Letter to Alannah

This article first published in Elephant Journal yesterday...

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/10/letter-to-alannah-catherine-wilkie/

Alannah…..a leanbh, from the Gaelic phrase for dear child

Dear Alannah

Today you are all of 6 weeks old, and this is a benchmark day for both of us. For you, it is the magic marker where all the experts say that you are settling into ‘yourself’ and ‘settling down’ – settling into what I wonder? I assume this means growing accustomed to life outside the womb - the power house of all human life; getting used to life beyond the selfless placenta and the clever umbilical cord that kept you nourished and sated for the 40 odd weeks that you were a passenger in my body. It’s only now that I can begin to appreciate the huge changes that you’ve experienced already in your very short life – from unborn to shell-shocked newborn and now to cradle-wise six week old, feeling your way in a brand new world. Sometimes I wish that I could ask you what you see and how you feel, but it’s enough that you trust us to guide and guard you through this time, this becoming.

Keeping a tight grip on the world 

When you were born, I watched you tumbling out of me and all I could say in response to those midwives frenetically commentating around me – to register my awareness for them and assure them that I was with it - was ‘oh my god’. The words were spoken softly and quietly, almost to myself – a dramatic contrast to the cries of the mother seconds before that had accompanied those last, desperate pushes. There was no more crying after that; all the tremendous pain was forgotten - straight onto the next chapter. I watched the scene as they presented you to me as if it was an out of body experience and I remained outside. There you were, part covered in sticky white vernix and the rest of you underneath all pink and wonderfully alive. I was stunned, shocked, silenced, the sound box muted.

What was next? After all that time getting through pregnancy, getting from one week to the next, psyching myself up for labour, getting through the shopping list of must-haves and basic needs to see you through those first few days, and most importantly - staying calm (daily pranayama and meditation without breath retention was a powerful aid).

And then you were there.

They – the heroic midwives - left us alone together, all bunched up on the delivery bed, our first meeting together – you, your father and I. We gazed into your bright blue eyes gaping wide as they took in the light for the first time. What was that like Alannah? Your first breath – your first gasp of air? The first sensation of cold versus warmth as they weighed you naked and checked to make sure you were perfect and then brought you shivering and crying to my chest. Nestling there under soft pink cotton shirt against my skin that was warm and tanned from sitting in the garden while waiting for you all summer long - you lay there and took it all in. You, newborn warrior - no fear, no worry, no concerns despite your complete and utter helplessness and dependence upon on us, the newborn parents.

Those first few days in the hospital you kept a firm grip on both us – your father held you in his arms for as long as he could and then in the night time when everyone was sent home, we got to know each other. We sat together, we lay down together, we walked around the room together and mostly we had cuddles together – both of us learning about a closeness and a nurturing that neither of us could fathom the depth of in that brief and magical first few days. We were both just following instinct, as we still are.

Since that time you’ve never been more than 50 yards from me – just about the distance from the kitchen to the bottom of the garden or from one end of the shop to the other, safe in your loving father’s care on our brief excursions to the outside world. You have met the rest of your family, and some of your neighbours too, and you have enraptured them with your alertness and those eyes that hypnotise the beholder and slow time as you work your newborn magic.  From early morning, hunger takes precedence and that must be satisfied. But feeding is followed by quality ‘you time’ when you are enthroned in your chair to watch white and steel gray clouds move rapidly past and cover the great glowing fireball in the sky in this very wet and very Irish October. This is the time when you explore your own ability to make sounds and I imagine you are matching them to the abstract paintings that the sky has gifted for you.

Your newly developed smiles are enough reward for the fragmented sleep sessions and the constant care that you must receive these days. The constant demands don’t bother me. Time spent before is left in the past, and what will come will come, but this is my job – my only cause for attention - for now.

And other rewards? There is the utter peace and calm when you are latched on feeding with such naturalness and sheer infant grace that all I can do is gaze down into your eyes hypnotized, while allowing your fumbling fingers to wrap around my own giant sized thumb. When we are like this, I say to myself and to you that this is only the beginning, that in some shape or form I will hold your hand all the days that I can – for all the days that are left of my life. Because I am yours and you are mine – not in some crazy psychotic way – but in the only way that matters for a mother and a daughter. Because that is what we are now – I am mother, and you are daughter. I wonder sometimes did my own mother feel the same or did she have that luxury in her world where there were already three that came before? I doubt it.

