completely change my mind. I don’t believe I will at all, but I know enough to know that the universe is wild and expansive and that unseen vistas appear at every corner.

*

So I wrote it. And felt damn great about it.

Hurrah! I claimed my truth! I claimed what I wanted!

And then just a few weeks after I wrote it…

(ha! I’m sure it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!)

A little baby started knocking on the door of my spirit.

*

(Oh Universe. YOU. YOU ARE SO FUNNY!

I love how much you teach me. I love how much you show me the way.)

*

So this lil soul started talking to me.

Like, hippy style. Soul to soul talkin’.

One night, I was trying to go to sleep when a vision of a baby appeared.

And I was all (oh so graceful)

Oh fuck THAT. That is SO NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

I figured after three years of saying NONONONONONONO that the universe would have gotten the picture by now.

And I tried to ignore the vision and go to sleep.

Hours later, I still wasn’t asleep.

(I’m usually asleep within minutes of closing my eyes… so not being able to pop off to sleep was completely bewildering to me!)

*

The next night, more of the same.

Again, I was very graceful about the whole thing:

Look. NO NO NO NO NO. I’m NOT HAVING ANOTHER BABY! Sorry mate, but you’re not coming through me! You’ll need to find someone else!

But there it was. This very beautiful little baby.

And there was so much of me that didn’t want to have another one. So much a part of me that wrapped having a baby up in the experience of too much pain + heartbreak.

And there was also a little part of myself that was already in love.

And this sweet little soul said to me:

What if it was different this time around? Could you possibly imagine what it would be like if you did it differently?

And this little yearning on my heart said it was time to imagine.

So I took a leap of faith, and I imagined.

I imagined what it would be like having another baby knowing what I know now.

I imagined what it would be like if I gave myself the support I needed.

I imagined what it would be like if I didn’t have to go through the extraordinarily painful time of moving back to my hometown with babe in arms, only to witness my parents divorce and my family of origin implode.

I imagined what it would be like if I didn’t have to go through the painful (but needed) soul lessons that I did the first time.

*

And at the end of the imagining, there it was, the simple profound truth:

it could be different this time.

And that it WOULD be different this time around:

I’m not the person who I was three years ago.

I’ve done an immense amount of healing work thanks to time, counselling, Hiro, kinesiology, acupuncture + therapy.

I’m just not who I was before. I don’t have to go back and do all those hard lessons again.

I know how to find and give myself the support I need. I know I don’t need to suffer to be a parent any more. I know what I need now to be healthy and happy and filled with a love of life. I know how to set boundaries in my own life. I know I don’t have to give myself away to my child or my parents or anyone else. I know that I belong to me.

*

As soon as I knew that…

the world shifted.

And I saw this beautiful soul and I knew I dearly wanted to be the mother of it.

And I saw that it could be an immensely healing experience for me to experience pregnancy, birth + mothering a newborn with this new person that I am.

And that yes, oh yes, I very much wanted this baby.

(I’ve got tears running down my face as I write this.)

*

I hadn’t really believed that there was another soul out there that was destined to be mine. It hadn’t talked to me yet, it hadn’t shown itself. I mistakenly thought that was because it wasn’t there. But that wasn’t true:

It just wasn’t the right time yet.

*

My world did change that night.

I know those words can be bandied about.

But it is true for me.

The constellation of my cells rearranged from mama of one child into the mama of two.

Where there wasn’t before, there was a space in my life for this little soul to emerge into.

There was a space in my heart that sung for joy to see it.

*

After hours of staring into the darkness, quivering with excitement, I woke up Chris late at night to tell him, tears running down my face.

The poor dear was tired, so I promised him we’d speak in the morning.

And I slept that night with this feeling inside me that just as I’d managed to prophecy:

the universe is wild and expansive and that unseen vistas appear at every corner.

My vista had appeared.

*

When Chris was awake enough the next morning, I told him simply:

Sweetheart, I think I might be ready to have another baby.

And he laughed. The dear man has listened to me talk for three years about me feeling like I only wanted one child. He’d been kind, and understanding, and deeply compassionate. We’d talked for hours upon hours about this.

