Hello everyone! I’m delighted to welcome you back to The Balcony View. On Thursday, 21st September 2023, Dan and I welcomed twin girls into our lives. They are the light of our lives and teach us so much. Thank you for continuing to support my work through my maternity leave.
‘Leave’, however, really is the wrong word for it because, as much as possible, I’ve been trying to bring presence to this postnatal period. It’s been less of a leave from life and more of a return to self, sensation, and a stronger sense of purpose. I feel like a whole lifetime exists within the last 6-months, where time has been a constant shapeshifter. In one day, Dan and I went from never having changed a nappy to feeling like a Formula 1 pitstop team, which creates a simultaneous feeling of Groundhog Day and never knowing what’s coming next; the very moment we’d stop to high-five each other (smug at having ‘got’ a stage or phase) something unexpected and new would humble us once more. I’ve spent over a decade practising various forms of meditation and mindfulness, and I must say, all those teachers combined have brought me just a small fraction of the lessons my children are bringing me each day.
Since having kids, I’ve noticed that older parents like to remind me that “it all goes so quickly.” Yet, I don’t believe that my children's growing up is going any quicker than any other part of my life. It’s just that I’m now more aware of how quickly all of it goes. We really are here for a fleeting moment. A blip in the history of time. And so, it’s up to us to the carpe diem the shit out of our ‘blip’ and enjoy the show, embrace its lessons and be grateful that we even got this 1 in 400 trillion chance.
Parenthood has provided me with a powerful balcony view, a paradigm shift that has brought a child-like curiosity about the world. I seem to have more questions than answers. I’m more playful than sure. And more grateful for the simple things in life, like cuddles, walks in the sunshine, and the feel of water rolling off my cheeks. It’s not that these things were absent from my life before. I just didn’t notice them with the same newness and aliveness as I do when I’m looking through the lens of my two amazing girls. Everything is new to them. They are balls of sensation, bursting with potential and possibility. Yet, when does that end for us? (And why should it?!?) I feel that bringing just an ounce of this wonder could transform so much in our lives.
Over the past few months, I’ve struggled to write about motherhood. To put this experience into words. Because this big, beautiful messy adventure is so much more than one thing. One story. One good night’s sleep. (One double poonami!) Yet, I feel the dominant cultural narratives simplify so much of the vivid and varied experience that makes up parenthood. In her 2009 TED Talk, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie argues that “when we reject the single story […] we regain a kind of paradise.” There is never a single story that can define what it means to be a parent, just as there is never a single story that can capture a life.
Motherhood has been so much more than what feminism sold me (or, rather, failed to acknowledge at all). So far, it’s not been a ‘step back’ but a ‘step up’, unlocking so much creativity, challenge, and a rather grounding sense of daily intentionality. I know present-day parenting gets a bad rap (one episode of ‘Motherland’ is enough to keep anyone on contraceptives!) And I wonder if a ‘check your privilege’ culture is driving proud parents into the shadows, afraid of overstating the positives for fear of upsetting non-parents. But from my experience, whether child-free by choice or on the other side of many years of failed IVF, my child-free friends and family members have been delighted to share the great joys that children bring. In fact, they often revel in it. Because these two girls never belonged to Dan and I. Whilst my body may have been the vessel that brought them to this world, they are a part of something so much bigger than our family unit. It takes a village, and we are so grateful for ours. For both the direct family members who have stepped into their roles with so much love and joyful duty, but also for the members of our community: the neighbours who mowed our front lawn for the first 6-months, the countless people who have held open doors for our double buggy and the kind stranger at the airport who held one of our girls so that I could put my carrier back on after walking through the security scanner.
When I’m power-pushing our double buggy to an appointment, I try whenever possible to stop and introduce our girls to well-wishing bystanders. I’ve noticed that babies evoke so much awe and curiosity, particularly in older generations. And it brings me great pleasure to share these two tiny humans with our wider community, too.
I remember at around two weeks postpartum, Dan and I were pushing our buggy around our local supermarket, bleary-eyed and amused at nothing and everything (humour was our superpower during the early days of sleep deprivation and figuring out how to keep two humans alive!) In the freezer aisle, we almost ran our buggy into an older lady who suddenly became curious about the side-by-side bassinets. After answering the usual questions (“Twins”, “Girls”, “Non-identical”), we offered her a peak through the sunshade, which was hiding our 4lb girls from the outside world. Almost immediately, she teared up and thanked us profusely for sharing “our miracles” with her.
One seemingly unnoteworthy and fleeting exchange in the freezer aisle might have made someone else’s day. Yet, it also brought about the great gift of reciprocity, connecting us to our common humanity. Because it is in these ordinary interactions—when I experience wonder through the eyes of others—that I am reminded once again of the great gift of life itself…
Thank you for supporting The Balcony View. As I step back into work and continue learning how to juggle motherhood with the many other roles I play in my life, you may find my posts somewhat sporadic as I find my writing rhythm and character once again.
What I do know is that I want my work to feel reflective, thoughtful, and, most of all…like me.
Ahh this is beautiful ❤️ welcome back! ✍️