Breathe

I hold you close
And for a minute
I can't hear the hum pum puff
Of your oxygen concentrator
And I can't see the plastic tubes
Across your face and feeding your tiny nostrils
With life giving air.

Instead, I marvel at your perfect lashes
Lying on your chubby cheeks
And let you tangle your sweet hands in my hair.
I smell your delicious, clean baby smell and
Listen to you as you
Breathe.

Breathe in and out
And I push away again those dark thoughts rising.

I didn't realise I was such a control freak
Until becoming a mother
Showed me just how little control I have

Over sleep, 

Over time,

Over breath.

Just breathe.
Take a deep breath
And let it go

Surrendering to
The daily bread provided
For our sustenance
Our strength,
Our hope,

Our breath.

I hold you close
And we breathe together.

 God Mother

 She breathes

And life is.

The mother knows her own:

The one she grew in her own body;

The image of herself.

She will defend her

Protect her

Fight for her

Give her life up for her –

Even as the child

Flees the embrace

In pursuit of herself.

 

Tender,

She rejoices in her daughter’s joy

And weeps with her in her failure:

Holding the brokenness,

Like the newborn, close.

She pours out herself,

Again and again

Take from me, child,

I am enough for you.

 

Her arms

Are expansive, welcoming,

Comforting, safe.

Her hands

Hold and steady,

Guide and correct.

Her back -

Testament to the faithful

Bearing and caring of the years –

Is strong and straight.

 

Her kiss brings healing –

To the hurts seen and unseen,

And her song echoes through the night,

Singing over her beloved:

Do not be afraid, child,

I am with you.

 

Hers is the voice that calms the storm

And hers are the ears quick to hear,

Her feet quick to run to the

Child’s cry.

Her heartbeat is the rhythm

The child remembers from the womb

And hears in echoes all her days –

 

The signal drum

Leading her home.

Letters to my unborn child - 40 weeks plus 4

 Dear child of mine, we are soon to meet! What a weird time this is just waiting for you to make your appearance. 

Your due date has been and gone - as has Independence Day which we were hoping you would redeem with a birth day. Our renovations are complete (hallelujah) and dad and I have been putting together your cot and changing table and getting everything ready for when we get to bring you home. 

I am currently tired and grumpy and quite frankly, have had quite enough of being pregnant thank you! But I also know that I should be treasuring this time when you are safe and warm inside me. This world is big and scary and I know it will hurt you sometimes. 

And then I remember that the world is also full of wonder - full of beautiful places and creatures; music; art; dance; books; sweet friendships and encounters with people who will change you forever. There is heartache but there is also such joy. There are ideas and people worth sacrificing everything you have for. And there is a lot of love to give and receive. 

I am scared of the labour to come but I know that it will be worth it for the meeting of you. I am praying for you every day. 

Much love, your mama.

Letters to my unborn child – 33 weeks

 

Well your mother has been remiss in keeping on top of these entries – not wholly out of keeping with her character it must be confessed. Since my last entry, FM has been released from prison – though not before she contracted Covid in that awful place. Mercifully she is recovering well and continues to speak up and out against injustice and oppression. Biden made it through inauguration so the world is officially rid of Trump’s leadership. Covid vaccines are being rolled out across the world- including right here in Zimbabwe where most healthcare workers have now received the first dose of a Chinese manufactured vaccine. Hopefully life will be able to return to some normality soon.

There are incredibly only 7 weeks of pregnancy left to go! I feel like surely my belly cannot get any bigger and yet I suppose it has to! Fortunately, apart from a spate of weird migraine auras, I’ve been feeling pretty good and have enjoyed this later stage of pregnancy.

Slowly we are getting ready for your arrival – nappies have been purchased, baby clothes unpacked. Next weekend we will have your baby shower where we will no doubt end up with more baby things than we will ever need. So many people love you and love your dad and I. We are blessed indeed.

Granny and Grandpa have also decided that our little rondavel needs a bit of extending. So your dad and I will be homeless for a few weeks – please don’t come early!

Today is your dad’s birthday – well sort of – it’s between today and tomorrow, our beloved leapling man. We’re celebrating in the Matobo hills. It is stunningly beautiful here among the rocks and trees. It has rained pretty much non stop since we arrived which is a bit of a shame but we’re making the most of it anyway. One day we’ll bring you here and show you this magnificent part of creation and debate its complex, messy history.

Stay warm and cosy in my belly!

Mother

Letters to my unborn child - 27 weeks

 Yikes! It's almost the end of our second trimester. Having felt like this pregnancy has lasted forever, it's suddenly all speeding up and getting quite real! Yesterday, your dad booked us into the hospital (so Granny can stop worrying about you being born at home!).

While you're safe and cosy in my ever-expanding tummy, the world out here has become pretty scary. In the last 3 weeks, Covid-19 has hit Zimbabwe hard and we now know a frightening number of people who have the disease. We're back in a hard lockdown (though compliance has been patchy at best), so we're all working from home and trying to keep as safe as we can. How weird to think that one day, this bizarre period will be something you'll learn about in History. 

January has also been an interesting one in global politics. We stayed up till midnight the other night watching the Capitol being stormed by Trumpites - he's been impeached for the second time by the bye. There are some truly baffling conspiracy theories on the rise - really, dear unborn child, I pray more than anything that you are granted the gift of discernment - boy do you need wisdom to navigate this crazy world of ours! (but heck, I could be the nutcase after all and Trump and in two weeks time, I might be eating humble pie before a crowd of MAGA evangelicals - who knows!).

