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Writer's pictureAmy Howton

imbolc: in the belly

last night i took the girls to mom’s for pizza. well, dewey’s pizza, which is a whole other thing.

on the feast day of saint brigid, goddess of threshold and fire, i found myself in an in-between time and space. here, i sat at my mother’s table with my two growing-up daughters–meg, 13 and kate, days away from 23–in the shifting of our relationships.

kate’s enthusiasm for her upcoming quest radiated, spilling out in stories, hopes, questions, belly laughter. the preparation for her three+ month venture in Europe was revealed as she talked of all the things she was packing, the experiences she planned, concerns she had.

on one side of me sat my child. she was both so known by me and also so increasingly not–she is becoming a whole new version of herself…and us.

because as we sat with her–me and my mother/her grandmother–it was clear that kate carried threads of us in her own unique weaving of her/us.

my mom, sitting on the other side of me, mirrored elements of kate in her take-no- bullshit attitude, sassy cackle, and unapologetic take-me-as-i-am air…chiming in and out of the conversation with a convenient confusion that she blamed on her hearing aids. my mom, so clearly contributing to this very moment and who kate/i/we are becoming.

with meg, just at the beginning of her/our own becoming.

the beauty and sorrow in the unfolding…the gratitude.

it all brings the question spiraling back to heart/mind, really a prayer these days: who am i/we now? and who am i/we becoming?

at their age–13, 23–i could not have imagined who i/we are now: sitting with my mother and daughters as my oldest embarks on her grand adventure.

i could not have imagined.

and yet, here we are.

on this day of Imbolc, there was so much gratitude for my woman’s heart, for my woman’s body, for my woman’s womb. i know what it means to feel the stirring of new life within. to bear that new life and then to nurture and sustain her, letting her go over and over and over again…

…and with each surrender, surrendering too a version of my self.

in my/our becoming.

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