My very first Mother’s Day card. Am swelling with so much love & pride I might just burst at the seams! :-)

(Reposted with thanks from Huffington Post)

I have no idea how to do this.

I realize this truth at some point every day. When it hits me, I get roller-coaster belly and jelly knees, as the ground I thought I was standing on is suddenly gone. All that I had so proudly figured out yesterday no longer applies today. The knowledge that I’m flying blind, winging it, somehow left in charge of the entire well-being of this tiny human, is petrifying.

Before I had a baby I was barely able to keep plants alive. In fact, I prided myself on it. I was too full of myself, my work, to attend to the needs of dependents. I never babysat, didn’t have any aspirations for spending large amounts of time with kids and was uncomfortable holding newborns.

But now I have a daughter, a baby girl who is hungry, tired and screaming in the back seat because I still can’t figure out how to run errands, take care of the dog, see friends and get home in time for dinner and a bath before she passes out with tear-streaked cheeks squished against the car seat. At those moments, I close my eyes and tell myself (out loud) that I am not failing at this — but I usually don’t believe it.

This is the terrifying side of motherhood, the underbelly that no one talks about, or at least not in public circles. Sister-to-sister, we share our ugly truths and our deepest fears in our own private confessionals, reserved for those of us who have seen the shadowy side of “perfect mommy.” I liken us to shipwrecked survivors, each struggling on our own private islands, waving to each other as we float by or perhaps calling out a word or two of advice that helped us once.

We send our messages-in-a-bottle out to sea, but there is no real help in sight. It’s completely up to us to either sink or swim.

Then there is the unconscious side of motherhood, or the other 90 percent of the day, when I am just reacting. I don’t have time to consider the bigger picture, to mourn my old boobs or pine for a night out dancing, or to wallow in yesterday’s mistakes. I am unshowered and covered with remnants of quinoa/blueberry mush, and I hardly notice because my child won’t sit still for more than five seconds. Desperate to walk at only 9 months, she hurls herself into the unknown and bumps her head several times a day. With each blow my confidence as a mom drops: Could I have prevented that? Should I be baby-proofing the whole world? Watching her more closely? I can’t even answer my own questions because I am too exhausted to think straight. To be honest, I am so sleep-deprived that I forget really important things, like paying bills and turning off the stove. This short blog has taken me weeks to write.

But I count myself lucky that I have some training for this. I had an early career that prepared me for thinking on my feet and sleeping in short bursts. After years of promoting human rights in areas of armed conflict, those skills alone, honed on the actual battlefield, are helping me survive the unfamiliar landscape of motherhood.

I am doing my best to tread water and stay afloat, but there are many days when I wake up wondering where I’m going to find the strength to keep kicking.

And then there are occasional moments of public shame when I run into a smiling supermom who has somehow lost all of her baby weight, looks like she got eight hours of sleep last night and thinks being a mom is just the greatest job in the world.

“Oh, hi!” she yells loudly across the parking lot. And then, in one quick burst, “Oh my gosh, it’s been forever! How are you? Wow, is this your little girl? How do you like being a mom? Don’t you just love it?”

I throw out my best fake grin (the one that never touches my eyes) and mutter something about how I think I do love it… I mean, I love her… I mean, yeah I like it… a lot… mostly. Then I change the subject, because no one wants to hear about the hard stuff.

And yet when I talk honestly with fellow moms, the truth always comes out. They too are having a difficult time; they too have lost themselves. Lonely and isolated, they too had no idea it would be this hard. In the past few weeks alone, three other moms have asked me to write about it, to reveal the truth behind the mask we so bravely put on each morning. And I am nothing if not a truth-teller, have risked my life several times over to bring information to light, and I suppose this is no different.

Let me put it into perspective:

I once spent five weeks sleeping in three- to five-hour shifts, barely eating or bathing, while monitoring the whereabouts of 70 human rights activists risking their lives on the ground at the Beijing Olympics, protesting for Tibetan independence. Now after nine months of full-time motherhood, I find myself longing for the personal freedoms I had during that Olympic Campaign.

Before motherhood I had no idea what real sacrifice looked like, which is saying something when you consider that I spent time in Chinese detention, was kidnapped in Sri Lanka and held at gunpoint by rebels in the Congo. From my unique point of view, three sleepless days of interrogation by the Chinese police was much, much easier than this.

