a new blog and so i am changed

With each major transition in my life, I have started a new blog. Like Hansel and Gretel, I leave a path of (blog) bread crumbs trailing behind me. For some reason new spaces to write within and new titles to write under are important to me when everything else has changed. Thank you so much for joining me here.

  The Adoration of the Magi , Geertgen tot Sint Jans, c. 1480-c. 1485 (Image Courtesy of  The Rijks Museum ) I love this painting's content: new motherhood amidst a shifting and crumbling landscape. 

The Adoration of the Magi, Geertgen tot Sint Jans, c. 1480-c. 1485 (Image Courtesy of The Rijks Museum) I love this painting's content: new motherhood amidst a shifting and crumbling landscape. 

Since becoming a mother 10 months ago, my life has undergone a seismic shift. Before you become a mother, you hear that motherhood changes you. But you can't know it until you're in the thick of it. The details of your environment change, and so it goes that the geography of your inner life changes, too.  

For example, my days are now catalogued by the following sounds:

Baby babblings

Squeals

Shrieks

Laughter (mine and Ezra's)

Crying (mine and Ezra's)

Music (Paul Simon, Eensy Weensy Spider, Marvin Gaye, If You're Happy and You Know It)

Exclamations! ("No, that's not for babies!" "Are you ready to go on an adventure?!")

Just these few changes in my audial landscape are enough to unleash a cacophony of mother thoughts. "Am I talking to Ezra enough? Will he have healthy language development?" "Will he appreciate good music as an adult, and can I love him unconditionally if he loves Nickleback?" "Does he know how genuinely amused and endeared I am with him?" "Does he know he makes me cry in frustration?" 

And this is just sounds. I haven't even begun to mention the impact new sights, movements, smells, and tastes have had on the-way-I-used-to-think.

If our neurons form complex pathways in our brain, morphing when we adopt new information and ways of being in the world, doesn't this make motherhood a form of map making? I can testify that mountains of self-indulgence have been erased and replaced by rivers of self-sacrifice, a new watery outlet sketched onto my body with each mundane and majestic mother-interaction.

Or maybe motherhood is a type of natural disaster. Like an earthquake, it is a jarring and abrupt transition that leaves your old self a crumbled, muddy mass and creates space for a new self that is more flexible and forgiving, more generous and gentle. 

Either way, my environment is changed, and so my thoughts are changed, and so I am changed. I can see now how God would want it to be so.