For the Mamas

It’s May, you guys! 10 days until Mother’s Day, plenty of time to celebrate the mother figures in your life with the gift of massage. Some nurturing for the nurturers. It’s a natural fit.

This month, I celebrate all the mamas out there with their kickers and screamers, the godmothers and aunties who may or may not be related by blood, pregnant ladies with achy hips and lower backs out of whack. I celebrate friends who crave babes in arms, the tender desire to create life and to love bigger. I honor those for whom the second Sunday in May stirs up any kind of ache, because this whole mama thing is so primal and deep that when we get cut, it’s usually to the quick. Whether you find yourself joyous or aching this spring or some blend of the two, May at Bodywork Brooklyn is all about nurturing and honoring moms of all stripes.

I’ll start with my own.

When I was little, I didn’t believe that my mother ever slept.  Any time I tiptoed into her room in the middle of the night, driven by belly aches or bad dreams or general anxiety about what-if-aliens-want-to-abduct-me, she always responded right away to the small voice chirping “Mom” in the dark. Time and again, she folded my small body into warm limbs, and I knew what safety felt like. It took me a long time to appreciate that my mom was not actually tireless, she of very long work hours and a commute for a while that had her leaving when we were still in bunk beds, kissing sleeping foreheads and scrawling a love note to leave with breakfast. Brilliant gardener, swimmer of lakes and ponds, teacher of evening classes, all around busy lady with mouths to feed, and sometimes rather mouthy ones at that.

My momma taught me that there’s joy in simple pleasures — the swirl of sea shells, the chattering and rapid flutter of birds around a feeder. She taught me to leave acorn hats at the trees where it looks like fairies live, to treat imagination with absolute reverence. My momma has taught me more than I can say about what love looks like and what love does, and she continues to show me that sometimes love is a pot of soup, sometimes uncomfortable phone calls, sometimes the right poem at the right time, any number of things, really, but that ultimately, love exists in actions, in taking care as best you can.

She also taught me that sometimes you have to work for your own sanity. Yoga is to me as early morning meditation is to Momma. She helped form one of my most steadfast beliefs: that taking care of yourself makes it easier to take care of others.  I’m not sure she does enough taking care of herself. If I’m being entirely honest, I’m still not convinced she ever really sleeps even though I’ve seen her do it. Like a lot of moms, she is rarely her own priority. Like a lot of moms, she deserves a good massage.

If you know a good mom who could use a good massage this Mother’s Day, get in touch!

 

Momma as new momma, with baby Tristan

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