And what of me? Today is the end of the six weeks and I ‘should’ be completely and totally ‘healed’ of the whole experience of pregnancy and childbirth. The obvious external wounds have healed, all thanks to the powers of the human body’s ability to self-heal. The internal changes I will assume to have been undone and all has reverted to the norm – all organs back in their place and squeezed intestines reverting to previous un-pinched strongholds. I still can’t believe that you were in there, living and growing inside me. Out of sight, yet presence made known by precious and intense phases of kicking and hiccupping – mostly at night, but enough assurance to send me to sleep smiling.

In these first six weeks it has been take it as it comes – the newness of it all. It is a case of focusing on the things that you need and what I must do to provide. Instinct has dictated so far, and I will continue to go with that. Sometimes it may be useful to call on the wisdom and experience of those who have gone before, but this is our journey and I have to trust that everything I need is in me, and everything that you need, you will tell me – in the only way that you can, and in the only the way that we will understand.

At some point in the future I will look back on this time and appreciate my own changes, my own becoming, my own journey as newborn mother. But for now, my gaze is held firmly in the present and my mind totally in this moment. As the days pass and turn to night and back again, as you feed and grow and become aware; as I listen, and learn and surrender, we are mindful together, mother and daughter. It leads me to wonder who is the student and who is the teacher?

Le míle grá a leanbh

Do Mhamaí

Pyjama Days (and a bit of food for thought)

These are days of rain and winds around the Holly Cottage. The tall beech trees that line the walls of Charleville are getting a beating up there in the sky kingdom of the tree crowns and the leaves are tumbling effortlessly down - spiralling down, down, down. Right now - to the south - the sky is smoky grey and there is a hint of a rainbow fading in. To the east the sky is bright and clear, the sun casting a golden hue on the rain and wind beaten trees to the south and west. 

We are cosied up inside, everyone still in pyjamas - for these are the pyjama days ;) Yesterday the rain kept us in until way past four so it was a popcorn-on-the-couch-with-movies day. Pyjamas were swapped in the late afternoon for a walk in the leaf strewn woods, only to be hit by a torrential shower that made it through the now, very patchy canopy to the three musketeers below - Holly sniffing out the trail and the acorns, Alannah sleeping in her chest pressed harness and me just getting soaked. All three happy out in the wind and rain and mud - lovely.   The emergency back up was called on though and we were rescued and brought back to the warmth of the Holly Cottage for tea and cakes. The cakes were left behind by a friend not seen in an age, and we had spent a good couple of hours catching up that morning while watching the wind battle with the trees and the rains fire on the roofs of houses beyond the Holly Cottage garden wall.

Big bear...

Today will probably be the same. We've been up a few times already of course. Alannah likes to feed through the night so I seem to be living in a sleep walking state - mental note: must try to get more sleep during the day, but then it always seems such a shame to miss the daylight hours, however rain soaked they are. We managed a few trips out the last week - shopping and browsing, going for lunch and outdoor coffees where possible. It's amazing how you start to see babies everywhere though - everywhere we go they seem to be 'taking over'. Apparently it's a symptom of having your own. It's hilarious as I step back and view the scene as I find myself comparing them all to Alannah or checking out the brand make of buggy or car seat. Such things were completely un-noticed in the past. Funny how things change. 

Not so big bear....?

As for herself - she's still growing, still feeding, still smiling. There are gurgles now and more little laughs - absolutely adorable. And most of the gurgling happens around the 3am/4am mark when really you are questioning your ability to function as you wrestle with (at other times) straight forward nappy changing. She's definitely more alert too - Alannah that is. I on the other hand seem to be slipping gradually into a permanent state of sleep deprived zombieness. Somebody somewhere called it a 'mombie' state and it's a good fit. We'll just take it as it comes. Holly's unfaltering loyalty, despite losing her place in the pack, has been a great relief and un-necessary cause for concern pre-arrival. And more importantly, the unconditional minding by Number 1 Dad is keeping us all safe and sane, fed and loved, laughing and miraculously good humoured, in the here in the now.

