Body Memory * Rebirth

The body remembers

just as my bones remember what it took to become a gateway to The Divine
expanding and moving way
flesh soft, and blood thumping
the trinity of skull yet fused
slipping with effortless ease
down into waiting hands

my fingers remember the holiest of silk velveteen
of a babe between two worlds
not here nor there
no earthly air yet into their lungs
born baptised from womb water to warm water.

just as my breasts remember the first cries
the eager mouth
the golden nectar spilled forth

my body has been a witness to the darkest ache of trying to conceive
it has been the vessel of life and goddess unfurling
it has been born again, thrice.. as this body travelled to the underworld. to stand on the threshold of life and death
and bring a babe back, with a newly born mother

The body remembers
it recalls

as each day brings me further away from the final day I carried him within me
my blood begins to wane ever so slowly
yet any time my thoughts turn to him, my womb weeps a little bit more

mondays are now heavy with memory.
and yesterday was no different
my mind swirls with all that could have been, would have been, and what is not.  it swirls with what will be and how to move forward
but the body remembers
and so my back began to ache
and i felt that distinct feeling of slithery warm blood and clots pouring out of me in the emergency room
and how i could actually hear it, like a water tap turned on, pouring from between my legs, through my clothes, onto the bed.
and then the slither of it all, while i tried to hold it all in unsuccessfully, life escaped and collapsed from my womb into a puddle on the floor

with that, my blood returns
my lower back gives an awful ache
and cramps find their way to my belly
the body remembers, it mourns and processes this grief in it’s own accord
rebirthing, constantly.. trying to make an understanding about it all
there’s a baby in the ground that should be in my body. 

and so, when my body remembers, especially on mondays
i set the stage for his birth.
lighting the candles and drawing the hot bath
filling a muslin cloth with healing herbs
stepping in and surrendering
i place my hands over my womb in mudra, blessing it
breathing deeply into it
letting my body be born and baptised all over again
offering up, and mending the way he was born
blessing the only space in which he ever lived.
right here, in this body.

the body remembers.

The Unspoken Trimester

There’s the first, second, and third.. you have your baby, and then the fourth trimester
The babymoon
a full month where your body is in full swing of producing milk, uterus shrinking, blood capacity in your body returning to normal, hormones shifting and changing, hair loss, discovering the joy of your baby, navigating the waters of new motherhood, balancing the needs of yourself, your baby, your partner, and possibly your other children.

but then there’s the trimester after a loss
the unspoken trimester, unnamed, walked through by many but the territory is vast and expansive, personal and unique.

without a baby in arms, it’s easy to think that your body is normal
to forget that hormones are still different, that your body has just been pregnant, and now is no longer
that not only did your body change, but so did your heart, your dreams.
and so these things take time.

it’s kind of hard to remember when grief has all sorts of faces
when days are okay, and then suddenly you’re sucker punched and the breath is knocked out of you.

the babymoon of loss
a trimester of unkowns

key elements to a babymoon include
- privacy and nesting
- closeness and bonding
- being taken care of and served
- rest and healing

Erin Darcy Design

I am three weeks into my own yet unnamed ‘babymoon’
my intuition has guided me through this process
there are still days when I begin to judge where I am on this journey, more out of frustration. of being sick of being sad.
I suppose that’s just part of it too.

nesting and privacy has looked like calling on my sisters to surround me with love

closeness and bonding has looked like cuddling into the arms of my man. sharing openly with my kids, letting them join in with us as they wished in honouring and burying their little brother.
being honest with questions asked or statements made.

being taken care of and served has looked like love letters from friends, self care and indulgence in buying little things that feel good.  taking remedies and supplements to support my  body and soul, taking herb baths and lighting candles. creating ceremony daily.

rest and healing has looked like being kind to my body. not judging it’s extra softness here and there. it’s been tucking myself in for a nap midday when i have someone to mind the kids. it’s been writing
it’s been moving, dancing, hula hooping. yoga stretching.
it’s been deciding to claim this time for myself.

next month will be a month of love letters
reclaiming and re-awakening the relationship with self.
going slowly and tenderly
welcoming the light, and gardening with the moon.

Here’s to all mothers, wherever they are in the journey on their babymoon of loss.