So he was a little bit unsure about just how serious I was.

Hon, I’m actually really serious. There’s a little soul who has been talking to me. And before I commit to my decision… I wanted to check in with you. I need to know that you’d be fully on board with having another baby as well. Can you think about it for the next few days and let me know your decision?

So he did. Bless his heart. I knew he was open to having another child, but I also wanted him to feel really clear about his decision.

I really wanted it to be a whole-hearted decision from both of us.

And he sat with it.

And I sat with it.

*

And on day three, he told me:

I do. I do want another baby.

And I said

I do

too.

And it’s just as beautiful an I do as the two times we got married (the first at a courthouse, the second days later by the sea). Just as much of a commitment to our love, our future, our family.

*

Days later, we were talking in the car.

And I asked him:

“Did you always want to have two kids.”

“I did. I always felt in my heart that we were destined to have more than one.”

“But in all those years of me telling you I only wanted one, you didn’t tell me that.”

“I know. I knew I just needed to respect your decision, and support you. I know it was a hard time for you the first time around. You are the one who would need to be pregnant and give birth, so I knew you needed to be able to make the decision you needed to make.”

I was speechless for a long while after that.

I was really touched by his grace, and love. I feel all the times he told me that it was okay for me to want what I wanted. That he understood my pain of Post Natal Depression and truly shitty family stuff, and how interwoven it was for me in the experience of having a child. He had my back. He was on my team. He honoured me as a woman, and as a mother, and as a female who really needed to have power over her own reproductive choices.

I actually am teary about that right now (bit of a wet post this one is… lucky it’s not a letter because it’d be all tear stained!)

Now I want to say this, lest you think my husband is a perfect being: we have a very human love relationship. We’ve fought and yelled and nearly broken up and deeply misunderstood each other. For a long time in the early years I didn’t know if we actually did have what it took to be a lifelong love relationship – we seemed to bump up against each other’s pains so often, we spoke different heart languages and argued every single week. I was very young and silly, he was not as young but still silly. We had so much emotional maturing to do.

And we did it together. We grew + got better at communicating. We healed our own shit. We learned how to get on each other’s team. We did counselling separately and together.

For some reason, we just stayed together. I so believed that I could see his highest self and that he could see mine, it was just our human bullshit getting in the way.

And I was right.

I wasn’t right about a lot of things – I was wrong about believing that he was supposed to save me, I was wrong about what love was supposed to look like, I was wrong that if he didn’t understand me he was “being an asshole.”

I didn’t see him for who he was because I had so much of my own stuff in between me and him, and he had so much of his own stuff too.

I see him more clearly now.

I don’t see him perfectly of course.

And I think it’s pretty exciting to think of how much more clearly I’ll see him in ten years, and twenty years, and fifty years.

I see him as himself. I see the immense grace and love he gives me. I see the deep blessings and lessons he has taught me (even when I railed on them to begin with).

I see his power and light and I see how he can take care of himself and his feelings (I used to think that was my job many years ago! How funny is that!)

I see him as being human and flawed and marvelous and magnificent all at once.

He continues to surprise me with his grace, wisdom + support.

And his support of my mothering-choices has been a very dear and deep blessing for me.

*

So, I got a little sidetracked there. Talking about love.

But it’s all important. It’s all inter-related.

So we decided.

We decided we were ready for another baby.

And I wrote a really, really long list of all the things that caused me pain the first time around.

All the things that made me think

“Fuck me! I can’t do this again!”

And I wrote a plan.

A plan of support. Of how I could do it differently. Of how I could be softer + kinder to myself.

It feels really effing good to have all my fears + pain written out, and how it could be different this time around.

*

I’m not going to do pregnancy, parenting or birth “perfectly” this time.

I’m not going to follow any theology except my own.

I will not prescribe to any parenting beliefs that do not serve me.

I’m doing this thing judgment-free.

I’m doing it with a huge amount of support and with self-care boundaries in place.

I’m not going to sacrifice myself on a sword to be a mama. I just don’t think that shit is good or happy for anyone.