It hasn't been all just sleeping though. There's still harvesting in the garden - up on 10kg of red juicy tomatoes in the freezer now, bags of bright red chillis and crisp tasty apples in a bowl on the table for immediate consumption. Sweet peppers are nearly gone, they did best in the greenhouse while outdoor plants  are way behind and doubtful if the remaining hanging peppers will ripen - we shall see. Yesterday was also the day for slow cooking-down of the last of the green tomatoes into a delicious sweet chutney (http://hcottage.blogspot.ie/2012/10/shades-of-caribbean-roti-licious.html) while the man came close to a near-perfect hot pepper sauce. It's all about trial and error really, and every time you cook something it's different tasting. Maybe it's the mood you're in or maybe it's that extra shake of salt or pepper, or one too many scotch bonnets ;) It's all good whatever the outcome.

On another level, we've been watching a lot of youtube these days. In particular the work by the Zeitgeist Movement which is under the stewardship of social activist and musician Peter Joseph. Interesting yet slightly depressing stuff. Check it out for another perspective on global economics. I'm still digesting some of the material, but it it is certainly food for thought, particularly the stuff about the 'economic hitmen'. I always feel so naive and hoodwinked when I see or read about these things - and you question whether we are all puppets in a very corrupt system. It's a bank holiday so plenty of time to check it out, also check out John Perkins' book and website www.economichitman.com

And so, enjoy your pyjama days in the rain - sometimes it's good to just sit and watch the rain fall down. And as you sip on your tea and enjoy your cake shared with friends, take a different perspective and ask some questions about how you live and how you would like to live, and how you would like your society to be. Nothing heavy, just take it at your own pace. It's amazing what a change in perspective can do - you might even decide to change the world, but start big - start with yourself ;) That is if you feel you need it...

Fruit and nut (and some leaves too!) fall

Crunchy beech

It's a dangerous place these days - walking in the woods that is. You run the risk of either being caught in the line of fire of masses of acorns ready to surrender to the draw of the earth, or a shower of drying leaves that are destined to fall to provide the essential ammunition for earthworms and other recyclers of the forest trenches. It's a beautiful place now and even though I love summer, I love autumn best when it appears to us as it has done the last few days - mist-shrouded mornings followed by golden sunshine and leaf-kicking-perfect afternoons before red sky at night takes over just about teatime. 

It's back to walking every day now so no more just wishing I was out there. And there's a feast of colour to be found as reward - sloe and haw berries, acorns and chestnuts, and every shade of leaf on twig and branch and forest floor. Holly has developed a love of acorns so the walking is slowing down a bit as she snacks en route. Alannah is oblivious as she rides in the tight sling and buries her head in the warmth of mother or father's chest. I had to shield her head from unexpected acorn fire a few times - motherhood brings all sorts of new jobs and roles, some expected and most very unexpected! 

Time out from wandering the woods

We follow the same path most days - down the long oak lined avenue to Charleville Castle, off on a tangent to say hello to the majestic beech with abundance of crisp brown leaves carpeting our feet, up and over fallen ivy laden tumbled down pine trunks and then a sharp left turn before the crumbling gates of the castle, and then we tunnel uphill through infestuous (newly coined word for this blog) laurel that really shouldn't be there as it crowds all things of forest beauty out. And then, homeward bound we meander along the margins where oak and 'all sorts' forest meets barley fields and winter beet crops before we turn back onto the car-busy thoroughfare that links the outside world and the midlands small-town on whose edge we now live. 

We have an oasis of woodland and bark and leaf almost right outside our door - a paradise for otherwise housebound dogs that get loosed on weekends, a runners escape in all weathers, a kingdom of the acorn and sanctuary for newborn and new-become mother on sunny autumn days. 

Seeing red (and orange and yellow and purple and green)

Shades of delicious-ness

A sunny afternoon in the Holly Cottage and things are pretty much the same as my last post. I am living in a sort of groundhog day that changes only in terms of its name and the weather. I won't dwell on the detail as there's really not that much time and these days every minute counts. I reckon I have about ten minutes maximum before I will have to feed her and attend to her needs so I must write quick - please read at your own leisure though! 