Thoughts from doldrums and other places


my toothpaste tastes like my pregnancy.

i can’t make tacos for dinner this week, because that’s all i wanted to eat when i was pregnant.

the new wine i discovered, that i really like. it’s starting to taste like the pungency of death. of the hospital smell still on my clothes when i came home that late tuesday night.
when we ate fast food takeaway so we wouldn’t have to cook. the fried chicken that i couldn’t really eat
and the little troll doll that claire picked up in the shop when we had to stop and buy pads.

the bleeding has slowly stopped. or so i keep telling myself, but every now and then there’s a red flag reminder when i wipe

yesterday was supposed to be my hospital booking appointment. where i’d hear the heart beat again, have my blood taken. yadda yadda. and then the following week i would have been meeting my midwife for the first time. i was glad that they maybe got the memo on my notes, and didn’t call to remind me of the appointment.

you read the miscarriage/still birth booklet the hospital gives you, and you search online about when you can be intimate after a miscarriage, after an erpc
everything gives you medical advise, all various ideas of when it’s okay to have sex again
but nothing so far that i have read told me that it would be heavy with emotional baggage
that you might feel ready
but that you might suddenly break down crying
everything flooding back to you
all the reminders that you aren’t pregnant. you need to avoid pregnancy now. the last time you had sex you were pregnant.

i’m really tired of feeling sad.
and i know that there’s not any other way out, but through.
i just don’t want to right now.
i’m done.
i want it to be a new season already.
i want to move past july.

i feel sad, and strange.
needy and clingy
and alone. suddenly so alone
as everyone moves on, as they do.
and i’m still very much here.
and i have no idea what else lies ahead in this.

right now, life is constantly that’s what it was like during this pregnancy, and this is what it’s like when i’m supposed to be pregnant, but i’m not.

it’s a new moon, and they always fuck with me.
this dark space of time, suspended. i always suddenly realize that while i’m sunk into the doldrums, there is no moon overhead.



really trying to re-manage my thoughts.
to put it all into different perspective.
to imagine my wee boy as a fairy in the garden, because something about that sounds so sweet and right
and why not
to think about this time as a time to devote to myself
i had only just woken up from the fog of postpartum depression, started to step back into myself
and then i found out i was pregnant
and it was all a shock, and then of course it was okay – our future was being built and it was going to be crazy. and wonderful.
and then i lost the baby
and i loved that baby….
and now i’m in this limbo
of sudden moments of the deepest sadness. and then moments of the sweetest light.
and the moments of fog, stagnant, nothingness. which is probably the worst feeling. that emptiness of just..floating through life, in fog.

and now i am just my body. i can dedicate this time back to myself again
to heal from the pregnancy and loss
but also to find space that is just my own – back to where i left off after postpartum fog
re awakening relationship with myself
moving my body with love, eating with love
letting my wee boy grow up and away, helping him to gently move on from the breast and explore the world holding my hand.
soaking up this sweet sweet time with him. oh my.. that boy.
finding more space to create
healing the physical wounds from previous births (scar tissue)
re aligning myself.
and then being ready to welcome a baby, on the energy of love and open arms, welcoming, rather than on the energy of desperation and depression of the events that just happened.

my mind has been so noisy
with my own thoughts and with the swirl of online
it’s really hard to quiet it all down, especially when i feel alone and need to connect

i need to start painting again.
to move my body more.
to be in nature more.


Walking home from school, we pass a woman pushing a stroller ‘aww’ claire says, ‘she has a baby’
I asked if she had a little baby in there
‘yes, your baby is dead.’
she said, so simply.
I chuckled to myself, and said ‘yes, my baby is dead’
we stood in the sun and she played her trumpet to the cows in the field, and then we walked the rest of the way home.

and I love how simple and easy it is with her. it makes it light.
it’s okay.. and it’s normal. and it’s part of our life.
I like her to know how our bodies work, how magnificent they are
I like her to know that the little baby that mama lost is also her little brother

I had to warn the teachers at school that I had a miscarriage, and that she might talk about a dead baby perhaps. Because I know how suddenly shocking and weird it is for those to hear it said so bluntly, when they have never personally experienced it. and my hope was that if she did bring up the ‘mama’s baby is dead’ stuff, that she wouldn’t be told to not say that. But you know, other kids are weird, and their families tell their children that babies come from storks, or magic, or something else that makes no sense. So in some ways I’m really hoping that I don’t have the kid that talks about dead babies and ruins it all for other kids. Whatever.


