Speak Out! 
Flowers Fall
Happy Birthday
I can't believe it's been a year since I was in the hospital barfing my brains out, begging for drugs, on the edge of an entirely new life. But it's true. Thayer and I had tried to get pregnant for nine months, and when it finally happened, when I knew for sure, even before taking the test (within a few hours one day I experienced a metallic taste in my mouth, the feeling that my nipples had been caressed with sandpaper, and the need to pee, often...it was obvious), we sat down on the big rock in front of our house, smoked a cigarette, and freaked out. "Holy shit!," we said and thought, over and over. "Holy, holy motherf'in shit." Smoking and cursing. A lovely start. Almost two years later, and I am still working on cleaning up my act (yes, Buddhists smoke and swear, and, no, don't worry....I was pure during pregnancy....for the most part).
It has been suggested that I ask "why?" in order to control my messy feelings. Maybe. Probably. But still. I love "why?". For instance, why is it that giving birth, the one thing most universal, normal, common, utterly pedestrian, really, in the whole world, conjures up such intensely particular feelings? It really feels like we are the only ones to ever do it. In a sense, giving birth is the paradigm for all experience, spiritually speaking: It is profoundly universal—so totally nothing special—but it can only happen to one person at a time, and it is in fact a very high drama for that individual (even the proverbial bush-squatting woman knows giving birth is a big deal). We all know that we have all come from some woman's body, but this woman? Like, me??? You gotta be kidding! In Buddhism, we are told that we are all perfect and complete, lacking nothing. It is our big, voracious egos that allow us to sit there thinking, "Uh-huh, right. Everyone but me."
And so it is. I really thought I would be ok in labor, that it wouldn't be such a fuss. I really thought the whole mothering thing would come naturally. It's been a year now. I feel like I am starting to settle down and recognize myself in this new life. Hey, that's me, isn't it, pulling a hard poop out of a baby's bum? And happily!
So. Happy birthday. To me. And Baby. I am insanely in love with Azalea. So far, I think I'm a good-enough mom. My hubby is still married to me. The house is clean. My work is done. The moon is out tonight. The house is quiet. I can feel something deep inside. I think it's gratitude.
Bethany Saltman lives in Phoenicia with her husband Thayer and baby Azalea. She has been a student of John Daido Loori Roshi, Abbot of Zen Mountain Monastery, for ten years. Her work has been published in magazines like The Sun, Buddhadharma, Geez, and, of course, Chronogram. She is currently working on a book called Sweet Jesus: Americans Convert to Christianity.