I don’t know if I’m going to talk about exactly what parenting choices I make this time around (whilst we did it with Ostara, co-sleeping, breastfeeding, attachment parenting + natural birthing are all up in the air for a range of well-thought, well-discussed reasons that are very specific to physical conditions I have and what is right for my family this time around.)

I am absolutely not okay with any judgments/advice about this. I will delete and block any judgmental remarks about what I will or will not do this time around. I am not okay with any kind of “this one way of parenting will save the world and everything other way will fuck up your kids” kind of evangelism. I am not down with that kind of militant negativity at all. I reckon it’ll kill ya way quicker than anything else will. In fact, I know it will because I lived with that kind of judging “perfect mother” Nazi in my head and it broke my heart + my nervous system.

What I AM down with is:

Peeps letting peeps making whatever choices they need. Peeps respecting every family makes their own choices that are best for them. (I like this particular post on MODG about it actually.)

Women letting other women be who they are and do what they wish to do. Trusting in each other to make our own decisions.

I think this is all a really wonderful journey of learning complete acceptance for every possibility. Of knowing not too hold too firm to anything… except for love.

I never ever ever would have considered not breastfeeding… until I was struck with a very odd condition that makes my bones dislocate out of their sockets because I was breastfeeding. (FUN, RIGHT?)

And then I realised: hey, everyone has really, really specific needs. And blanket ideas of how things SHOULD work aren’t helpful to anyone. In fact, they often bring a great deal of pain.

*

Bodies are really, really different for everyone and need different things.

I talked to my new doctor yesterday. Gave her my long + complicated history of all the cray cray body things that happened last time (hyperaemeia, hypermobility = recurring dislocations of pelvis + jaw during pregnancy + breastfeeding, cystic breasts which resulted in constant blocked ducts and chronic recurring mastitis (8 times in a year including 3 late night emergency visits), pre and post natal depression and anxiety thanks to a sensitive nervous system that produces too much adrenaline when taxed). (We didn’t even get to touch on all the bullshit life stuff that went down!)

And she said:

You know Leonie, I completely understand why it took you a long time to be ready for number two. That’s a whole lot of really difficult things to cope with on top of having a baby. I’m going to be here to support you and any choices you make for this to be better this time around.

It was a real relief. Deep relief. To feel that much support.

*

It took me a long time to be ready to have another baby.

Because it took me a long, long time to understand…

that I don’t have to do it perfectly.

That I can be kind to myself during this process.

That I can give myself what I need during it.

I feel that now. I get that now. At last, at long last.

*

Every mama is making the best decision she can for her own family, and I reckon we need to love and support the shit out of her for it.

Maybe that’s something my husband can teach the wonderful lesson of:

That he let me decide what was okay for me. He loved me enough to let me be who I was and feel what I felt and need what I needed.

And that it’s also really, really okay for us to make a choice. And then make another choice.

*

Phwoar, this got a bit heavy laydeez. But so much is interwoven in it all.

*

I was sitting at mama craft morning the other day.

And I told the womenfolk there:

Ya, I think I’m ready for number 2.

And they were all:

WTF! I thought you were totally set on having just 1!

And I was all apologetic and:

I know! I know! And then… I changed my mind. I usually never backflip on decisions!

And one of them said, so sagely:

Ya know, that’s okay too you know. It’s okay to choose and choose again.

And another said:

It’s okay for you to do this differently you know. Every mama must.

*

This is one of the longest-winded-winding posts ever.

But I needed to get that out.

Needed to share what’s in my heart.

*

I’m really excited.

Really excited about what’s to come. Excited about when this little soul will decide to manifest in the physical world.

Excited about how I can do this differently… listening only to the book of my own intuition.

I know now that I can be so deeply supported during this whole thing. That I can take care of myself and tend to myself and give my body and soul what it needs.

That I can heal what needs healing on every level as it happens… not depriving myself of that kind of essential self and soul and body care.

And that feels so very exciting.

And what feels even more exciting is meeting this special little soul who was patient enough to wait for the right time…

and who I love already so very much.