I was okay all day today,
the skies were blue, the sun was shining, the tree on the corner is growing yellow buds
the tulips in the windowsill are starting to blossom
and there medicine all around me
care packages in the post
and comfort food from the states, full of artificial this and that that tastes delicious.

But then, there was a trigger
and it all came flooding
I started to cry, and Claire heard me immediately, came over to me, cuddled me
‘mama, what’s wrong? why are you sad?’
I told her I was sad about the baby
‘oh poor mama.. poor baby. you sad that your baby died?’
I am..
‘poor little baby.. oh mama, I sorry’  she said, as she pulled the blanket up over my shoulder
‘you rest mama, you feel better’

and I love how simple and easy it is with her.
how it can be light, and matter of fact
and how she can be full of empathy, and understand that mama is sad for a very real reason, and that it’s okay.

Jack later came up and put his snotty hands all over my face to wipe my tears
and life keeps going on

my hormones are all fucked up
all at battle with each other, the thoughts of wanting to have another baby right now fill me up
when I know that really, I don’t. not just yet, that is…
that I need time, time for things to align
to take care of my body
to heal
to be.
and then I can work on welcoming a baby safely into my womb.
my head and my heart are all conflicted
with grief and longing
with self preservation and determination

and I know that as the months go on, and that I am no longer getting closer to preparing for a birth
the more I’ll feel that urge to be pregnant, to have that hope and dream again
of another little sprite for our family.

It’s all fucking weird territory really.
I’m so confused, and sad
and also hope filled, and light.

We’re turning towards the sun,
the days begin to grow longer
the sun is a welcome stranger
and our spirits are lifted.
There will be clothes on the line, and chalk on the paths
bubbles to blow and picnics in the grass

but there will also have been a newborn that was supposed to be there in the midst of it all.
that I had already thought of summer presents to package together in little baskets for the big brother and sister
to be entertained with outside while I sat on a blanket in the grass nursing this new one.
life buzzing all around us, and from within us

and there still will be
just without that baby in my arms.

and it’s all fucking weird territory, again.


How are you?  How is your heart, how is your body?

I’m okay. I really am. I’m not entirely sure how I’m okay, but there you have it.
Right now, today, I am okay.

I think that the reasons of my okay-ness are hugely played in the support and love that I have received.  (and in that, I cannot imagine what it must be like for women to not reveal their pregnancies until ‘it’s safe’. how alone and isolated they must feel, to have been excited, sick, and then completely fallen apart, without anyone to know or understand what just happened to their world)

I think that the reasons of my okay-ness have been found in the Medicine of The Mother.
Following my intuition through this entire process, and allowing myself. simply allowing myself, to do and feel whatever comes, without judgement.
At some moments this looked like crying, at some moments it looked like music on full blast, a dance party in the kitchen with the kids.
At some moments it looks like wine, and ice cream from the carton, and that felt so good and real and true.

I have been buying myself bulbs of any kind each time I pass by the florist and have any spare change in my pocket. These are sustaining me.
My hands in the dirt. this is sustaining me.

There is the divine partnership with my man, our communion. This.. this sustains me, and feeds my soul.

A walk to witness any signs of spring in bloom, the red buds returning to the trees branch, the snowdrops nearly in bloom.
This is sustaining me.

I stood in a puddle yesterday, watching my reflection.. and I thought ‘I’m not pregnant anymore… and that’s okay’
I pressed my palm into the tree right next to me, and felt the vibration of life passing through me

The crone woman that introduced me to the ancient man in the wood, a wise tree growing right up through the town moat, that has been there for hundreds of years, who I had never noticed
because I never needed to
until that moment.
and I gasped, and I laughed, and I nearly cried.
and I thanked her over and over again as she walked away…

Erin Darcy

The softest, most magical snow to blanket the ground
bringing hush to the night, as the streets were suddenly all aglow
the childrens laughter in the morning, from down the street and outside of house doors – as they make their way to school, throwing snow balls and building snow men,
a rare treat
The walking home all silly swagger with my girl, stomping and sliding in the slush – with her by the hand and my boy on my back. Joy radiating from our bodies

This is sustaining me.

