You guys gotta see this! Ken calls.
Bee and I are dancing in the laundry room, a morning ritual we’ve fallen into. We play this song, and another, still another, she twirling her stuffed puppy or baby hedgehog or that odd Halloween decoration she’s been sleeping with.
Me moisturizing my elbows, applying concealer. Mascara.
Coming! we yell, barreling past the kitchen. We find Ken in the office with Scout in his arms, peering out the window at a baby frog nestled on the ledge. No bigger than Bee’s thumb, his smallness is enchanting.
We name him Frederick.
Bee and I throw on rain jackets, find the umbrella. We want to look at Frederick up close. We want to see him from the other side of the glass – to touch him, to hold him, to prove that he’s really and truly there, he and his smallness.
Is it a frog or a toad? I ask about Frederick as he balances on her thumb.
A frog, she says. Frogs like the water. Toads don’t.
I talked with a woman recently who likened her first year of motherhood to being underwater. I just wasn’t me, she said. I was me, but underwater, she said.
Underwater, I thought.
It sounded right.
We set Frederick free and wander inside, but later in the day we discover him again. He, just perched near the windowsill, gathering raindrops as big as he is, holding fast to the ledge, clinging to the brick.
He looks happy, Bee says.
If you’d ask me for proof of my current life, of recent existence, I’d point to daily artifacts: BOB books on the credenza, cracked egg shells in the compost, burpcloths piled near the washing machine.
Me and my smallness. Holding fast to the ledge, clinging to the brick.
She looks happy, you’d say.
Did you know frogs hibernate underwater?
When it’s time, everything slows. The heartbeat, the breath. The frog will burrow deep below, body temperature adjusting to her surroundings. Thin skin accepting oxygen from the water all around.
Proof of her smallness.
And when I think of it this way – of being here, underwater – in the smallness of motherhood, swimming through bananas and baby wipes and bedtime prayers while the outside world is crazed with political turmoil and heavy with angst, when the sky is chilling and tomatoes are dying and bad news is on the tip of everyone’s tongue?
Well, I suppose underwater isn’t so bad.
We are taught to think big. Go big or go home. Be large and in charge!
But I’ve never really believed in the good of that.
Give me the water. Let me hibernate, burrowed deep, thin skin and all. Let everything slow: the heartbeat, the breath.
Let us be small.
Will he be small forever? Bee asks about Frederick, hopeful. The rain has slowed; the clouds are beginning to lift.
Probably not, I answer.
But I realize I am hopeful, too.
I find such comfort in your smallness. And yes, there are so many messages about the power of loudness and bigness right now–but I’m feeling the quiet beauty of small with you. David and Goliath, baby. Give me a small stone. Xo
Ah, I love you friend.
What a beautiful way to describe the feelings of motherhood. I totally get the idea of feeling small. Of feeling like everyone is accomplishing something except for me. Of feeling the pressure from both friends and society to “go big or go home” and “be large and in charge”. It’s nice to feel like I am not alone in my smallness. Thanks for sharing!
oh you’re so welcome, andrea – i can very much relate!
These pictures are beautiful! And there is such a warmth and feeling of peace in your writing. It makes me feel safe, like everything is going to be o.k. You have really helped quiet and enlighten my thoughts and for that I am forever grateful.
thank you jana!!!! what kind words!!!!
Sounds like you’re all just exactly where you need to be. And when the weather warms in the spring and you’re ready to come out of hibernation, may you be as loud and joyous as the frogs in the water. = )
hahahah i always love love your sweet encouragement, jamie! thank you!
this is so beautifully written. Thank you.
thank you julia!
I loved this post!! I hope you don’t mind I shared it on my blog today:)
oh not at all, thank you for letting me know!
needed this today. so beautiful. thank you
thank you melissa!
You have such a magical voice in your writing. Thank you for sharing this new perspective, I am blessed by your words!
Oh Keeli, thank you!
Such a wonderful essay on the good of motherhood. Not the glorification of how hard it can be at times. And a good reminder as well. To be little along with them.
thank you ashley!
Comments are closed.