Unravelled: Life as a Mother - Maria Housden

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nose and blotted tears from my cheeks. My eyes fell on the kneeling bench, along the wall, beneath the second window. I stood up and walked over to it, then slowly lowered my knees until they rested on the padded edge. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes and breathed. Gradually, as I allowed myself to rest there, I felt my heart begin to beat more slowly and a sense of calm filled me.

      I became aware that even though my children and I were not in the same place, in some important way we shared the same heart. And my responsibility to them, to my family, was to use this time on my own to grow ever more appreciative and stronger. Then, and only then, I would be a better mother for having gone away.

       Heart on a Limb

       Claude and I were holding hands, our bare feet making side-by-side tracks in the white sand. Will, his bare bottom already tanned from days in the Florida sun, ran ahead, chasing sandpipers fanning across the beach in waves.

       Weeks before, when Claude had asked me where I wanted to go on vacation, I had said, ‘California’ as I always did. We had both laughed when he replied, ‘No, I’ve already been there. Let’s go somewhere else,’ because that was what he always said.

       After having endured the shared pain and disappointment of two miscarriages in the past year, all the ways we were predictable together felt like a tremendous relief. It was also true that another baby was now alive and growing in me. This pregnancy, three and a half months along, seemed to have passed the critical point. I was finally coming closer to being the mother I had always wanted to be, now that we were making the leap from one child to two.

       As Claude and I walked along, following Will, I savoured the feeling of my smaller hand in Claude’s larger one. It was comforting to feel his presence, his strength beside me. Inhaling the salty air, I was aware of a deep sense of contentment rising in my bones, and I prayed that Claude was feeling it too. Losing the two pregnancies had catapulted each of us into a kind of isolated aloneness as we tried to cope with our disappointment and grief. At the same time, we had been brought closer together, feeling more determined than ever to create the larger family we both wanted.

       Ahead of us, Will stopped short, turned, and began running fullspeed towards Claude and me with arms outstretched. ‘Mommy,’ he said, wrapping his arms around my legs, ‘I want to give our new baby a kiss.’

       Claude and I smiled at each other as I bent down on one knee and lifted my shirt. Will leaned over, ran his small hands over the top of my bulging belly and gently gave it a kiss. As Will stood up, Claude reached down and swung him up into his arms.

       ‘Hey, buddy, do you want a baby brother or a baby sister?’ he asked.

       ‘Oh, Daddy,’Will replied, ‘I want a big brother, bigger than me!’

       Poetry

       I stumbled into Hannah’s room, barely able to open my eyes as I made my way in the dark. My full, aching breasts had begun leaking down the front of my nightgown at the sound of her first cry. The light of the moon filtered softly through the blinds as I lifted Hannah out of the crib, settled into the rocking chair and she began to nurse. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and drifted off into some version of sleep. I felt a part of myself carried into the dark behind my eyes and lowered into a deep pool, while the rest of my body, although exhausted, stayed awake, aware of the soft weight of Hannah’s diapered bottom in the palm of my hand.

       I lost track of time and place as the two of us drifted there. Just as when she was inside my body only months before, it seemed as if there was no distinction between us. The only movement was my rocking and the back and forth sucking of Hannah’s lips, the only sensation the tingly drawing down of the milk from deep inside my breast.

       Eventually, Hannah’s sucking began to slow and, not wanting her to fall asleep before finishing, I raised my head from the back of the chair and slipped a finger between her lips and my swollen nipple to break the suction. As I lifted her away from my breast, a few drops of milk spilled warm from her mouth onto my skin. I lightly kissed the top of her forehead, one, two, three times, and then lay her against my body again, guiding her mouth to my other nipple before she had a chance to protest. I smiled as her tiny fist closed around one of my fingers and she nuzzled closer and began to nurse.

       As I gazed at her in the moonlight, at her long lashes lying against the translucent skin on her cheek, I felt myself drawn into a softer more primal awareness of the night. This silence, I knew, was the secret source of every mother’s strength, a place where the quietest work of the universe happens, while the rest of the world sleeps.

       Showdown with Robin Hood

       It was a showdown between Robin Hood from the Dark Side and me, his mother. Will, now four years old, stood defiantly, hand on his hip, wearing a pair of green tights, a green felt cape and a red cowboy hat. A plastic bow hung like a necklace around his neck. In his other fist, he was gripping an arrow, jabbing it in my direction.

       ‘Grrrrrrr…’ he growled, his face scrunched into a fierce grimace, teeth clenched together.

       I stayed where I was, three feet away. Crazy with fury – I had passed angry long ago – if he moved any closer, I thought, I might grab him, whack his bottom and stuff him in a closet. At that point I would have done anything to make him stop. Two hours before, I had been congratulating myself on having orchestrated a perfect day. How fast my fortune had changed.

       Earlier that morning, I had woken before anyone else, washed my hair, put on make-up and packed the diaper bag. When the kids and Claude woke, I had unloaded the dishwasher and packed Claude’s lunch, then spoon-fed Hannah in her high chair while Claude and Will ate breakfast. Later, after Claude left for work, I had dressed Hannah in new pink overalls and said a brief prayer of thanks when Will, without argument, agreed to wear a clean pair of jeans and a matching shirt.

       Well-rested and organized with two perfectly groomed children in tow, I had arrived at Friday-morning playgroup promptly at 10 am. Sitting at my friend Karen’s kitchen table, sipping coffee with the other mothers, I had breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Although being a mother felt the most natural thing to me, whenever I compared myself to others, I felt an anxiety that I wasn’t doing it the way it was supposed to be done. I listened without comment while friends obsessed over their children’s diets – whether foods were organic or contained too much sugar – too embarrassed to admit that I had, more than once, opened a bag of Oreo cookies at 9.00 in the morning simply to keep Will quiet in the car.

       That wasn’t the only secret I was harbouring.

       Something was happening with Will. In the past few months, he had begun talking back and openly defying me, sometimes poking and pushing other kids. It was as if he were overdosing on testosterone. I had patience with him at first – my parents had spanked me when I was a child, and I had vowed not to revisit the same sin on my children. I was on a mission to create perfect children by being the perfectly loving, non-violent mother.

       But, as the days and weeks wore on, Will’s behaviour hadn’t changed. In fact, it seemed to get worse. And so did I. I had started yelling, which initially appeared to shock him into listening. But then he got used to it and began to ignore me again. I had tried putting him in time-outs next, but when he refused to stay in one place, I would get angrier, grab him and roughly sit him on the edge of the bed. Finally, I began spanking him – not hard or often, but enough to feel ashamed and sorry later. I also made plenty of tearful apologies to him after, which only seemed to confuse him more. But I was at a loss at what to do, and it seemed that whenever I got aggressive and angry, Will’s defiant, aggressive behaviour stopped. I desperately wanted

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