Maternal Acrobatics

Love, in Motion

She broke the bread into two fragments and gave them to her children, who ate with eagerness. ‘She hath kept none for herself,’ murmured the sergeant. ‘Because she is not hungry,’ said the soldier. ‘No,’ said the sergeant, ‘because she is a mother.’

—Victor Hugo

Above: Mama and me.

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Flip mom upside down and you get wow, the simplest proof that mothers are astonishing, no matter the perspective.

This ancient, sacred vocation begins with the baby flipping inside the body and the mother rearranging the outside world—a call and response that needs no words.

Before a child ever sees daylight, there is motion: a quiet, hidden choreography as old as time, a strange and delicate dance in two parts.

First, the mother leads.

She cradles the child in the warm, tidal embrace of the womb. She shifts and sways, nestling this new life into comfort. The baby turns; she adjusts. The baby tumbles; she steadies. It is a duet performed in darkness, a primal, wordless rhythm.

Then, the baby does.

Birth is the first cue change, a life-giving, life-altering handoff. Suddenly, the mother must follow. She is no longer the driver, just along for the ride. Her days bend around hunger, her nights arch around cries, her schedule folds in on itself like silk. The child sets the tempo, and the mother matches it—guided by nature, full of grace.

It’s a kind of holy, recursive acrobatics.

A twist of the hips soothes a whimpering cry.
A practiced spin catches a sudden fall.
A slow whirl waltzes between stove and sink and crib.
A gentle pirouette rocks a tiny cherub back to sleep.

Through it all, the lungs learn new rhythms of breath, and the heart doubles its square footage overnight.

If pregnancy is the first miracle—life begetting life—then motherhood is surely the second: a woman turning her whole existence upside down for someone who cannot yet stand or sit or wipe or say thank you.

And yet she does it.

Quietly.
Constantly.
Patiently.
Miraculously.

Again and again and again and again.

The tumbling never really stops; the apparatus just changes.

And, over time, four feet stick the landing where two once did.

Yes, mom upside down is wow.

The word was always telling the truth.

Children just learn to read it later.

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Per my about page, White Noise is a work of experimentation. I view it as a sort of thinking aloud, a stress testing of my nascent ideas. Through it, I hope to sharpen my opinions against the whetstone of other people’s feedback, commentary, and input.

If you want to discuss any of the ideas or musings mentioned above or have any books, papers, or links that you think would be interesting to share on a future edition of White Noise, please reach out to me by replying to this email or following me on Twitter X.

With sincere gratitude,

Tom