*

Thank you, dear sisters, for being with me as I sit and share and process,

Thank you for allowing me to be who I am.

Thank you for sharing this winding, beautiful, astonishing, magical journey with me.

All my love,

When I was growing up I always thought I’d have a lot of kids.

Four to be exact.

Three boys named Dominic, Theodore and Bartholomew.

And one little girl with bright wide blue eyes and a curly mop of golden hair and a spirit that was strong and vibrant.

The funny thing though was this:

I never really dreamed about the boys.

Instead I’d always just picture the boys around the edges, on the verandah of the farmhouse.

And in the dream I’d be in the chookpen with my daughter, and she’d hold an egg in her hands and look up at me with those eyes as clear as sky.

I could see her and feel her and knew, deep in my bones, that my daughter would come for me.

*

I always just assumed I’d be a mother of a large family.

Perhaps because I came from a large family myself (one of five) with my dad being one of seven and my grandfather one of thirteen.

It just seemed like that was the way it should be.

When I talked to my love about how many kids we’d have, I was so insistent that we’d have at the barest of minimum two.

And he’d say gently, in that way of his:

Let’s just start with one, and see how it feels.

That man can be so wise.

*

And through the years between, the dreams still came:

a daughter. A fuzzy blonde haired girl.

One with a strong spirit.

Who was insistent that she would come through.

She was impatient and excitable.

In countless intuitive readings I’d hear:

your daughter is waiting. she wants to come through.

And I’d laugh, and say I know,

and knew when the time was right for me, for my love, for our future, we would say yes.

*

One Sunday afternoon, as light poured in the window, we knew it was time.

And we said yes with tears in our eyes.

Soon, we were pregnant.

And the moment the two lines appeared, my first thoughts were:

my daughter. she’s come for me.

 

 

I’ll always remember the moment we found out for sure she was a girl.

It was my 27th birthday, and I was over six months pregnant. It was our first ultrasound.

I remember the technician saying (ever so honestly):

There’s no better way of saying this:

If you see what looks like a penis and balls, it’s a boy.

But if you see three dots, it’s a girl.

And we held our breath…

and there it was. Three dots. Triple goddess.

My daughter.

My daughter has come for me.

And my full moon belly waxed and grew and bloomed and shone.

I still didn’t even consider it would be my last pregnancy though.

I had no idea when I’d want another baby, or if I’d want another boy or girl.

It never really entered my mind that there wouldn’t be one at all.

 

(Taken an hour before my waters broke. Remember when I used to have mermaid hair instead of pixie hair, peeps?)

And then she was born.

In the swell of an ocean wave, she swept from inside to out.

She was here. A tiny little mewling lion cub with wrinkled fists that reached out and clung to me.

She was bright eyed and here in the world.

And suddenly, we were three.

My daughter was here.

She had arrived, at last.

I think the expression on my face above says it all, really.

The Moment of Her Arrival.

The joy + certainty that she was destined to be here, and here she was.

*

Her placenta slipped out from inside me just moments later.

And with that, a mother was born.

And in the same wash of losing my placenta, so did I lose my calling to ever be pregnant again.

Here she was. All I ever wanted, really.

*

I think I ignored it for a while.

Ignored the tiny voice that I wouldn’t have another child.

In the weeks after she was born, I’d recite over and over again about how next time, I would do birth perfectly.

That instead of my birth-centre-waterbirth-plans-turned-induction-in-hospital-with-no-pain-meds-coz-I-hypnobirthed-like-a-mofo, I’d do it EXACTLY RIGHT NEXT TIME. I’d freebirth or homebirth or lotus birth or eat my placenta. You know, anything to be MORE PERFECT.

It’s probably that same perfectionist predilection inside me that caused me to have repetitive dreams for years of going back to high school just so I could get straight A+’s instead of mere mortal A’s.

I got over that dream of course.
Just as I got over the dream of doing birth “perfectly.”

*

And in the months that followed, as my tiny newborn turned into a fuzzy haired baby,

the tiny voice got louder. And louder. And louder.

It wasn’t a mean voice. It didn’t say

“OMG KIDS SUCK I AM NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN.”

