Firsts

The core joy of life with my daughter is seeing life all over again. Unclouded, clean, ethereal, curious. Each day with her I experience a first: the first time she wears jeans, first time she eats a grilled cheese sandwich (or any other of the dozens of new foods she's trying), first named object ("star"), first time playing in the fountain at the park, first time holding her sippy cup by herself, first time taking a nap with the other toddlers at school...and that's all been in the last two weeks.

These firsts are precious — they have an energy that is pure and exciting. It reminds me of the bliss I would feel when all of the emotions of my family members were aligned: a bike ride, late-night bowling, an adventure into the horrors of the cellar. Our unique wave patterns of feelings seemed to cancel one another out in those moments — and there was a shared sense of equilibrium. I watched it while I experienced it, and I remember being amazed by the calm and joy of it.

Similar, but so very different...in my daughter's development, every first presents a surprisingly quiet gulp of awe.

Today I had a proposal to write, exams to finish, grades to calculate...but what occupied my mind was my hope that my child would eat her grilled cheese at school. Her first 'real' school lunch. An experiment. And she ate the whole thing...the whole thing! Last year at this time she was only a few weeks old; then, I thought about sleep and nursing, the delicate state of my body, her tiny face and hands, her thin legs and hiccups, and the heartbreaking sound of her cry. I couldn't have dreamed that this first sandwich would bring me such happiness. Or that she would be standing and talking and wearing jeans like a little cutie pie.

My daughter inspires me to see my practice in a new way. In its efforts to calm the mind, the practice leads us back to when we were new to the world — bodies fluid and bendy, just discovering how to balance. My practice presents me with the gift of firsts...just recently, for example, I have for the first time been able to get my body into Supta Kurmasana all by myself. And there are those words, "all by myself." Like a child. My daughter practices standing, and I watch her test and feel the earth with toes and heels. Back and forth, her micro-movements give her more and more balance. In handstand, I do the same with fingers and the palms of my hands. We both are testing strength, and faith.

I tune in to the subtle frequency of the moment of firstness, appreciating its adventure and wisdom, and seeing even more clearly how wise she is becoming in body and mind. I am beginning to see wisdom in myself, too. It gives me comfort to admire her — I am honored to watch her grow into her life and learn not only how to mother her, but also how to mother myself.