Our dear friend, and your revolutionary auntie, FM, was also arrested this week and has been remanded in prison. Grandpa is working extra hard to get her out as soon as possible. I keep thinking back to our one night in cells last year and the strange comfort that came from at least being there with friends. I hate thinking of her alone, having to be brave in the face of such cruel and ridiculous injustice. I know that this won't defeat her though. She is strong and courageous and her fierce hope in a better Zimbabwe will get her through this. 

I cannot tell you how inspired I am by the women of this country. We know a few good men, you and I (a lot of them are in our family!), but my goodness, the women! There's the young, feisty, constitution defender, and the slightly mad, older lady with faith like a mountain, who rescues the discarded and sick and sees miracles happen, and the women who start soup kitchens and just keep serving, and the writers and artists who use their voices to speak for the silenced and won't give up hope. Learn from your sisters and aunties and grandmothers little one. They have so much to teach you. 

Stay safe, stay woke.

Mother

P.S the rain is pretty incredible this year. It has been a reminder that God's grace continues to sustain even when all hope seems lost.

Letters to my unborn child - 24 weeks

I am currently sitting on the verandah at our dear friends' house, gazing into green and feeling unusually zen. We've celebrated Christmas and today is my birthday eve. Tomorrow I turn 35 - an age I find hard to comprehend. Ah time - you certainly are a mystery. Next year, you'll be with us and our lives will have changed in ways we can't imagine. 

Christmas has held special meaning for me this year as I have thought about Mary and how she must have felt before and while her body birthed Jesus in an animal shed. Was she frightened? Or strangely at peace? Was her body sore and uncomfortable? Did she wonder if she'd imagined everything about her child's conception? Did anyone come to help her that night she laboured? Was she filled with awe and delight the moment she set her eyes on her baby son or did she feel like she held a tiny stranger in her arms? 

The Incarnation feels especially important this year in the midst of such global chaos and widespread grief. And not just God becoming flesh, experiencing humanity in all its rawness in Christ's lived out life - but being born of flesh - to a fully human woman - that seems critical too. Those nine months of pregnancy - the stretch marks and nausea and rollercoaster emotions - that was important. The groans and mess and exhaustion of labour - that was important too. It was important because Mary wasn't God. But from her pain and her confusion and her limited and mortal understanding of what was happening, came the long-awaited salvation of the world. Not in a dramatic, spectacular fashion (although the shepherds perhaps would beg to differ), but in a slow-moving, ordinary, messy story that spanned three decades of a mother learning her son. 

And somehow, the difficult waiting and the dark unknown-ness of the future that lies before me seems slightly more bearable. The word 'adventure,' derives from the Latin 'about to happen' and shares the same root, the 'advenire' - 'to arrive', with the word 'advent'. Pregnancy is an adventure - the perilous journey before the arrival of a life-change.

May the advent of the Christ child, born so human-ly, be our strength and encouragement in our adventure. 

Merry Christmas (season, not day).

Mother.

Letters to my unborn child - 22 weeks

 Hello again,

A lot has happened in the last couple of weeks. We had your detailed scan and I am pleased to report that all is well. You spent most of the appointment curled up on your belly - like a little frog the radiologist said! It was pretty incredible. I can't get over the miracle of two tiny cells becoming a fully formed human - with organs and bones and the beginnings, already, of a unique personality. You were being awfully coy about displaying your genitals, so we haven't been able to confirm if you'll be a Phoebe or Phoebo - though the odds are in favour of the former. I guess we'll have to wait and see!

Meanwhile, we've been having a bit of a stressful time. We moved out of our flat this last weekend and have moved in with your granny and grandpa (temporarily). We have managed to accumulate an awful lot of... stuff and packing it all up was exhausting and actually quite painful, given my bloated state. (The french word for pregnancy, incidentally, is 'la grossesse'. It is very fitting). 

Besides the physical pain, it was also a real emotional wrench. That beautiful flat was my home for more than three years (the longest I've lived anywhere since leaving home!) and was your dad's and my first home as a couple. It has been a safe refuge for me through two arrests and a coup, and an oasis of calm and beauty through changing jobs and car accidents and all the other minor calamities of life. It's also where I fell in love with your dad as he brushed past me, helping me wash dishes in the teeny, tiny kitchen, and where we had our first kiss and spent our first night as a married couple. It was a happy home filled with dancing and cooking and pottering.

We are hopeful though that this is the first step in preparing ourselves for LATT (Life After The Trial) when your mother will (hopefully) be acquitted of her terrorist charges and will be able to retrieve her passport from the Rotten Court. Our landlords have been incredibly generous and have said we can use their cottage as a base while we wait. I will also be gainfully employed next year, thanks to an extended contract, and your dad has been given the freedom to continue his studies online until we can all leave together. I am overwhelmed with gratitude - for God's faithful provision; for our families and friends; for the kindness of strangers; for heavy rain and the glorious green of trees.

You continue to make your presence known with your dolphin imitation in my belly - but your father has yet to feel you move. He claims all he can feel are my digestive processes - which is a little revolting and I am certain is not true. 

Signing off for now,

Mother