The herb baths, and the homeopaths
The intentions, from myself.. and others
asking, gently asking – what can I do for you?
the offering, of everything and anything.. to listen, to hold, to feed, to be.. right there, whenever I need or want them.

The packets of seeds finding their way to my door
from around the country, and indeed, the world
from sisters hands near and far
ready for me to mix together to plant in honour of him.
in gift to me.
when really… it is simply, and profoundly a testament to women. to sisterhood. to this community that I always craved and never realized that I already had.

When I could really be left here with an aching hole in my body… in my gut. in my heart. in my being
I am instead filled.. filled to the top and overflowing
surrounded and cradled, crooned and serenaded.
the kindness and compassion I have been shown
the simplest of gifts
these women.

They are what sustains me
they are what make me okay, today

There is still a sudden jolt, a shock, an impossible feeling when I see that picture of his feet
and I know that there will be days ahead where I am not okay
what is sustaining me.. is knowing that I am allowed to be. and allowed to crumble.
allowed to laugh, and cry, and be sad or angry.
to need to hibernate around women at the same gestation as I would have been right now
with as much grace as I can muster
because I love them too, and I’m so happy for their little growing wombs
knowing that I can stop any energy being pulled or sucked from me, or indeed being shoved onto me
and that.. well, really.. I have all the tools and wisdom I’ll ever need inside myself,
and that if I follow this guide, with trust, I will be okay.

and I am.

A lifetime in the palm of my hand

It’s been a week
And a lifetime
Since I laboured and bled
And gave birth to a dead baby that fits in the palm of my hand.

A lifetime. The shortest little one.
A blip in time.
A week. The week before I had seen him living. Moving.
I had heard the rhythm of his heart
The heart that beat beneath my own.
What a treasure it was to hear
That sweet melody
A week later
I was in a gown with various wires attached to my body, different drugs and fluids being pumped in through my veins, quickly being wheeled into the theatre
I thought to myself ‘please don’t bleed too much. If they have to take your womb, you’ll be okay..  You have two beautiful babies. Don’t lose too much blood’  I even reminded the doctor of my blood type just in case.

I thought ‘he didn’t answer his phone. He didn’t get to hear me say I love you. I didn’t get to hear him say it back..’

At that moment I didn’t care about a baby, I cared about myself. I cared about not dying for a fucking miscarriage in hospital.

I woke up from surgery, and hours later I started to really realise what happened. One moment I was pregnant, the next moment I wasn’t.

Every hour or so my beautiful midwife would come in and gently ask how I was, check vitals, see if I needed anything.

God damn.. This seems impossible. How was this just a week ago and not a year? Did this all really happen?

I look at the scan of a 13 week old
And I know what that baby looks like. I know what it looks like in my hand.
I know what it looks like to put into the ground
And I know what it looks like to shove mud ontop of it with bare, shaking hands.  To be so numb about it while falling apart, not ready yet… And then go inside and carry on with whatever normal stuff the kids need.  To wash the dirt from my hands in the kitchen sink while looking at the little grave cut into the grass.

and then at night I lay there wide awake yet so tired. Unable to fall asleep, that’s when it all comes.

Miscarriage by Magda Wolna

Miscarriage by Magda Wolna

It’s raining, and all I can think of is that my baby is outside. In the ground. And it’s raining and cold. And this is fucked up….

And all I can think about is how my body didn’t keep this baby safe…
And how I didn’t get to nurse this baby.
And how Claire and Jack would have had a little rascal brother….
How beautiful he would have been.
god he would have been so beautiful..
he was so beautiful.

Handprints - Erin Darcy
And I think of mothers that have lost full term babies.. And newborn babies..  What is 13 weeks then? For fucks sake.
but it doesn’t matter at all. because it was everything.

