Today is the first day of rain... there's a powerful rainstorm outside and it's windy. It really forebodes the change of season. I went outside and drove my feet in the wet earth and stayed there... still... in order to get this heavy rain and the wind.
Friend Kathy once told me to do this... I don't remember if I was feeling sad, tired or what... I just remember reading an email she sent saying...just go outside and let the rain pour on you.
That's what I did this morning.
I stayed there for some good 10 minutes, with my nightrobe on, barefooted.. breathing the storm and getting into the nature.
It's a couple of weeks I'm not sleeping well... I am smelling the change... I know that in less than one month I'll be back at work... and that will be a change.
I am lucky. I will work only 4 hours until the first of january, and they'll assign me a fixed shift... and I asked for the 7-11pm shift so that Andrea and I will exchange little Gilda and she won't suffer too much of a change.
But once mamma goes back to work...then it's time of changes anyway!
I feel really lucky. I had the chance to stay at home during most of my pregnancy and during those last 10 months. I spent my time with my baby and with this new me...
I nursed Gilda everytime she needed it, I was with her anytime she wanted.
I had the chance to search out for this mamma-feeling I have inside of me and understand what this is for me, for my family and for the society.
I found myself totally changed.
I found myself another person.
I found myself different.
I found that the misteries of life aren't unfold but are tragically beautiful. That a smile or a caress is priceless.
The other day a friend of mine (now pregnant) was asking me if I felt the need of going out to a movie by myself... and yet, I told her that this is not a priority.
Of course, if you ask me if I want to spend a day in a spa I will tell you YES... but still, in my everyday life, this is not an urge.
I talk with other moms and they all complain about how difficult and hard it is to have babies... but still I can't relate.
It's hard, and tiring, of course... but only if you measure this with the pre-motherhood's life-meters.
The fact is that I am not counting my tiredness... it's not comparable to anything else: I don't sleep, I clean, I cook, I go out for a walk, I shop for grocery... and I also do those things only when I can... meaning I have to zig zag through nap-time, snack-time, nursing-time, bath-time... and that means I have to change my mind continuously without feeling affected by those sudden changes.
I am not sacrificing MYSELF for the well being of my daughter... I am just living according to my sense of motherhood and to my love for this unique creature. And this is no heavy weight for me.
I also must say that I am helped by Andrea who's great in letting me see the good and easy part of everything...but until now (which is not a long road, I know) it's going well.
In the next days I must repair my bike, put on the child's chair and organize my days according to the new weather.
Last week end of october will be on the mountain for the chestnut pick up and probably some more days in Rome before the winter withdrawal....
let's see what's next... meanwhile... goodbye summer!
... every night, before falling into the dreamland, I would love to transform my thoughts in written words so that I could update my friends and loved ones on my everyday life... but the sleep catch me suddenly and the thoughts and desires just fade away without my will...
The update could be short if I tell you that Gilda is growing, she's now crawling and is already standing up by herself leaning on the sofa and looking superhappy for this new conquer. I could also tell you that she's a good girl, rarely crying and having good sleep and eating a lot....
But of course those are the thing that happen to most of her age collegues...so I guess I am not saying much also because I can't speak for her :-)
What I can say is that 7 months ago it was a life ago and I was still preparing the bags for this trip but, as the best trips I did in my life, I was not prepared at all.
Just like when Andrea and I left to Mexico... I had a guide, I prepared my backpack with some medicines, a couple of t-shirts and trousers, underwear and sunscreen... and a little copybook, and during the trip I found out that the fact that I did not organized anything allowed me to be surprised for every step I was taking.
Everyday is a surprise and I am a different person.
No matter how much I "worked" to mould myself as the image I had of myself for all those past years; no matter how much I wanted to stick with that image...it now always changes.
I am a sleepy woman and later a careful mama and then a healthy cook...later I struggle with pedagogy and build toys... I sing lullubies and while the baby sleeps I clean, iron, sew and read.
..and I am not Wonder Woman, I am just an ordinary mom.
But the most difficult part of this all, is not catching up with the things to do and the timing... but working on my emotions.
Emotions.
I do not care if the house is not clean or if the toys are on the way to the bathroom... but I must deal with this tempest of emotions that invade my contour line.
Gilda takes a special sigh every morning when she wakes up... a sigh that lets me know that she's ready for a new adventure... and that sigh gives a little shock to my heart because I would love to be ready to the new adventure with the same boldness she shows.