As I write, Alannah is sitting in her chair and I have one foot on the ground and one foot rocking her so that she is always on the go. Babies are so helpless really - they can barely see what's in front of them and they really can do nothing for themselves. That helplessness will persist for a number of years from now...but then that's why we love them so much and are programmed to protect and nurture them for the rest of our lives. The good news is that she is growing rapidly - she grew twice as much as an average breastfed baby on her first week at home - I know, what is average? - and the ridiculously oversized newborn baby sleep suits that we had wrapped her up in that first week are now becoming snug and tight about her month old body. She's still tiny though, and still blue eyed - I'm waiting for the green to fade in so that she looks more like one of us :) Does anything prepare you for the first real smile though? There was a lot of 'is that wind, is that really a smile' when it really was just wind, but now it's definitely a smile. While I think that to her I am just the 'food trolley' and the most of her smiles are targeted at  her daddy - I do get the odd one and that's enough for me.

When I do manage to get outside - and last week with all that rain, it was a challenge for anyone - the colours of the moment are green and red, and varying shades of orange and yellow and purple. Let me start at the back of the garden and work up. The purple turnips are done - they were pretty massive and got way too big to be edible - they'll add to the compost though and to be honest while 'being pregnant', they really didn't appeal to my overly sensitised palate. The parsnips are still growing - I hope - they are pretty small and were heavily shaded by the next door neighbouring out-sized turnips ;) The beetroots are perfect, happily - still waiting to be relished but well utilised already in the perfect chocolate cake last week. The broccoli, winter cabbage and curly kale are the most rich and darkest shades of green that ever were - in contrast to the blue green of leeks and yellow green of spinach. All of these many shades of leafy green will provide the winter supply of vegetables to the Holly Cottage kitchen - along with the bounty of Setanta and Sarpo axona spuds that are being steadily enjoyed despite the very annoying spots of slug damage (the early Orla variety were delicious and devoured by the two hungry residents way before the arrival of autumn filled the senses - highly recommended). The broccoli and winter cabbages are more long-term investments that were planted back in March and April, while the spinach came in two lots - spring and August planted. The kale plants were the kind gift of another more organised gardener and these are getting more and more luxuriously verdant every day. One thing  though to be aware of - be vigilant and keep gathering caterpillars as part of your daily routine (still). They are voracious and destructive feeders, despite their un-assuming white butterfly parentage!

Apple (pie)s of the sun - heavenly...

Okay - there's the green but where's the red you say? Well apart from the red eyes that seem to be staring back at me from the mirror these days, there are the bright red sweet-peppers, shiny red cayenne peppers (every shape and curly form imaginable), and at least four types of tomatoes. The apples too are red - we have one very special variety called 'Redlove' that we got as a wedding present two years ago. Not much happened with it last autumn but this year the apples are sweet, small and perfectly red inside. It comes highly recommended by this house and is available online from most good garden centres. The other apple we have is an 'unknown' type that was bought in Aldi - we didn't expect much but we were pleasantly surprised - the apples are good sized and tasty, still with that lovely tartness that becomes most Irish grown apples. The pumpkin is pretty special too and I am reluctant to even think about cutting into its perfect marmalade orange form - would that it could sit on the window sill forever! Last but not least - tall sweetcorn plants are a kind of disturbing form in the garden yet - slightly reminiscent of Children of the Corn but way more enjoyable -but so different than the shop bought variety as with all things that are home grown on your own plot.

So how to celebrate all this golden-red-orange harvest? By eating it of course..think apple sauce (apples stewed with nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves and brown sugar and a splash of water) and then put that together in mini-apple pies (shortcrust pastry - 8oz flour with 4 oz margarine rubbed in, add cold water and chill ;) ) ....match these parcels of autumn delight with natural yogurt (yum). The tomato bounty has mostly been sent to the freezer - core the 'stalk bit' out first, wash and put straight into freezer for the darker days of winter (think tomato soup with a sprinkle of smoked paprika). All the peas and beans are tucked away there already with the strawberries and rhubarb, while the sweet and chilli peppers won't make it that far and are sweetening and heating dinner times with great gusto.

Oak canopy of colour

It's all good of course, and all very rewarding for all the days invested since the light started to come back in last February. Time now though to take a bit of a step back and enjoy the fruits of the labour and the change in the seasons - just walking through the oak woods is enough to take your breath away - and let's just see what the next one ushers in.