I miss him.. And I wish I was still pregnant with him. I wish I could know him and be his mama forever. I wish I could smell him. That he’d grow up to be a man, and I would be in awe of him.. Because he  would have been mine.
And he is mine. But his impact is different. And I’ll never know who he would have been. He’ll forever be the baby brother that is buried under the apple tree.. And I will only be so lucky if I get to see that tree bloom flowers. Because this house is not mine. This yard is not mine…  And the place where he’ll forever be will not forever be mine.

It’s inevitable that we will one day move
And I’ll lose him all over again…


 before I conceived Claire, there were around five light orbs that came in a vision to me, they were the aura colours and contained the little rolling Buddha’s in different postures of laughter. My spirit babies. At the time, I felt that the pulsating blue one was mine at that moment, and she was.. And I knew the others were mine too.. Some were stronger than others, I thought maybe that would be a miscarriage or maybe it just wasn’t my baby.

Jack came into my womb, and he was red.

And this baby, Leo. He was this colour I never could really pin down, like an aqua something, very light and joy filled colour. I could see/feel the colour but not quite name it.
bright celadon.. perhaps. yes… the more I look at it, the more right it is.

it’s because that early vision that I’ve gone into pregnancies with a different feeling of what might I do should I miscarry, would I be okay.

And I am.. And I’m not, and I am.
But something in me knew all along that this would be my story, five years later. And it is something that I am proud to live through. An honour to see life this way. To really intuitively navigate around the death and birth all in one of such a wee perfect sprite.

I feel that there is a purpose for me right now, feeling this, doing this all.. And maybe it’s for Claire later on. I’m not sure right now, but it feels important.

I have three babies. My body has been pregnant three times, and birthed three times, and woah…
I am the woman right now that went to the mirror and comforted and consoled my (in)fertile self years ago. I am standing in her feet right now. I was my own saviour then, but now I’m not needing saving.. I’m already her. I have been her for a while

But right now, right now I am really sinking deeper into her.

And that’s right and good.

My blood is forever blessed by the spirit of that wee boy, who’s DNA forever circles around in my body. Part of me always.
And every full moon now, will have been his.. He called the full one while my others have kept with the firsts and last quarter.

It was cloudy all day, but the sky just opened up, revealing brilliant luminous moon light down on the garden bed where Leo Moon now rests

Today, I bought all the bulbs they offered at the florist. There wasn’t much, hyacinth and daffodils.
I came home and I dug in the earth, where just yesterday we dug for another purpose. it feels like years ago already.
time is warped
My hands in the dirt for my boy. for my forever faery boy.
for my wild hearted little one
tending to the grass and weeds, hands frozen and packed with mud on this dreary January day
I thought of mothers, how we are all the same while tending to the grave of our babes..
tidying them, in silent meditation as we work
growing something beautiful from something painful

Erin Darcy

Bridget’s day is February 1st, the first day of spring
and so I will weave another Bridget’s cross
and I will plant a garden full of wild flowers, all sorts of flowers
tendrils that curl and twist, flowers that sway in the breeze and some with thick sturdy stocks
I’ll grow a wild flower fairy garden, for him
my wee sprite
so that in July, when I would have been preparing to birth him in our home
I will instead be surrounded by the bounty of beauty in honour of him

‘birth’ by Lisa DiNunzio

‘birth’ by Lisa DiNunzio

Summer Sun, Leo Moon

(Miss) carry.
I carried you..I miscarried you. And I miss carrying you. Safely in my womb.
But surely my body fought, and you too.. Little one.. Because I saw you. And each time, three, I saw your steadfast heart beat and your legs kick, arms wave.. Your little mouth move. I heard the horse run in your heart beat, and each time my breath was paused in silent reverence for you.. My surprise baby. The one that shocked me as the test came up so positive before I ever dreamt of you.

The labour song
The long howl that is the key to unlocking the gateway to the underworld
Bringing birth and death in the same breath.
My low hum howl that escaped from the depths of my body as I began working bringing my first son into the world, living.. Was also the very song that became, to my surprise, as I birthed my third baby, dead.

The similarities do not escape me
The howl and moan of my body opening wide, the path to The Source
Where rich life blood pulsates, blossoms, grows, sheds, flows.