As an activist, I got to choose when and where I offered my help and my time. When I felt spent, I would tag-out, taking my turn to rest and recuperate. My life was full of new and exciting experiences, traveling to places few people have seen, making choices and decisions on a whim, exploring, activating, accomplishing big goals. I was the destroyer of routine, determined not to fall asleep at the wheel of life.

But now I reign queen in the land of routine. Cultivating plans weeks in advance, thinking about dinner at 10:30 in the morning, rushing home for a 5:30 bath like the world depended on it. I do it because my daughter needs it, because her world does depend on it. She laughs and flaps her arms with joy when she recognizes people and places; she feels safe and sleeps better when we go through our pre-bedtime ritual. She loves doing the same thing over and over again.

The more I surrender to this merry-go-round existence, the easier the whole parenthood thing becomes — but the foggier my life becomes.

People used to ask me if I was scared to do the work I do, traveling in and out of war zones, tempting fate. And I would say, “Yeah, of course I’m scared. But I’m more afraid not to do it, to fall asleep and miss my life while doing the same thing everyday just because it’s safe.”

In her excellent book “Making Space for Children,” Virginia Hilliker writes to parents, “Good news: Each moment is new,” meaning that as parents we have the opportunity to relate to the world through our children, with fresh eyes, from moment to moment. Regardless of yesterday’s missteps, we can start fresh each day, each moment. People spend years in meditation trying to gain this very view of the world.

And this, I’m learning, is the difference.

My fear of routine, of each day resembling the next, is obliterated by the wondrous beginner’s mind that my baby exhibits. After months of taking a bath in the same tub, she suddenly discovers the drain and learns that she can pull the plug and become the master of water! This realization manifests as a wide-eyed, two-tooth smile that quickly becomes a raucous laughter that shakes her entire being. Tonight’s bath is new.

This is why I fell in love with traveling. Waking up each day in a different place, with new sounds and new tastes, makes you feel alive as the world around you suddenly appears in Technicolor. It is addicting and exciting to surround yourself with the unknown.

I would often experience culture shock upon retuning home to the U.S., falling into a depression at the complete lack of luster I felt in familiar surroundings. I longed to be tested, to grow with each new sight, to expand my understanding of the world and my place in it… to become the master of water again.

With each new achievement, my daughter is teaching me to remember the wonder that surrounds us. The fact that one surface is hard while the other one is squishy is magical, when you really think about it. The very first taste of mango is divine, and flowers can pop up anywhere, even in the middle of concrete fields. And even though from the outside today looks exactly like yesterday, nothing is the same in her eyes. In fact, everything, everyday, is brand new again.

So for now, this is how I will travel. I will get down on all fours and crawl above her, seeing the world from her perspective, finding amazement in a springy doorstop or the sound of Tupperware on tile. I will strive to approach each bath-time with the anticipation of an early explorer diving into uncharted waters.

This has become my meditation, my practice, as a new mom. I hope it will bring some relief to the other not-so-in-love-with-this moms out there, struggling to find joy amidst the mundane. This is the mantra that I chant through the sleep-deprived haze of my days, trying to remain fascinated about what tomorrow will bring:

“Each moment is new… Each moment is new… Each moment is new.”

Do you have an ugly truth to share? What strategies do you use to transform routine into awakened mind? Let’s start talking about it. Please comment below.

Truthfully,

Kiri Westby
Change-maker/Rule-Breaker/Story-teller

Wanna make your single friends all uncomfortable and tense? Simply dump your 2 month old baby in their arms and watch in amusement. Tried and tested formula.

Can I have those delicious looking drumsticks please?

Together with those hamburger buns thankewverimuch!

A few people had came to me before and told me of their “magical” experience with childbirth. They claimed that the minute they saw their bundles of creamy joy being put on their chest, they forgot all the excruciating pain and bla bla bla… dah dah dah…

I will not hesitate to tell the truth about my birthing experience too. That it was a horrific one.

I had woken up bleeding in the ungodly hours of the night and alone because D-man was away serving the army. I showered and packed my bag before hailing a cab to the hospital. Upon admitting myself, I was told that I needed an emergency c-section right away due to a complication with my placenta. As the doctor goes on to explain the procedure, I had already zoomed out and was in my mind counting the number of hours I had wasted on researching the benefits of drug-free childbirth, the time and dollars spent on pre-natal yoga, consultations with a doula etc, all just to gear up for the much raved about natural labour.

