Mommy’s Groove

It’s been a bit quiet around Mommy’s Groove recently. It’s not that I haven’t been living the groove every day — but rather that living the groove has kept me away from writing. (more…)

Fifteen days of blissful gazing into the eyes of your newborn, resting, nursing and finding that Zen Momma place reads like an idyllic start to a new life together. But who can actually stay in bed for 15 days?? You’ve got new grandparents clamouring at the door, a bundle of joy to show off and your brain is accustomed to multi-tasking 16 things. Lying-in is not for you, right? Don’t write it off so quickly. (more…)

When I looked over the island counter in the kitchen and saw two young beaming faces my heart melted and I was charged to sustain the joy they were feeling. They weren’t opening a Christmas gift or watching Dora walk through our house, they were watching my husband and I kiss. (more…)

I’ve had a flood of memories of fecal matter strewn about the room since reading recent entries from Her Bad Mother. I love how shit stories connect mothers via the funny-bone where parenting styles might otherwise separate them. (more…)

Eyes bright with wonder and excitement, my daughter looks to me to explain to her the many contradictions of the Christmas season. She doesn’t describe them to me that way, but they feel that way coming out of my mouth. At the heart of it is my on-going concern — that my kids will take for granted their good fortune, now and all year. (more…)

In my part of the world the winter is slowly creeping up on us. We’ve moved in the last few days from double digit autumn warmth, to low single digits with many millimetres of rain falling. Our northern neighbours are getting freezing rain, snow and high winds. Clearly it’s time to bunker-down for the true trials of winter: common illnesses. (more…)

I’ve had a number of people e-mail me requesting the prescription for lying-in which I talk about in the September-October 2006 issue of Mothering. The “prescription” comes out of Bridget Lynch’s many years of clinical work, research and post-doctoral writing and I was blessed to have received the lessons as part of my experience. I look forward to one day reading about the history and clinical results she observed, and if and when that time comes, I will write here about where to find it.

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Etched in my memory are the feelings — trepidation, excitement, FEAR and quiet contentment — which jerked my body around in the final weeks before my first child was born.

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When I began to wonder who was in charge of my state of being, I was 7 months pregnant. I had expected to feel the presence of my baby by that point, but the eye-wandering distraction which came to envelop me, caught me off-guard. One day it was upon me and I could not get back to “myself”. My laser sharp focus, intuitive observations and crisp synthesization slipped through my grasp, seemingly gone forever.

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The downside of all the sharing we do with our pregnant sisters is that it’s really hard to filter our advice and experiences as so not to allow negative emotions — fear, sadness, guilt or regret — in our own experiences to seep into the conversation. I found when I was pregnant, I was so open to everything floating by that it was easy to absorb the emotions behind the stories that were being shared in good faith (hence I donned the emotional flak jacket). How can you stop your cervix from pulling in when you hear about 32 hours of labour, petocin drips and tears which seemed never to end? It kinda burns a hole in your no-yet penned birth plan!

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