A gentle transition to motherhood

Me Mudder

Posted by on May 10, 2014 in Blog | 1 comment

My mother survived Cancer this year. And it rocked my world. We take these women for granted, these gentle touch, big embrace, overflowing with affection women. And I am so guilty of forgetting all that she is, until I was faced with the possibility of being without her.

It was unfathomable. Who would I call to ask, yet again, whether or not I could eat the chicken I cooked three days ago that is still in the fridge? Who would come and clean out said fridge because she knows that of all the household tasks this one is my very very very least favorite? Who would be so patient as to bake cookies with my children and actually let them use up the entire bottle of sprinkles, all in one go?

For you see, this is the greatest gift my mother gave me – her patience and her love. Her patience as I pushed away, left the country and denied her the opportunity to mother me until I returned home ten years later. Her patience as I explored with my therapist all the ways she fucked up and made sure that she heard about each and every one of them. Her patience with my feelings as I stumbled into motherhood, clinging on to her like I was still a child myself and crying on her shoulder the kind of fat tears that only a mother can wipe away.

And her love. So much love. Unconditional, unwavering love. Love so fierce that sometimes it is overwhelming. Cool, gentle hands on my forehead when I was sick. Huge smiles and kind words when she was proud.

My mother. My “I made this meatloaf for you to freeze for a rainy day” mother. Too long have I taken you for granted.

And as I get down on my knees and thank God that you are still here, that your meatloaf overfloweth and your gentle touch is still mine for the taking, I vow to never let that happen again.

This is my mother’s favorite poem. When we read it together she crinkles up her nose as she laughs the cackle I’ve come to know and love. The one that makes it hard for her to breathe because her lungs are filled with joy.

Who took me from me cozy cot
And put me on the ice-cold pot,
And made me pee when I could not?
Me Mudder

And when the morning light would come,
And in me crib me dribbled some,
Who wiped me tiny widdle bum?
Me Mudder

Who would me hair so gently part,
And hug me gently to her heart,
And sometimes squeeze me till I’d fart?
Me Mudder

I think she and I would both agree that this says it all.


Kira and Mom


HypnoMothering, celebrating all the beautiful mamas out there everywhere, happiest of Mothers Day to each one of you!

Kira Dorrian and Tracy Adams are Seattle-based Clinical Hypnotherapists and HypnoBirthing® Practitioners, each a mom of twins. Together they have created HypnoMothering™, a class designed to help prepare women for a gentle transition into motherhood, and a safe space for new mothers to be seen, heard, and supported.

One Comment

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  1. Natalie Gooch

    Kira, this was a wonderful tribute to your mother. I met your mom several years ago and have to say she has truly been an inspiration to me on living life and demonstrating a sincerity in being a friend despite distance or time between chats. Thank you for sharing your mom.

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