Psalm 131 – My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. Israel, put your hope in the Lord both now and forevermore.
In this household, when the baby gets born, the mama feeds that baby until it’s time to stop. There are no rules about the exact timing of that and it’s still a mystery to me. How is it that something that was so good in one season is suddenly not? I wouldn’t have questioned it before and now it’s clear that the season is turning and we would be crazy not to take this invitation to enter into something new.
It feels like loss, but it’s not.
It feels unnatural, but it’s not.
It’s about an exchange. An upgrade even. We can only gain if we are prepared to give.
Breastfeeding has been a blessing and a great bonding opportunity. It has been simple, predictable, comforting and convenient; and now we are making a conscious move away from it. No more walking into the dim bedroom where the rocking chair waits. No more nursing the wee boy to sleep. It’s not easy. Why are we putting ourselves through this? In an effort to not walk into our only known routines and upset us both, I have taken to scooping up the blue eyed boy at bedtime, wrapping him in a blanket and heading out doors. Rosy cheeks and flaxen hair static, he rests his head against my chest and quits fighting. I’m not happy but what is this mother of mine doing, I’m intrigued?
I have not bothered to put shoes on, perhaps it’s unwise, but I wouldn’t have known how early on in the night the morning dew falls otherwise. “Tar,” he tells me as he looks up at stars twinkling in the sky. I walk, he rests in my arms and we let the tinkle of frogs and crickets be our lullaby. I sing and pray, I tell him everything will be okay. I thank God for the gift He has given us and acknowledge the need to move on. We are a mother and babe refusing to keep going along this familiar track and we are breaking through into a new season for us both.
I have heard the call and if he could articulate, I think he has too. A frustration has begun to rise up as he senses he is outgrowing this baby phase. We cannot hold back what is natural and good and right. It’s painful and sad – we have both cried – but the rocking chair routine has given way to the moonlight meander.
How many times have I done this, and I haven’t seemed to grasp that there is a greater loveliness beyond the places that I think are lovely enough.
I cannot help but feel this is so much more than a little recount of what mothers, world over, go through in one way or another. This is us in all our comfort zones getting promptings and clues that it is time to give up doing things the way we have been doing them. It has worked for this long but no more. There might be sorrow, but only at first. When we determine to put down the old ways and agree to mature, we realise that there is a largeness to enter into and a world full of wonder and joy that is surprising. In letting go, we can receive. All the insisting on milk and getting what we want gives way to a contentment. We realise, “Hey, there is more to me than suckling for comfort and nourishment, I have words to say, meat to eat and something to give!”
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