...and there we go.... a new day is born and so the space for a new discovery.
I often see the world from another perspective now. I find myself looking from the ground to the ceiling ... and this is something I've never did... and there everything is different.
...a touch, a smile, a sound, a look... it all makes me feel different.
In a way it's just like when you fall in love. Emotions overwhelm you and sometimes it's difficult to hold them.
I smile, cry, sigh, get angry... constantly...changing the order of these emotions but never losing one of them... I mix them and shake them inside of me... but these emotions and lot more are packed inside just like in a drink shaker.
I am lucky. I feel lucky. I have a lot of love and health.... and I am willing to travel without being too much organized... this leaves me space to experiences and emotions.. that won't ever be nice and happy but nevertheless experiences and emotions.
...and yes, I didn't want to transform this blog into a mama journal but I was another person and going trough another trip when I used to think like this... I now guess that I won't help if not posting news and pics about this new journey.
This morning Gilda and I took the bus to go to the pediatrician. Everything is perfect with her. Later we went to buy some fruit juice and potato chips since this afternoon friends will come for a snack. We got into this low cost shop where mostly old people and immigrants were. The economical crisis is hitting hard the lower wage band and life is getting a harder. The woman at the counter was really rude and the people pissed off. Later we waited at the bus stop to go back home. At the bus stop there were 2 old ladies and some 5/6 other people that were obviously immigrant, plus me and Gilda in her baby sling (that makes us look "strange"). Those two ladies in their past 60ies were talking aloud about the immigrants and their way of living...saying they're dirty, unpolite, they cook bad-smelling things and they don't wash... all aloud so that everybody could hear them. The immigrants all exchanged looks ... some of them were probably from the eastern Europe and some were from north Africa. Of course they did not said anything... but I felt like a big mass of insults coming to my throat and... I could not resist.
I spoke out. I couldn't believe those women were openly insulting people who clean their houses and watch, clean and give company to their elders... immigrants who build their houses mostly working without any contract and with no insurance and underpaid. Those immigrants who must live in horrible conditions because the houses those same ladies rent cost more than what they get per month... Immigrants who are tired and sad because their lives are way more difficult than those of those ladies who probably grew up well because their fathers and uncles migrated once to the US, Venezuela and Argentina and sent them money here in Italy. Italian always migrated and they were probably no better than those who are now living here. Migrants who leave their life, culture, friends and relatives back in their native country hoping their lives will improve... hoping for a better future for their children. That is why people migrates... not because they want to become a criminal or such. They migrate because the life in their country is probably a lot worse than it's here... and they stay here because their poor life is still better than the one in their Country.
I also added that if they were abroad they probably won't give up to cook their Lasagne alla bolognese and that may be the bad smelling food for others.
Those two ladies looked at me astonished... and they also had the courage to ask me if I was italian... (after all I was speaking my language properly)...they continued telling me that's not the way a baby should be carried and such.
Some of the immigrants looked at me and smiled... some still had the sad face. I felt bad for this need to insult that I felt. I felt like there should not be such feelings. I felt bad because those two ladies are really representative of the society where I am living now and that this is not what I hope for Gilda's future.
I took the bus... and no wonder the person who gave me the seat was a north African woman.
I always complain because I only have 1 car and that I have to take the bus... I pledge not to complain about this because I think this is a richness... in this way I can relate to other people and eventually speak up and give vent to my social rage :-)
It's late tonight... Andrea is sleeping in our bed and Gilda is asleep in my arms while I am watching TV.
The sound of her breath is comforting and so her constant touch.
Suddenly I feel in a dreamy world.... I see the images of the TV in the background but faded.... the only REAL sounds I hear are those of Andrea's heavy sleep, that of Monocolo snoring (who snores a lot louder than any other in the house) and Gilda's breath together with some sounds of her tongue moving like if she's sucking.
If it wasn't for those soft sounds, I could say that the time stopped for a while.
My senses are tense to savour everything that is making my life so special.
Andrea, this man I have shared the last 10 years with... in good and bad times... fighting and arguing over stupid and important things...
Monocolo, the half blind cat that cuddled my soul for 10 years already and still does...
..and now this little baby who is holding my heart while I hold her tiny body.
That is my wealth.
Tears flow from my eyes while I realize it. I am paralized. Everything around me spins vortically.
