Tag Archive | self-help

Zen and the Art of Motherhood

Dear Max

When you were born, I was more overwhelmed by the future than the present, and was totally freaked out by worries of school, your barmitzvah, girls, hormones, who would fetch you from sports practice, what would happen if kids picked on you in school, what if you stopped speaking to us if we didn’t buy you the latest Wii game. The nappies, sleep and burping took care of themselves as I got anxious over stuff whose dates didn’t even appear on my Blackberry they’re so far ahead.

And then I started watching you with more purpose than simply ogling over the most perfect being in the world; I began thinking that babies and kids have got it all right – you’re in The Moment all the time, not regretting milk that was spilt the day before, nor worrying about nappy rash that could crop up next week. And while I know your little brains are built like that for now, I’m still taking it as a lesson to feel whatever needs feeling right now, and to allow it to pass when it’s ready. I’ve read so many self-help and Buddhist books that have this very premise at its core, but nothing hits this point quite like watching you enjoy a strawberry wholly, crying when you bump yourself and then forget about it once you’ve recovered, playing with a spoon as if it was all that existed in the world, or falling asleep immediately with a quiet mind.

So little dude, once again I look and learn from you and try to be present and mindful, and to take the mothering thing one step at a time. This doesn’t mean I’m not considering the future, or saving up for school/university, or starting to put your name down for every school (it’s so hectic out there – I hope we’re not “late” at your age of 15 months!), it just means I’m trying to be a little bit happier right now, rather than being consumed by anxiety over things I don’t really have control over. But hey, I do have control over my weight, and it’s never too early to start getting into good shape for your barmitzvah, right? 😉

Love Mom