Beddy-bed-bed. Where we spend a lot of time.

The development of Arlo’s eczema has led me to an intriguing space of self-examination and contemplation coupled with activism and motivation. Arlo is exclusively breastfed and therefore with the suspicion that this skin condition is dietary my eating habits have changed drastically. I have cut out all dairy and gluten from my diet, as well as eggs and soy. Furthermore, I have been trying to eat a diet rich in alkaline foods, while avoiding acidic substances (good by chocolates and dessert). In the changing of my diet I have come to observe all the more closely my relationship with food. I must be honest. Those first few days were steeped in cravings and rage. My head split from withdraw as my emotions whirled about blaming and lamenting how hard these sacrifices were. Through the fog I began to notice my eating habits were not centered around mindfulness and nutrition, but around security, comfort, reward, and pleasure. Food helped me check out, eased the discomfort of a hard days mama-ing, gave me something to do with my hands when I was feeling insecure. Food was often the easy way out.

My current phase in this eating evolution is that of frustration, irritation, and hope. Being this restricted is difficult. I am trying to focus on the foods I can eat rather than dwell on those I will not eat. And yet many times I am driven to irritation at how complex meal planning has become. I used to take pleasure in cooking, it was an escape. I suppose a perspective shift is in order, I can choose to enjoy this new territory, look at it as an adventure. I foresee more research. I am hopeful that this healthful shift will benefit not only my son, but me as well. Truly how can I be bitter when I can clearly see through all the information that I have absorbed that this new path is much more nourishing than that which I previously treaded? 

My days have been filled with research. Trying to glean pertinent information about eczema, a condition that is characterized by many interpretations, treatments, and unanswered questions. I have found a couple of good online resources, and I have many friends who are nutritional-healing minded like me who have offered up suggestions. On top of changing my diet I have also implements the use of some supplements for both me and Arlo. Every time Arlo nurses he gets a small dose of digestive enzymes, he enjoys taking them and opens his mouth so I can sprinkle the powder on his tongue. 

All in all Arlo’s skin shows signs of healing. He, himself, is feeling better, which is evident in his demeanor and quirky sense of humor. 

As the stars have aligned, this spring cleansing has bled past the seams of my physical body and has been manifest in our home as well. Last week my parents came to visit and help me accomplish some much needed decluttering and cleaning. It was an amazing experience. I cannot even begin to express how invigorating it felt to sift through my material world, offering up piles of pruning to those in need. I felt physically lighter after it all. Furthermore, to allow my parents into this new space of mothering was healing. It is very difficult for me to allow myself to be seen, even by those closest to me. Yet those two days it all flowed so naturally (ah, that Pisces energy). I felt seen, and encouraged by the words spoken to me by my mother concerning my mothering. 

As space has been manifest in our home I have been feeling great surges of creative energy. Pieces I would like to write and create flower in my psyche. I now have a permanent space for my sewing machine. Also, every room now has a sweet little nest for Arlo, who has mastered the art of sitting up. 

It is spring, the robins have returned, and I feel the most beautiful soft green shoots of blessed life poking up through my heart, ready to be released to grow wildly in this great world. Winter’s looking within time will surely allow for much vibrancy in this coming season. 

so succinctly us.// Pinnacles Youth Park March 2010

Function: adjective

Etymology: Middle English, from Latin succinctus having one’s clothes gathered up by a belt, tightly wrapped, concise, from sub- + cinctus, past participle of cingere to gird — more at cincture

Date: 15th century

1 archaic a : being girded b : close-fitting

2 : marked by compact precise expression without wasted words <a succinct description>

synonyms see concise

— Merriam-Webster Dictionary.com

Photography by Joshua.

Our relationship is as such: he is hungry and my body feeds him, he is soiled and my hands change him, he is bored and my legs walk him, he is tired and my being comforts him. Now, the dynamic shifts and he is ill; my being seeks to heal him.

Healing is a creative effort. One must examine the situation, look beneath the surface. A determination must then be made, will the symptoms merely be treated or will energy be manipulated and redirected to heal the cause of dis-order?

So I examine, what is infant eczema? What could be the cause? There is a myriad of information, I sit at the computer clicking from one page to the next. I look at nutritional philosophies. I glean, sift, and catalog.