...and it hurts.
It hurts the fact that it's not even 13 months Gilda has been with me (in my womb first and now here)... and she already stolen my heart.
It hurts the fact that I am not able to express my love to Andrea for his support, love and for his specialty every single day we spend together...
It hurts that Monocolo doesn't want to be cuddled so much now that Gilda is in my arms and that he's getting older.
It hurts... that life passes by so quickly and I probably won't be able to express everything I feel...
I am happy....but this happiness is so painful. While I watch this scene, hundreds of swords pierce my body and I endure the pain.
Pain as Fear... for the first time Fear of losing all this...
and Fear as Knowledge... Knowledge that everything is so ephemeral and that I MUST live it as fully as possible.
Gilda gives an heavy sigh. She moves... and everything around me starts moving again. The momentum is gone. I am awake. It wasn't a dream. It is all so real true.
Andrea is sleeping,
Monocolo is snoring,
Gilda is growing,
I am feeling.
... and it is still raining... and today I am really feeling blue. I need to get out of this house... but it's raining and raining and I don't have a car... and to reach the bus stop I have to walk and with the baby and everything else...it just gets too complicated for a woman who's already feeling sad.
The house is a mess. I need to clean it and order stuff and do things... but I never feel to start something because I already know I won't take it to term...
Gilda is growing fast and well... she's now doing faces ang giving big smiles that flood my heart with new emotions.
She still looks at me like if she knows everything, basically she "tells" me how to be a mom... because for sure she knows how to be a daughter.
I often wonder how it will be when she'll be older...I somehow figure out our talks and discussion.
I am in love with her and with her scent.
It was morning, and the new sun sparkled gold across the ripples of a gentle sea.
A mile from shore a fishing boat chummed the water, the word for Breakfast Flock flashed through the air, till a crowd of a thousand seagulls came to dodge and fight for bits of food. It was another busy day beginning.
But way off alone, out by himself beyond boad and shore, Jonathan Livingston Seagull was practicing. A hundred feed in the sky he lowered his webbed feet, lifted his beak, and strained to hold a painful hard twisting curve through his wings. The curve meant that he would fly slowly, and now he slowed until the wind was a whisper in his face, until the ocean stood still beneath him. He narrowed his eyes in fierce concentration, held his breath, forced one... single... more...inch...of...curve... Then his feathers ruffled, he stalled and fell.
Seagulls, as you know, never falter, never stall. To stall in the air is for them disgrace and it is dishonor.
But Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his wings again in that trembling hard curve - slowing, slowing, and stalling once more - was no ordinary bird.
Most gulls don't bother to learn more than the simplest facts of flight - how to get from shore to food and back again. For most gulls, it is not flying that matters, but eating. For this gull, though, it was not eating that mattered, but flight. More than anything else, Jonathan Livingston Seagull loved to fly.
This kind of thinking, he found, is not the way to make one's self popular with other birds. Even his parents were dismayed as Jonathan spent whole days alone, making hundreds of low level glides, experimenting.
He didn't know why, for instance, but when he flew at altitudes less than half his wingspan above the water, he could stay in the air longer, with less effort. his glides ended not with the usual feet-down splash into the sea, but with a long flat wake as he touched the surface with his feet tightly streamlined against his body. When he began sliding in to feet-up landings on the beach, then pacing the length of his slide in the sand, his parents were very much dismayed indeed.
"Why, Jon, why?" his mother asked. "Why is it so hard to be like the rest of the flock, Jon? Why can't you leave low flying to the pelicans, the albatross? Why don't you eat? Son, you're bone and feathers!"
"I don't mind being bone and feathers, mom. I just want to know what I can do in the air and what I can't, that's all. I just want to know."
"See here, Jonathan," said his father, not unkindly. "Winter isn't far away. Boats will be few, and the surface fish will be swimming deep. If you must study, then study food, and how to get it. This flying business is all very well, but you can't eat a glide, you know. Don't you forget that the reason you fly is to eat."
Jonathan nodded obediently. For the next few days he tried to behave like the other gulls; he really tried, screeching and fighting with the flock around the piers and fishing boats, diving on scraps of fish and bread. But he couldn't make it work.
It's all so pointless, he thought, deliberately dropping a hard-won anchovy to a hungry old gull chasing him. I could be spending this time learning to fly. There's so much to learn!
Jonathan Livingston Seagull - Richard Bach
