mary e. robbins :: moth written

fete, feat. one year.

christmas.  it was sweet and sentimental.  zineb wore her santa pajamas.

i stayed up until 2:30 on christmas eve finishing zineb's gifts, wrapping other family members' items, and enjoying the quiet, productive hours of the early early morning.  every stitch pulled gently at my heartstrings. the work of my hands, for her.  in each minute of each day.

here we are in 2012 and tomorrow is zineb's first birthday.  at this time, on this day of 2011 i was round; full.  my mother and father sat with us in the evening next to the pellet stove in our living room.  my mother and i held each other and when zineb moved, we both felt it.  we awaited her arrival.  the downward view over zineb on my ritual morning walks with gus had steadily included less and less of my feet, until i could not see them at all. 

those stitches pulling at my heartstrings started long long before zineb's first christmas.  during a tenuous pregnancy fueled solely by the purest strains of hope and faith, i knit.  i knit when i could only sit still, i knit on hot days at the beach, i knit during long hours of insomnia and i knit through days and days of waiting for my breech baby to turn.  she did not.  i believed in my body's ability and i waited for her to flip.  she did not.  i played music to her feet, hoping she would investigate and move her head down to listen.  i did inversions.  i considered an external cephalic version, and agonized over the possible outcomes.  in the end, a uniquely grown placenta made that decision for me. a c-section was scheduled.  i called my mother and she came and held me while i cried.  i was scared.  but my heartstrings held up.  i packed our bags and on january 3rd at 6 AM, my mother and sister met us at the hospital.  smiling, laughing, nervous, excited, tired.  an instinctual power rushed through my veins, and my soul rose up to meet my daughter.

at 8:25 AM, zineb was born.  i had surgery for the first time in my life.  she cried immediately and i cried with her.  nabil kissed me and thanked me and held me.  zineb laid on my chest and nabil whispered welcome blessings into her ear.  he held her and carried her to our room.  and all was silent as my body was closed back up, alone with my kindest of kind doctor.

and just like that, we were a family.

it was the most challenging and beautiful of years.  i know i will not remember all the things that i want to remember, and that is the lush truth of living completely.  i am thankful for the ample supply of love that rose up to meet me as i faltered over and over again, from within and without. 

we have done so much growing.  zineb took her first steps on december 15th.  i was washing the dishes (a very tall pile at that), and just like that, she walked from nabil to me.  i cried, it surprised me so. 

she is there with me in the morning when i awake, and hers is the last breath i hear before i drift off to sleep. 

happy birthday, zineb amal robbins-sibouih.  you have given me strength.  my heartstrings are mended.

i love you.

 

 

the outside world.

today, zineb, you are nine months old.  effectively, you have been in the outside world now just as long as you were swimming in dark warm waters.  happy nine months, habibti.  the sun is now shining after days of rain, and i can hear you are just waking up from your nap.  out we go into the world, so grown and tender.

easing back into it

 
we're still here.  to say that life has changed since that morning in april of 2010 when two lines showed up on the end of that all-important pregnancy test strip would be a grand understatement.  the waters have been choppy along the way, and the departure from creative work while mothering became central took a toll on my spirits.  but here we are. and i am--though i knew not when it would finally happen--making work again.  so many folks have written to ask when we would be back online, and back to selling--we are so very flattered by your inquiries; lifted by your loving messages.  thank you.  we are working on getting the online shop together again.  magic.

and so, this past weekend, we were back at picnic portland, and it was good.  the circumstances of our work are different now.  there is child care to think about and a whole different bag to pack for the day, full of frozen pureed green beans, carrots, and sweet potatoes.  and at the end, we can't flop on the couch and eat crackers and hummus for dinner--we've got a little one to bathe and love up and put to sleep.  but it feels right, and good, and we are learning and growing together as a little family unit.  slowly my mama sea legs are coming.  thank you for your love and patience.  and thank you portland, as always, for a lovely day filled with good conversations and smiles.  thank you to the organizers--you are amazing.

i feel so awkward and unsure of myself, blogging here about this little lady who has tilted the axis of my life so dramatically.  i feel the words will never be enough.  sitting here now i suddenly have tears rushing out of my eyes and down my cheeks--the massive berth of my emotion is rich and varied beyond my comprehension.

but, i think, with your gentle support, readers, i will try to write a little bit from time to time about what it is like to live here with this whole new person.  and hope that putting the words out there,  inadequate as they may be, will remind me of my own strength, there within me.

six months.

today, zineb. you are six months old.  here is just a little peek into the journey.

  

zineb.  love you.  and thank you.

mother.

somewhere along the way i have become a mother.  in shades of black, grey, and blinding white.  in small hours and long minutes, liquid and solid, electric and organic.  it has been everything and nothing i thought it would be at once. 

zineb is three months,

four days,

11 hours,

and 41 minutes old. 

my muscles are different and my skin is changed.  my heart is under reconstruction.  my brain is ripe and spotted, peeled and exposed. 

it is forever.

zineb.  love you.