How the life of a mother evolves…When I got into motherhood more than four years ago, I had no idea what I was getting into. Now four years into it, I’m learning what this is possibly about.

Patience. Enormous patience. Patience with oneself, patience with our partner, with our child, with others. Kindness. Kindness in those moments when we don’t know what is wrong, or what is happening. We don’t know why. Kindness and softening. That to me, appears to be a life-long learning. And the indescribable love and delight in life. Truly opening to what life has to offer – the not knowing, the mysteries and the day-to-day joys. When Anjali and I share our cuddles, I am complete and healed from every possible wound and hurt, internal and external. This embrace, loving, completely accepting is something I am always touched by. Sometimes if I am particularly overwhelmed, or my daughter is, we will do one-minute hugs. Just sit and hug for a complete minute with no agenda in mind. I love those moments!

Perhaps all children have this amazing capacity of appreciation and being present. I see when watching Anji’s buddies at school playing – how much fun kids have. We as adults are so much jaded. They seem so much more into adventure and lack of worrying about the future or self-critisicm about the past. When I am truly stressed, that is usually a sign that I need to be attentive and observe more and do less. It doesn’t take long for my daughter to inspire me. Perhaps it is the patience and presence she brings into her moment – whether she is beading, drawing or leaping joyously across our living room rug pretending to be a princess or on the beach. The innate capacity we all have to entertain, enliven and be happy is so inspiring to me. When I read books to her, or when I make up stories, which has been the new favorite thing, I feel connected to the flow of life. Present somehow. Wiser somehow. This is it. this is the joy I too felt when I was a child – of discovering something new, the thrill of learning something different, of figuring it out, of finding my own capacity to do something. And it all comes back. Maybe being a mother is at the end, about being a child all over again.

I don’t have all the words – perhaps I never will. Staying indoors, reflecting on this cold January afternoon seems to be right in expressing some of this…maybe more will come later… I would love to hear from others…

Peace and warmth to you,
Shuba