Mothering Pen

I took out my pen to write, took the cap off, alas there was a piece of glue stuck to it, I removed it. I wrote. This also symbolises how motherhood has unblocked my writing ink, so to speak.

After having my first son, Musa, a whole new world opened up to me, I had never noticed it before, filled with coffee mornings and toddler groups, baby magazines and books dealing with all aspects of motherhood. In fact, anything and everything baby related. Then came along my second child, conceived six months after the birth of my first born. A shock to say the least but in time a welcome surprise. Along with my faith, the support of those around me, my other greatest ally were the books, they provided me with guidance and solutions that gave me confidence in my parenting. Before the impending birth of Dawud, I read everything sibling related. I read like I had never done before, gathering facts and opinions, gaining insight from the stories of other mothers. Reading offered me a security blanket that I was not alone, it felt exciting and reassuring to know that I was part of a larger community.

The endless blogs and forums bought together mothers who had the same hopes, joys, fears and frustrations. After all was read and pondered over, the computer shut down, the books given away to friends , I could pick and choose the things that worked for me, with out the confusions and contradictions that people can sometimes brings. If I disagreed, I could close the book and put it away and likewise if something worked I could read it again and again until I got the hang of it. No, my books  never tire of me.

Although the reading had removed the lid from my pen, the bottled up desire to write  was released after the birth of my second child, Dawud, his entrance into my life caused the ink to flow. A year after his birth I put pen to paper and wrote my first article on The Joys of having Irish Twins. The gateway had opened and more writing followed. Whilst the boys slept, I reminisced on how my daily experiences had shaped me and began to write more and more. The regular writing has helped to being fluidity in my words and increased confidence and surety to express my thoughts.

I am ready to stray from parent related topics and explore the wide world out there, and hopefully engage in my prize winning novel that I aspire to produce inshallah. But it is two my little men that I am indebted to, one for putting the pen in my hand and the other for causing words to flow on a blank page.

Motherhood had bought on a journey that I never expected, a journey of self development that pushes me to try and be the best I can,  a nocturnal  inspiration for my boys. After all actions are much louder then words.

Add a comment January 6, 2009

And then there were two…

Irish twins I read, is when you have two children within eighteen months of each other. That is what happened when Dawud decided to enter our lives fourteen months after Musa.

I have always been told that I look at the world through rose tinted glasses. Giving birth to my first born Musa did very little to change that. I’m glad. Musa made a very graceful entrance into the world; he looked at me, gave a short, sharp, shriek and continued to look around. I was in love, the love I felt was the perfect anaesthetic to the aftermath of Labour pain. I stared at him in awe all night. I didn’t want to leave him, so afraid I was to even make a much needed trip to the ladies.

My little Musa became my handbag, just as essential but not as light! Rarely did he give me any trouble. Every mother and baby group I visited would be littered with storied told by tired and exhausted mothers, who would be sharing their stories of boisterous toddlers keeping them on my toes, whilst I would withhold a smug smile.

Six months later, life took a new twist, to my shock I was expecting again. Had I been careful? No Breastfeeding had been my form of prevention. Now I know better. My love of all things natural took a nose dive. I fell into a sort of mourning. Not because I didn’t want this child. I had always had visions of a big Brady bunch style family. I grieved for the impending loss of one to one time with my angelic boy. The beautiful, silent moments spent gazing at him as he nestled close to me, as soft and comforting as a pashmina shawl, making purring kitten like sounds as he absorbed himself in the task of drinking milk. The bond, strong, secure and nourishing as the cord that had supplied him with all of life’s essential whilst he was curled up in folds of my tummy, deepened day by day. I would set two hours a day so I could devote time just to play sing and read to him, he would rush towards me at intermittent moments to plant a kiss on my nose or give me a clumsy embrace. As a new life formed inside me, I knew the milk feeding days would be drawing to a close and the quiet tender moments with my first born would soon end. Our times of play would no longer be certain or leisurely. A dull pain would enter my heart every time I contemplated how Musa would cope having to share mummy without having any grasp of what that really entailed. How would I share my attention? Or keep my sanity?

My tummy continued to expand, at times acting as a buffer between and Musa, for his arms could only reach half way across my tummy. Slowly his affections and preference turned towards his father and my heart began to pave a second path for the life that grew within me. Some moments I would lie back and imagine giving birth to another Musa, there would be two little angels to light up my life.

I spent hours trawling websites, gathering tips on how to juggle two babies and came across some very negative comments. The fear of not being as available to provide love and security to Musa for this child I didn’t even know gnawed inside me.

One day, the short sharp pains returned. Hours later he arrived. Dawud was born. A noisy entrance he made. He screamed his way into the world and he didn’t look impressed with what he saw. The first few weeks whizzed by, he cried incessantly, especially in the early hours of the morning. Musa did not stir, we had moved him to his own room and he didn’t bat an eye lid, markings of an independent man, we felt proud to have a secure little boy.

Whilst Musa slept, Dawud and I became acquainted over night feeds. I began to feel an attachment and overwhelming sense of love, a different love but just as intense growing inside, watered by the moments we shared.

There were times when Musa showed resentment, especially when I fed Dawud, and a flying teddy would land on his head. But I also I began to witness the beginnings of a lifelong friendship as they would eye each other, at first Musa only glancing from the corner of his eye, not even making efforts to turn his head. But as Dawud became more mobile and would make funny head movements, my first born would shriek with laughter and referred to Dawud as ‘awawa’, perhaps a reference to his early crying days?

It’s been twenty-two months since Dawuds birth and they are inseparable, if one is asleep or away, the other will go around like lost sheep. Dawud is constantly the subject of Musa conversations. Sometimes they are even mistaken for twins. They have moved in together…in the same room. When I put them to sleep, I can here giggles as they play games in the dark I will never know about. I still yearn to have a sibling of the same gender to share close, unspoken secrets with; I am so glad that we have given Musa the gift of a friend to share the joys and sorrows of life with.

Musa is still calm and tolerant and often gives in to Dawuds demands, not getting a fight, Dawud hands the items of dispute back and runs of screaming for something else or sometimes he even tells himself off!

Dawud is the son that tires me out with his demanding personality and constant need for reassurance, the same reason he sucks his two middle fingers when he is upset or tired whilst he is clutching a teddy in the other hand. Yet his adoring ways accompanied with his comic antics as he tells us off, never fails to amuse us and makes him all the more endearing.

We named Musa, Arabic for Moses and Dawud Arabic for David after the Prophets. Both were courageous and led their respective nations to victory in difficult circumstances.

I hope my boys, with their differing natures, take on challenges with assurance and confidence, in the knowledge that they will always have each other.

Life is not the same with two. It’s better. Is it double the work? At times, double the pleasure? Always.

5 comments October 26, 2008