I stood, and out it gushed,
Rushing to the floor in a river
the most unglorious puddle at my feet
All stark red against the innocent paediatric floor mural of A&E

It happened so fast, so unexpected. I had just sent Steven home to get some sleep with the kids, and was to be admitted to observe the hideous migraine.
So I was alone when the contractions suddenly started, and pressed the emergency button when the blood started flowing
and then the room filled up with lots of people doing lots of things to my body at the same time.  I wasn’t alone, but I was alone.

I knew it was a lot of blood
And as I signed the consent and watched lights above me as I was wheeled into theatre,  I wondered if the blood would stop, if my womb would be kept.

It did. It was.
I woke holding the hand of the smiling nurse, who had a beautiful way about her

And after a long day, I learned that the baby I carried inside me was my son…
And how real that all made the ordeal that i just simply wanted over. Desperate in my state of deliria and pain.
My baby… My son.. He was there one minute, just a week ago I watched his heart beat and little limbs dance on screen.

… .
It’s Tuesday, the sun is now rising on the day that I will meet my dead baby. His body, I suspect will be barely a few inches big.. Big.. Big enough to have had a short little life beneath my heart, tucked cradled in my womb. For his big sister to lament over how baby would come out, and make a cherished Christmas decoration of, one that he’ll never grow up to see and know how loved he was in this tiny state of dreaming and future planning.

That Christmas decoration… The family portraits drawn in 4 year old hand of ‘mama with a baby in her belly’  Oh how grateful I am to have these precious keepsakes. To have shared this bounty with my babies, in joy and sorrow.
The day I started to miscarry, Claire drew me a picture as I lay trembling in bed with chills, unaware of what would happen later that night, this time it wasn’t a baby in my belly, it was a flower she drew instead.
She kissed my forehead, rubbed my back, told me to drink water and sleep mama, that I’ll feel better. “There there”, she said, “I’m right here. You okay mama.”

The snowdrops will be blooming, daffodils next. Two years ago I collected them,  pregnant with my March baby boy. My spring lamb.

Now those same flowers I dried for him and blended with his placenta hold different meaning. This turn of earth, waking up to the light again

I’ll go collect those same flowers, dry them, grind them… And they will be for this baby who would have been my summer sun, my summer son.


It’s now Wednesday, I believe.. though time is all a blur and I can’t wrap my mind around it all.
We brought our baby home, I kept the birth candle vigil lit all night as I slept fitfully for four hours before waking
Taking note that there are three babies in this house, two sleeping soundly on either side of my body.
I waited for the sun to rise, crept from bed, lit more candles, and then I held him, examining every little bit of his tiny perfection
cradled in my hand… impossible, my baby..

and over and over again I’m repeating
I love you forever, I like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby.. my baby. my baby you’ll be.

The day is dreary with wicked wind and rain
the florists weren’t open, I’ll try again tomorrow..

Claire wanted to see him, she talked about how cute his little body is. How tiny his hands are, where is his bum, what about his feet?
She helped me to make hand prints and held her breath, so still, as we set to carefully preserve the sweetest little prints.
Jack came in, crooning ‘aww baby’ while rocking his arms back and forth as if cradling a baby.

Steven dug a hole at the base of Jack’s apple tree, the tree that I grew from seedling as I carried him in my womb.
near it, the pots of the horse chestnut seeds I planted in this pregnancy, that will hopefully sprout this summer
and here he will rest, in the garden where we run and play in the summer
at the house that Jack was born in
at the root of the tree of his big brother
with the gentlest blessing of his big sister

He is our Leo Moon
Born under the full horse moon of January 5th
Due mid month of July 2015
Erin Darcy

Erin Darcy
Leo Moon


* I’ve been up since 4am, 4 hours of sleep.. getting our bags packed and soothing sick babies to bed. An early rise, tearful goodbyes, and a full day of adventures awaiting.  We nap on the airport floor in an empty terminal, until I open my eyes and realize that it’s filling up fast, as departures for Germany approach, and I’m soon shooed away. Scooping up still sleeping babies, the very one that threw up all over me multiple times, and them himself… the airplane, the floor, my clothes, his.  We hop on moving sidewalks, back and forth, back and forth… passing the 9 hour layover by running in circles. literally.

