Did you know that a woman’s brain loses grey matter during pregnancy, but then rebuilds itself during the postpartum period? There’s been more research in animals than in humans, but it seems the maternal brain restructures itself to be geared towards the new tiny human’s survival. A mother’s reward center activates more from tending to her offspring than from cocaine. Your brain, postpartum, has been hijacked and now you’re addicted to your baby. It’s brilliant. God knew exactly what He was doing. It’s also a system that can become quickly maladaptive in a non stop world of constant input. Your postpartum brain is wired to perceive threats differently, and there’s a level of vigilance that turns on and doesn’t ever really turn off. (Hello anxiety). Not to mention that your child’s DNA stays a part of your body forever (microchimerism, they call it). There’s no going back to “normal”.**
I say all this because I’ve been feeling like my brain still hasn’t come back online, and I needed to read about some of the good work it was doing. I needed to remember that the work of stewarding small lives is important enough that our brains rewire themselves to do it.
While I have other thoughts I want to share, I’m just not there yet. But this week, while I dealt with toddler craziness and tried to keep my head on straight, I thought of the poem “If-” by Rudyard Kipling. The first line came to mind and began to morph… “if you can keep your mind while a child loses his…”
And before I knew it I was tapping out stanzas in the Notes app, tacking them on as I thought of new experiences. So hear you go - a feeble attempt to grasp a glimpse of what it feels like to hold life together each day.
If- Kipling was a woman If you can feel life stir within, and hold to hope that grows, And birth a squalling human, with ten fingers and ten toes; If you can watch through sleepless nights and greet the morning light, And wonder at a baby's smile, and giggles of delight; If you can watch him take first steps, and let his fingers go, And learn the first of many ways you’ll watch him as he grows; If you can see your heart in human form, go walking out the door, And hold your breath, but still let go, shushing worry’s roar; If you can keep your calm, and take a breath when a child loses his mind, And hold the space for frazzled nerves, though yours aren’t far behind; If you can be the thermostat, when each person’s climate varies, And absorb the flung emotions, even though it makes you weary; If you can pour out all day long, and not know what you’ve done, then look around, defeated, at the setting of the sun; If you can wake again each morning, determined to show up, Running off a splash of water and caffeine in your cup; If you can ride the waves of moods and learn to stand up tall, Then splutter for air, but try again, and ask for help when you fall; If you can stare into the mirror and call your body good, And care for it, while thinking that it doesn’t look as it should, If your lap can be the safest spot, for a hurting babe to land, And your arms unfailing in their strength to take a child's hand; If you can find the beauty in your broken, poured out flesh, And see that though you’re beaten up, your life gave someone breath; If you can wade through long, long days of passing like ships in the night, And still whisper an, “I love you”, when you finally turn out the light; If you can say the words and work it out, when you’d rather flee, And fight to get unfrozen ‘cause it’s worth it to be free; If you can say “for better or worse” and to each other cling, And revel in the times of joy and seasons where you sing; If you can share a dream of building more, and know the work won’t end, But still be thankful for the chance to work with your best friend; If you can kneel with streaming tears and wonder what you’re doing, And know your weakness can be strength, tho limitations ruing; If you can humbly say you’re wrong and ask to be forgiven, And start again, just one time more, a lesson learned from living; If you can know that life is hard, but laugh at all its jokes, And give your burdens to a God who’s promised you his yoke; Then you can know the daily grind will someday bear its fruit, And keep on going, not give up, goodness your pursuit.
I hope you have a lovely week. I’ll be back to writing more soon I hope. For now a few more weeks of the homeschool year require my attention… along with the ever present demands of five small humans who are working their hardest get un-small and therefore think I need to feed them all.day.long.
** if you’re a nerd and want to read a cool medical article about brain plasticity etc… here’s the link
This is beautiful! I love the way you brought those recognizable daily details into verse. So glad you found the time amid postpartum to write and share!
That poem was incredible 😭 Thank you for your words!!