Stretching

Summer solstice reflections from fledglings taking flight.

“Ally!” Lachie calls from the back deck as a dusk glow permeates the summer sky. “Baby honeyeaters in the backyard!” I leap out of bed, racing to the other end of the house. Perched on our back fence, sitting so close they look conjoined, are two fluffy chirping chicks. We hear another tweet from one of our banksia trees on the other side of our yard – there’s another sibling in this sweet little family. Lachie and I smile at each other, delighted by our little visitors.

We look up and see their mum and dad nearby – one on our neighbouring fence and the other on a nearby roof. When we take a step back from the banksia, the parents move towards their fledgling in the tree, encouraging it to take flight. The mum and dad journey back towards their other babies and before long, the chick spreads its wings – stretching itself both literally and figuratively – making its way back to the nest.

“Wow” is all that leaves my lips as I place my hand over my belly. Perhaps this feels all the more special as Lachie and I stand in the yard also as parents to the growing baby in my belly.

Stretching of all sorts

I look down at the swelling between my hand, still in disbelief at the magic unfolding day by day. Our baby is rocked gently to sleep by my everyday movement, the rise and fall of my breath, my heart beating. Creating new life from scratch, nourishing and supporting its development, bearing witness to the remarkable process as it unfolds … it’s one of life’s greatest dichotomies – an everyday miracle.

As any mother who’s come before me would understand, sharing your body with a growing baby is challenging – I’ve found this in expected ways and surprising ones. The act of surrender that I imagine hits you with force in birth, postpartum and motherhood is already starting to unfold.

Sitting with discomfort, practising trust, letting go of how things “should be”, accepting the present moment, being fiercely self-compassionate … I’ve had to lean into these deeply healing practices throughout so many moments in life – why did I think this experience would be any different?

The privilege of pregnancy is something I’ll carry deep in my bones forever. The awe of the moment when you see your baby in a scan – watch it yawning, hear its heartbeat – the surreal sensation of them moving inside you, the gratitude of being the first home for your baby … these moments implant in your heart, reverberating through your body with every breath.

What’s just as meaningful are the moments that stretch you – and not just the physical expansion of growing new life. The nausea you don’t think you can tolerate for a minute longer, the sleeplessness of the nights and fogginess of the days that follow, the unrelenting fatigue, the extremely heightened emotions.

This stretching plants seeds of softness and strength within you that not only help you raise this precious human and support your family, but also help guide those who are on the path behind you. Being present shows us the value in all moments of life – in bearing witness to each experience in its fullness, no matter what arises.

“Equanimity is not a path around.
It is the courage to remain
in the center
until the center opens.”
― G. Scott Graham

The interplay of creativity & mindfulness

Being present can also be a helpful distraction from discomfort. Lack of sleep has been an unforeseen challenge of this pregnancy, and I’ve found dread creeping in when I fall into bed some nights, in anticipation of what’s to come. But the unexpected delight of the backyard fledglings shifted my mood completely and even though my sleep didn’t improve, I woke up less bothered by it.

Mindfulness teaches us to hold everything with equal value – embodying an equanimous attitude – rather than clinging to the joyful moments and pushing away the challenging ones. And when we do this, slowly, surely, the insights start to emerge.

“You don’t have to heal it. You only have to hold it without turning away.”
― G. Scott Graham

Being present is a powerful precursor to creativity. Pregnancy is such a profound time of creation, yet writing hasn’t felt very accessible. As much as I’ve yearned to put pen to paper, it’s as if my creative capacity has been reserved fully for growing and nurturing the new life inside me. But quietly, subtly, I’m feeling the words emerge. Creativity isn’t something we can force. It’s something that happens on its own – if there’s space for it to arise.

Interestingly, I’ve also started to feel our baby moving over these past few days. The experience is hard to put into words; the sensations are subtle, but like nothing I’ve experienced before. I’ve heard them be described as flutters, a dropping sensation, popping of sorts – they’ve felt like an amalgamation of these all.

But the more I focused on feeling the baby – feeling unnecessarily unsettled that I’d reached and then passed the “halfway” point of this pregnancy without feeling any sensations – the further away the moment felt. But when I let go and focused on what was unfolding moment by moment – simply being present in everyday life – the experience emerged on its own.

Is it a coincidence that all of this beauty, creativity, presence is occurring on the summer solstice? Perhaps. But maybe this significant celestial juncture is also marking the return of writing as a form of creation through the powerful portal of mindfulness.

Creativity and mindfulness have such a beautiful interplay in life. Sometimes focusing on internal sensations, such as the breath, can be a powerful anchor to return to that ultimately triggers a cascade of creativity to unfold. But other moments require you to zone in on the wonder of the world around you – like a little fledgling nestled between branches of a banksia tree.