It would be pure hypocrisy to say I was not disappointed with the method of delivery. It certainly doesn’t help that everyone around you are committed advocates of natural childbirth. But did it made me any less of a mother? Hell no, and my sentiments are shared by all my loved ones.

What I am really saying is…if you kicked the kerb & tripped into the same emotional manhole of blaming yourself for a less than perfect birth experience (whatever that is), it’s ok. Just get up, swear, brush the dirt off yourself and move on. The roses and rainbow are right ahead, and will be personally delivered to you by your very own cherub

I absolutely not want to be one of those annoying parents who has 10 Facebook albums of their baby despite the kid being only 2 weeks old. And don’t get me talking about those mums who start and end all their conversations with “my baby..”.

But I realize it’s pretty damn hard not to share pictures as adorable as these…

What are you hiding in your cheeks sweetheart?

I’ll totally understand though if you decide never to come to this site again.

Love,
Addict

It’s been quite a while. The fact that I still remember how to turn on the computer and type this is a miracle by itself.  Do forgive me though, for you see, I’ve been involved in the mega project of colossal scale.

Meet the latest member of the Peonies family!!!

In between endless feedings and diaper changes, I will try to update my beloved blog but if I don’t, you know why (especially all the mommies out there. Btw here’s a long overdue salute!).

What’s white, sticky, cute and totally addictive?

I wish I had one of these swaddling blankets when I was a baby. Then maybe I would have had a chance at being completely balanced and normal. Whatever normal means.

Yes I was kidding. But it is true swaddling blankets have been all the rage these years. Some brilliant person found out that babies are more at ease and funkier when constrained and wrapped up like a present. They sleep better and longer and cry less. Because they really are the needy, insecured noise makers we think they are. :)

2-different sides with hoodies on each.

It was fun & pretty painless to make this nevertheless, and friends (you know who you are), if you are expecting a beanie of your own please ask for one from me. I’ll be more than happy to make you one. As long as you give your first born to me.

Yes I was kidding again.

Second or third born ones works just as well. Offer while stocks last.

Ok so how do you swaddle with this blankie. Let me bring on my assistant for a free demo.

First put baby on blanket with head towards the hoodie (duh!)

Fold up the opposite corner with the other hoodie and tuck baby’s chubby layered legs under it.

Fold down from the left hand corner and secure from baby’s right shoulder (doesn’t matter which side you start from)

Bring up the bottom left corner (same side where you started from) to tuck over baby’s left shoulder.

Repeat on the other side and fold down from the right hand corner and secure from baby’s left shoulder

Pull the remaining corner tight..

and wind around the back..

using the corner to tuck into the blankie.

Presto! you have a happy contented baby!

At least for a few precious minutes.

A couple of you asked me why I started sewing and like I mentioned, I was inspired an antique patchwork baby blanket made for my by my paternal great grandmother. I still keep the blanket till today but because its so old, it’s disintegrated into shreds and I’m so afraid to use it least it turns into dust. Bear in mind that when virtuous housewives of ancient times make patchwork, the fabrics were remnants of old clothings, unlike now where we often buy new materials for a desired pattern. The older folks know a thing or two about recycling.

So I decided to start this restoration project. I cut adequate fabric, hem them, and hand sew the pieces over torn patches. Some say it’s not sustainable because the other fabric would start to tear as well but let’s worry about that later. At least for now, I can hand down a true piece of antique to our beanie who’s about to meet the world.

This was the condition of many of those pieces before.

and after the cover-up is sewn over.

The finished product (sans the ironing sorry)

The initial plan was to make a baby sized blanket with a ladybird theme because ladybirds are deemed to bring good luck. But of course the I let my over-zealousness take over and I ended up with a teen sized blanket.

Who is excessive? Not me! Nek!

Pop up hand-sewn appliques are a nightmare to make but extremely gratifying when completed.

A big part of the project was made with recycled fabric remnants…

pieced together in harmony. Her first baby steps to being green! :)

That’s the back of the blanket…

flaunted by these lovely international dollies.

Well at least her birthday presents for 12 years has been sorted out!