Mindfully Mothering

One chubby leg is visible from outside of the fridge, nearly closed on his small body. He stands and bangs a baggie of cardomon pods in one hand and a half-eaten bag of organic baby carrots in the other.

I am furiously cooking carrots, potatoes, kale and zuchini in a thrice-used pan of crusty olive oil on the stove. My brown rice tortilla grows cold on the plate.
Ella paces, sniffing the floor for dropped goodies (likely to be from his hands). I forgot to feed her today.

It is 12:30. He will nap at 1:00 or turn into what we affectionately term “the fuss”. I am tempted to just stand and eat my taco. It would be easier in several ways. He is occupied, busily knocking his bag of carrots on the row of condiments in the side door.
But, my digestion is not so good these days. My body needs me to sit and eat.

I walk to the table in the living room and hear the thunk of his bottom hitting the floor. He crawls after me, the baggie of cardomon pods still clutched in his hand. He will stand at my chair and cry to be held. It is hard to eat a taco and hold his writhing, reaching 20 pound body in my arms.

I take three gratitude breaths before I eat. This is my new way of being in the moment with food. In three breaths I can say, “May this food nourish my body. May my body serve my heart. May my heart serve my world.”

I challenge myself to eat more slowly. He is fussing and it would be easier to devour my taco and lug him off to bed. Instead, I chew. I offer him small bits of potato and he is content to stand at my chair. Ella still paces. I make myself a mental note to toss some food in her bowl before heading to the bedroom. It is likely that I will forget.

Some days are just about those three breaths before eating and the simple act of chewing. Mothering is the slowest fast ride I have ever been on. And yet, it is so much more enjoyable with my eyes open.