Excerpt from Lessons of Labor: The Priority of the Present
The Priority of the Present
Without the pressure of tasks to accomplish, I was able to notice that my contractions had progressed from the menstrual-like cramping sensation of before. They were now much stronger and more substantial. Something was really happening here.
When necessity pulls me into the present, I know exactly what matters. One of the blessings of labor for me was the inability to attend to everyday minutiae. The sensations of my body became so powerful that my usual multi-tasking mindset started to fade into the distance. Though the mental chatter continued, it wasn’t in command anymore. I was able to access a deeper focus, the same mental focus that arises when a crisis occurs. All the usual concerns are available, like background music, but the foreground is highly charged and almost allencompassing.
When I was about eight months into my second pregnancy, I took my two-year-old son to an outdoor festival. It was a fun and stimulating late-spring celebration with lots of live music to dance to and crafts booths to browse. I was enjoying being with friends but was also somewhat distracted by hunger, fatigue, and the usual third-trimester aches and pains.
When a group of us stopped to chat around a fountain, I asked a friend to watch my toddler while I made yet another visit to the restroom. When I returned a few minutes later, my friend and I stared at each other in shock, both asking where my son had gone. She anxiously told me that she thought he was with me, since after I had walked away he had followed me to the bathroom. I spun around in an instant and headed first for the outside gate to the road, yelling his name.
Despite my heavy, aching belly, I ran through the festival, asking everyone if they had seen a toddler boy alone. Within a few minutes, I spotted him. My son had been found by a kind AmeriCorps volunteer, and together they had been searching for me.
We ran into each other’s arms, my son crying out his own name, as if to say, “How could you have forgotten me?” We hugged and cried and hugged some more, both of us finding great relief in this moment of reunion. Those few minutes were so terrifying that all I could focus on was finding my son.
I had been single-minded in purpose, and it was hours before the intensity of my concentration relaxed. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that I even noticed the strong (though not dangerous) BraxtonHicks contractions that had come on after all the running and adrenaline.
My gratitude for having my son back far outweighed any physical discomfort I had to endure. Even better than waiting for a crisis or a baby to be born is when I can consciously choose to give my whole self to what really matters in the present moment.
This morning, for instance, I found myself racing from one thing to the next like the proverbial headless chicken: speeding to the bank and the store, nursing the baby every twenty minutes in an attempt to induce sleep, rotating three loads of laundry necessitated by various toileting accidents and diaper explosions, installing a car seat, and making arrangements for a job interview.
Then, my son asked me to put on a puppet show. “Please, just for a minute. Please, Mommy.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to just keep going and going.
Today, though, I looked at my son and saw myself through his eyes. I saw that he could see my frenzy and just wanted my presence.
I realized in that moment that I wanted to be the kind of mom who could put aside the chores to play with her child. So, I did it. I put on a very silly improvisational puppet show, listened to my child’s laughter, and took a few moments to enjoy being together.
Then, I went back to my list of three million things. Of course! Yet, if one blessing of labor (or a crisis) is knowing the clear priority in the present moment, maybe I can practice receiving that blessing in ordinary time, if only for a minute.
- Julia Aziz
Read more in Julia's book, Lessons of Labor.
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