Finally boarding the flight home, across from me sits a tiny little Irish woman, she says nothing but smiles.. her entire being is the warmest smile. I catch her throughout the flight watching us, our little dance.. me soothing the baby, patting the girl’s back.. offering snacks, drinks, movies. rocking and singing lullabies to get them off to sleep. I smile back at her.
the lights are dimmed while most of the plane snores, not me.. and not her.
the sick boy stirs, crying out.. uncomfortable, restless
and I rock, and I sing.. and I offer the breast.
I glance over and find her watching me, with a smile.. with her loving eyes
and I smile, feeling her love pour all over me.

I stare at my boy and I think about this little woman, how she too is a mother, of course she is.. I imagine how she’s watching me, seeing herself with one of her own babies.. and tears start to slowly fall. I’m witnessing this moment outside of my body, of this little man child so vulnerable, of this mother so exhausted, of this love and reserve of patience and strength that finds her in these wee hours. I feel this little crone woman loving us, loving me.. she’s sending me strength, she’s sending me her wisdom, she’s remembering the weight of her own babies in her arms, she’s reliving her mothering years in the same swaying language mothers around the world speak..
I’m crying, and smiling, and feeling so grateful to receive this silent witness.

Once the plane lands, I think that I’ll talk to her – ask her how many babies she has.. But there isn’t a chance, instead, she smiles at me… and we part ways, never having offered an exchange of dialogue, I left instead imparted with so much more.


* It’s 3:30am, my witching hour.
I’ve been sleep deprived for months now, it makes me an angry mother, a weary mother, a mother that suddenly gives no fucks, I can be patient and graceful in one moment, and I can be an unimaginable monster the next. Mostly though, I try to apologize for my grump, my frustration, my humanness. My hugs and kisses begging to make up for the rough way I handle one of them in a moment of despair.
Tonight though, I’ve slept for six hours, I could easily sleep for twenty more.. but six will have to do.
This man child, wee big year and a half boy wraps his arm around my head, pulling me in, holding my head to his chest.. cuddled into him
Oh my….
I’m swooning.
This thing with boys, it is something other.
I soaked in this sweet cuddle, and time sped ahead.. I saw him as a tall man, as tall as his dad
his arms enveloped around me. His scent changed from toddler to man, my wee baby all the same.
My heart, my goodness.. these moments.


erin darcy
The scene awaiting my return from the morning school run
it holds everything unseen, uncaptured..
where in a moment I saw us from a distance, from a memory
Standing in the kitchen, a frying pan of scrambled eggs going on the stove
a chair pulled up to the sink, while she sits, waiting for her face to be painted as a sugar skull
the boy asleep on my back,  as I turn back and forth, stirring the eggs before they burn, painting details onto her face for her Halloween party at school.
mama with tired eyes, hair pulled back into a messy braid..
There it is, I suddenly see us. this moment. this dance. This cliche and perfection, this whirlwind of morning song..
How I wish that it could have been captured on camera forever, how I wish I could paint the vision that I saw
It was magic.
Instead, it was lived instead of captured – and then stood still in this still life by the sink, waiting for me to return home to.

I don’t ever want to forget these moments..

May 26th, 2014

the tender release
like the sticky warm sweet of the air after the rain has passed
when the majestic sky is revealed through dark clouds

the release. ease. acceptance.
i have no control
anxiety is not serving me well
what will be will be
it will all come together
nothing is permanent

waking with that breath of air and sweetness of ease

tending to the slugs in the garden and the wet clothes in the washing machine
the sun on my back
and the spiders scrambling off the line as i push clothes pegs aside.
the mundane and domestic
washing dishes and making plate after plate of snacks.
holding space for the tears and toys, the wants and demands of two littles.

but just there, a rumble in the distance

there it comes creeping
like those very spider legs
weaving a web of uncertainty again
rising up, anxiety plagued
while i remind myself again – that i have no one to be responsible for but myself, my babies.
that nothing is permanent
and that i am not letting anyone down, as long as i am honest.
reminding myself that all i can do is say what i need, speak from my most authentic self
and if i am heard, all well
and if i am not – i can not be to blame.
let it go.. let it go.. let go it.
but it still sits, frothy on top
bitter on the tongue

i will not let this sour me
breathe breathe.. keep breathing.