(Okay sometimes it sounded a little like that.)

But most of all, it was just a strong woman’s voice:

“I’ve had my daughter. I don’t believe I have any more soul children to come through. I am so grateful to have my one beautiful daughter. I don’t wish to have any more.”

*

And I believed in that voice. I believed in that voice because it was my own. It was no longer about what I thought a good mother should look like, or what I used to think families looked like. It was my own. My truth.

So I started telling Chris.

We had long discussions. Long talks that carried through afternoons and in the hours before sleep came.

I cried often.

I felt guilt and shame and fear about what that made me if I wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted more than one child.

But I couldn’t ignore the voice:

I don’t believe I’m destined to have more children. There is not one cell inside me that sings to have more children.

We talked. A lot. Often. For months and years.

About each of our concerns and fears and beliefs.

*

Gratefully, thankfully, blessedly, he understood.

He supported my decision. He was open to more children, but understood that the lion’s share of the work of pregnancy, birth and babyhood would fall into my energy, my arms, my womb, my boobs, my sanity.

We talked for hours upon hours:

of what it meant to raise an only child. What we could do to cover any weaker points in only childhood. What was most important to us in our family values.

We discussed the possibilities of fostering and adopting. Right now, it’s not something that calls either of us.

And we decided:

It’s absolutely okay for us only to have one child.

Even if it wasn’t what I thought it would be like.

Even if I come from a long line of large families.

It was a reorientating of world views and family views until our poles shifted into place:

The most important thing for us is balance and happiness and making sure all three of us have our needs met.

*

I hedged my bets about not having more kids for a long time.

I’d say “I don’t know if it’s just because I have a 2 month old/6 month old/12 month old/18 month old right now, but I really don’t want any more kids. It’s probably just because I’m chronically sleep deprived HAHAHAHAAIT’SNOTTHATFUNNYBUTI’LLLAUGHANYWAY.”

*

It wasn’t.

I just don’t.

*

I still get comments.

Often.

When people ask me when I’ll be pregnant next.

Who are aghast when I say I won’t be.

Who believe I should have one just “as a playmate.”

*

And I look inside me, and there’s the truth:

I can’t. And I won’t.

I’m not able to fall pregnant again just for a playmate for a daughter.

I’m not able to go against this deep soul-calling of mine to only have one. I’m not able to risk Post Natal Depression again. I have no idea if I’ll end up with another super-sensitive “spirited” child who didn’t sleep and needed her mama so so so very much, or if I’d end up with one of those famed “easy babies”. On top of that, I’m pretty dang sure my nervous system is just way too sensitive to be happy to taken on the immense task of mothering two. And there’s just the voice: I only want one. I want the one I have. I’m not able to say Yes when so much of me says No.

I’m happy to arrange all the playdates I can. I’m happy to keep creating the happiest family environment possible. I’m happy to live in a multi-generational family home (my parents-in-law move in with us tomorrow!) I’m happy to do many things to make my daughter’s life be as joyous as possible – but I won’t carry another child in my womb for her.

*

I’ve listened to all the stories and made my own decisions.

I don’t believe in the myth of only children being spoilt or unsociable. Of families only being “finished” once there’s siblings.

My love – the man who I think is the most remarkable piece of humanity ever created – is an only child. One who never wanted siblings when he was growing up.

One of my longest standing and dearest friends – who also happens to be the most consistent, loyal and thoughtful person I’ve ever come across – was an only child on a remote outback station. She’s the person who – when calling to let you know she’s just given birth to her first child – asks how you’re settling in to your new town, how your husband and daughter are going, what’s really happening for you. (Yes, that really happened. Her thoughtfulness is astonishing.)

I love Ariel Meadow Stalling’s musings on her only-child life (she comes from a long line of only children & is continuing the tradition with her son): Why only children are awesome!

*

I also don’t believe that just because you give your child siblings it means for a perfect childhood.

Siblings don’t always get along, if at all. Inter-family abuse can happen. Kids die: I lost my eldest brother when I was 14.

I’m not saying that to be all “THESE ARE ALL VERY GOOD REASONS TO NOT HAVE MORE THAN ONE KID.”

