The place that I call Ohm.

Reaching back into my memory bin of a time before my shirt was stained with spit up and my breasts rested higher upon my sternum, I pull out collections of various times that have become unfamiliar. I enjoy reliving some of them, and others get tossed into the depths with hope that they will never return to me. 

I have a fond attachment to the times when I would take three yoga classes scattered around my work day. The lifestyle had started changing me for the better. I was developing a sense of awareness and gratitude for the things most people take for granted. I had acquired a sense of community within myself, even if nobody else was around. And when others were near, we were fully brought together with the opening and closing sound of Ohm surrounding our joint practice and experience. 

Fast forward to my life today, a little over a year later. My community is no longer petite girls in tight spandex pants with prayer beads wrapped delicately around their wrists. Instead, I have joined a different crowd. A group full of women with matching dark circles accenting their weary eyes that are constantly followed by the clicking sound of their nursing bras. We share collective struggles, but we also relish in each others' joys. 

When I lie in bed snuggling with the little one, smelling my milk that has dried to the sheets, and marveling at his precious face, I know that the tribe of women with whom I am now bonded are experiencing the same emotion that overwhelms my soul. We are mothers. We have learned to be present in these moments, for they pass too quickly. 

In the nature of yoga, I would find myself in difficult poses, requiring a steady breath and a heart full of determination. And upon achieving the pose and correct posture, I would feel an immense sense of accomplishment and pride, but also a love for my body. 

Just as in yoga, so it happens that motherhood comes with a fair amount of difficulties. I spent most of yesterday steadying my breath in dealing with a teething infant. I was determined to pull him out of his misery, even if only temporarily. I held him close--despite wanting to scream on the inside, as if that would end his shrieking. And at the end of the day, when we anxiously crawled into bed, his eyes found mine and he smiled. This is what I live for. This surmounts anything that I've ever done. 

This is the place that I call Ohm.