I want to tell you about this day, so you know with eternal certainty how very wanted and loved you already are. I want to tell you how much I’ve learnt from you and how your presence has already changed our world. I had thought that the idea of a Mother’s Blessing was a less materialistic alternative to a Baby-Shower. I thought sharing some tea and cake with some of my favourite ladies before you arrive would be a nice-thing-to-do. Casual, pleasant, fun, a last moment all together before you leave the warmth of my belly. A moment to laugh and celebrate your imminent arrival. I was right, it was all those things but I was wrong too, it was so much more. So much more, that I think it’s up there with my wedding day on the scale of memorable-life-events.
I expected the tea and cake, I expected the laughter and smiles. I didn’t expect the way you danced and wriggled under your Papa’s hands as he henna’d my belly. You leaped and frolicked as he painted your tree of life with careful strokes, hid your name in the branches and wondered if you would see it there.
I didn’t expect that when he left, as the women arrived you’d be still, as if you sensed the change in the air, only ten people but it felt like we were surrounded by millions. Women crowded in on all sides, young and old, maidens, mothers, crones. We sat in circle and they crowned me with flowers, brushed out my hair, surrounded me and held me up, cradled my womb with their words. Mothers sharing stories of their births, maidens listening. In the centre a candle burned low and I thought of all the women sharing their bodies at that moment too. They reminded me of the Blood Mysteries, tied our wrists with red thread that seemed to span the ages. I thought of the red tent, of an endless line of women who have brought forth life. They made our flat a temple to the most ordinary of miracles, to you my beautiful baby. Their words stoked my courage, counselled me on the inferno I have already walked through, helped me trust and believe that you and I can do this thing together, my love. That you know how to find the light and I know how to greet you.
Afterwards our flat vibrated with the love from it, heavy, overflowing with gratitude. I was left numb and full only of you. Your papa returned to find me, trance-like, washing cups, exhausted, overwhelmed, and ecstatic. The next day I gathered my flower crown, rose quartz and beads. Made an altar of these treasures, a candle at its centre, to look on daily as I wait now for you to move from my womb to my arms. I hope if one day you ever bear a child then you will find strength in a Blessing such as this and hold it in your heart too.
And now it’s done, I’ve told you about this day and all that’s left to do is wait. I’ll light the altar candle when you’re on your way and remember the women who walked this path before and who are walking it right now. Any day now my love at long last I’ll see your eyes and you will be here. We can’t wait, but we will, we will.
Your Mumma xxx