I’m not saying that at all. I’ve been through all three of those possibilities, and I am actually grateful they happened – I learned deep and dear soul lessons from them.

I speak about them instead because so often we see evidence of what a family looks like in order to be whole or true or right.

And I think that’s bollocks.

A family looks like what it looks like.

A family can have one parent or four parents, zero kids or twelve. Kids can be human or they can be fur babies. They can come out our vag or cut out from our bellies or given to us through the belly of another woman or found at an animal rescue place or that sweet little face pressing their nose through to us at a pet shop. Family can be a group of people who love each other who pledge to stick it out together for life. Family can be extended or it can be tiny. It can be loud or it can be soft and quiet.

Family is just about belonging. Belonging to our selves, belonging to each other, building bonds with our hearts.

We each get to choose what is right for us.

*

I understand this is a subject that touches the walls of every soul’s dreams and wishes and beliefs – whether they’ve manifested or not.

I know that my decision is not the right decision for every woman out there.

I know that every family has to find their own happy place of what’s true and right for them – and sometimes that’s about all your dreams come true, and sometimes it’s a compromise.

I know not every couple has the same number in mind when it comes to children.

I know not every woman gets to choose how many (or if any) children she will or won’t have.

It’s an area fraught with so much emotion and belief and judgment.

Just as Neale Donald Walsh says in “Conversations with God”:

“The journey of the (parent) is one of the most difficult spiritual paths to take in the world… if not the most difficult.”

I just want to send love to every woman who has come up against this decision of:

will I? won’t I? why can’t I?

Regardless of what the answer is, I know it’s not always an easy answer to come to.

*

I talked to other women. Women who’d chosen one child because of their concerns about the planet. Women who didn’t get to choose. Women who’ve told me in tears that they get called a “part time mum” for only having one child. Women who chose and chose again. Women who’ve faced pressure to have one, or two, or not too many. I’ve listened to the story of women who’ve chosen to have as many children as wish to come through. Women who’d chosen one child because “I’d rather do one child well than two children badly.” Women (like the beautiful Rebecca Woolf) who’ve ended up with a stunning family larger than they expected and treated it as the destiny it was. Women who’ve had children spaced so far apart it was like having two or three only children. Women with six children who still cultivated their creative careers.

Each of them are remarkable and special and right.

Every one of our choices and lives (and surprises) is powerful and sacred.

Because they are our own.

*

I’m not pro-one child.

I’m pro-whatever-is-right-for-you.

I’m pro-compassion because I know sometimes life just happens to you.

I’m pro-woman and I’m pro-man.

I’m pro-soul.

I know none of this is easy, and I know we all do the best we can.

*

I’m immensely grateful that I have a choice. And that I’ve found peace with what I am wanting right now.

I also understand that one day I might completely change my mind. I don’t believe I will at all, but I know enough to know that the universe is wild and expansive and that unseen vistas appear at every corner.

But right now:

My heart + soul are that of a mother-of-one-child.

This particular constellation of cells longs for nothing more than that.

*

I want my daughter to know - by being a living example of it -

that it’s okay for her to choose what she wants.

Whether it’s to have zero kids or one kid or eighty-six million.

Whether she wants to attachment parent or if she thinks that’s the most ridunkulous thing ever.

Whether she wants to love or not love, whether she loves a man or a woman or someone who doesn’t identify as either or maybe she loves more people than one all at once.

Whether she wants to homeschool or unschool or send her kids to public school or some British boarding school where they still row and wear straw hats.

Whether she wants to work or be at home or a bit of both or join the circus or wherever the wind takes her.

That she gets that choice. She does.

Because it’s her life.

And she gets to choose what sings to her soul. What is right for her. What is right for her family.

*

And I’m going to love her, no matter what she wants.

Just as I’m going to love me too. For wanting what I want too.

I don’t know what is right for you. But I do know what is right for me.

And that’s all that matters.

I’m sending you so much love, kindness, compassion + understand for all the decisions you are called to make in your life.

I love you. I honour you. I see you.

All my love,