And now I’m exhausted. I can barely focus sometimes, and most of the time I just want to withdraw. So I do.

I’m trying to cut back on sugar and I’ve become conscious once again of that craving. It comforts me, it always has I believe. I remember a story, and a shadow of a memory. My parents once ran a small general store and restaurant. There were bins of hard candies for sale. In a dusk-lit corner of my memory I can see myself nearly twenty-years ago, standing on a chair snatching candy—round, cinnamon, wrapped. The story goes, “she could grab a piece, have it unwrapped and in her mouth before we’d even know what was happening.”

Tonight my head is pounding. I feel the furthest from grace. I feel stuck within my ick. For Arlo’s sake I’m try to be mindful of my diet. Actually, not for Arlo’s sake alone, truly, in our symbiosis, this is for my sake as well. It goes like this: no dairy, gluten, soy, eggs, tomatoes, avocados. Nothing overly processed, nothing loaded with sugar. Clean food. My body is screaming now.

The sugar is the hardest. Tonight, actually all day, I have just wanted chocolate. I don’t think its really chocolate though. I want comfort. But I don’t know how to open up and ask for it. Honestly, I don’t feel I have the energy to open up and be seen.  

I have been taking fish oil and evening primrose oil. I have been taking vitamin D. I have been brewing a tea composed of: dandelion root/leaf, burdock root, thistle seed, pau d’arco bark, red clover, nettles, and chamomile. Last night I made a salve containing these same properties to use on Arlo’s skin.

Raw, unpasteurized apple cider vinegar helps his condition. I put it in his bath water and he doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t like when I just give him a sponge bath though. The whole time I say over and over, I’m sorry. I use probiotics on his skin too, as well as giving them to him orally.

I really am trying, so hard. I am relying on my knowledge and intuition to get us through. I am riddled with self-doubt and guilt. The nature of our relationship being as such, I feel that this is my fault, my actions with my body have produced this effect in my son.

Along with the eczema his congestion is still present. And there are times he attacks his fingers like his gums are hurting. He seems so uncomfortable. He cries more, and I can hear the distress in his voice. I just want to fix it all.

This is so hard.

I feel broken.

And these feelings are inescapable. I’ve cut out so many distractions now I’m just stuck with myself, I wish I liked me more.  All I see are my shortcomings. Why can’t I be gentle with myself? How can I be gentle with myself?

Smallest of fingers,

woven through a chain link fence.

Afterschool slant of shadow.

Absent to fear,

Innocence manifests in her child light.

Innocence had never not known light.

But there is a darkened glint in the eye of the fox.

A sneer dipped in fear.

Rust tinges the purest fingers.

Russet shadow,

of the shedding fence.

That fence,

a boundary between light

and shadow.

On the other side a crafty fox ,

whose idle fingers

are laced with fear.

The unfamiliar taste of fear,

Melds with the metallic scent of fence.

As the little fingers

tangle against light

and the Fox

who begets shadow.

Now the taint of shadow

is the seed of fear.

Bred by the whole of a fox,

near a fence,

that distorts the angle of Light

upon once pure fingers.

A snarl of fingers

weave secrets in shadow.

Now Innocence must leave on her night light.

Riddled with fear

she runs the fence

desperate to escape that seedy fox.

But that sly and eager Fox has already nipped Innocence’ fingers,

as the fence lazily played with evening’s uneven shadow—

and so a child emerges into fear, yet will always remember and seek the light.

everything’s gonna be all right.”

Her every breath a prayer above,

silent and bright as moonlight.

“Everything’s gonna be all right,

lay that cheek right here on my shoulder.”

Silent and bright as moonlight,

she whispers for a soft space to hold her.

“Lay that cheek right here on my shoulder,

let the stars sing in your dreams.”

She whispers for a soft space to hold her,

tending to her fraying seams.

“Let the stars sing in your dreams,

rest knowing all well be.”

Tend to her fraying seams,

She cradles close the lovely.

“Rest knowing all well be.”

Her every breath a prayer above.

She cradles close the lovely,

Mama says, “There, there love.”

Rumi 

There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street
and being the noise.

Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.

Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.

Open your hands,
if you want to be held.

Sit down in the circle.

Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd's love filling you.

At night, your beloved wanders.
Don't accept consolations.

Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover's mouth in yours.

You moan, "She left me." "He left me."
Twenty more will come.

Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought!

Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?

Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.

Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.

(source)

Quietness

Rumi

Inside this new love, die. 
Your way begins on the other side. 
Become the sky. 
Take an axe to the prison wall. 
Escape. 
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color. 
Do it now. 
You're covered with thick clouds. 
Slide out the side. Die, 
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign 
that you've died. 
Your old life was a frantic running 
from silence. 
The speechless full moon 
comes out now.

(source)

When his cheeks were just "rosy."

Sunday night and Monday night we did not sleep (well). I felt broken. There was much thrashing, kicking, whacking, itching, whimpering. I believe every physical malaise Arlo experienced was mirrored in my psyche. Even with socks on his hands he insisted on trying to scratch the itch of his cheeks. His nose is stuffed up, perhaps from teething, none-the-less, he is not comfortable and is not able to nurse easily.

At times I feel at the edge of myself. There are things I could be doing but they do not hold my interest. Yesterday I had a dream in the little sleep I experienced, early in the morning when Josh walked with the baby. It lingers in my periphery, just out of reach. I ache for it, as in the cold when fire is so welcome but merely smoke is smelt. Dreams escape me.

We visited the clinic yesterday, where everyone still exclaimed how cute Arlo is, despite the rawness of his cheeks. He charmed everyone, passing out smiles like gold coins. He sat in his birthday suit on the scale, which read 18lbs. 12oz. Magical mama's milk. Nursing is such a source of comfort for both of us. For me it reassures me in the midst of all my striving for betterment, that there is one beautiful thing my body does without me having to consciously try to be perfect at it. We are blessed in that respect. I know some women must work hard to nurse their children, and there are those who are not able to do such. My heart experiences much joy when I reflect on how my body knows exactly what to feed my baby.

The clinic we go to is called Namaste, or the Divine within me recognizes the Divine within you. How incredible, how hopeful. On this stretch of Arlo's journey in his new world of physicality they recognized that he is experiencing eczema. A relief to know what it causing him such discomfort. And now, for me, another stretch of discerning what could be the underlying cause of this malady. I have a intuitive inkling that it could be the minimal dairy I have been consuming. So I will try eliminating that to see if it will help Arlo be more comfortable. Surrender.

I am giving away my life. I hope to gain my soul. 

Postmark May 8th, 1909

On this path of searching and finding at times I become a bit bewildered, or even, in shadow moments, doubtful that the call I am heeding is real. When my feet encounter rocky spots that hinder my step and bruise my soles I fret that this is all for naught. Then I will stumble upon something so co-aligned with the purpose my soul speaks of that I know deep within my being that I am being led. 

At a recent gathering of the mama-tribe I am a part of we had a vintage postcard exchange. I must admit, I spaced out a bit, became wrapped up balancing Arlo-care and making a treat to bring to the gathering... I totally forgot the exchange and didn't bring a postcard. Blessedly, a couple lovely mamas brought extras and every one in attendance got to pick a postcard. When it was my turn I picked one that appealed to me without much thought as to what was written on the back. The handwriting was delicate, fanciful, and I doubted I would be able to read what was written.

Last night I picked up my card from the kitchen table intrigued by what was written on the back. I decided to try to decipher the message. This is what it said:

5-8-9
Ha Ha Rosa yours was a good one. How do you like this one? Its getting awful dry out here. Got a letter from Frances sometime ago so I am feeling better now. Expect to leave here next week. Perhaps will go back to Hutchinson. Well I have just recently finished reading another grand book of the New Though kind, "Be Good" all the world is ours. H.S.

The statement concerning the New Thought book stuck out to me... Having attended a few Unity services my mind recalled that term, "New Thought," so of course, wanting to know more I googled it. Wikipedia gave me a brief history of New Thought.

After absorbing this finding I couldn't help but smile at the whimsy of this divine finding. Over a hundred years ago there was a woman much like myself, seeking and finding, opening her being up to new possibilities of spirituality, truth, and wisdom. Over a hundred years ago, and now I have a piece of that same spirit to look at and be reminded that this path is good and true. All the world is ours.