Day Twenty Four- The Rhythm of the Heart

The Heartbeat

  
     The sound of Bean's heartbeat from the Doppler fetal monitor filled the hushed silence. For a wonderfully still moment, recorded in my heart for all time, her fetus heart pounded out a quick galloping rhythm. And suddenly, after this pregnant woman had questioned herself time and time again in amazement, wondering if a little life actually grew inside her -I could hear her.
   It would be a little while longer until I would be able to feel her movements, her kicks, and hits and her stretches and her bouncy movements to music but before all that I had heard her heartbeat.
   It was strong. Steady. Miraculous.

   Every doctor appointment I held my breath while the doctor pressed the Doppler fetal monitor against my chilled belly skin until the wondrous sound filled the air, bringing a reassurance that Bean was still safely snuggled within my womb.
   What we shared before she was born was the rhythms of our hearts. For, as I could hear hers- nestled within my body, she was listening to my steady adult heartbeat every moment of her days.
   Beat after beat she could hear the familiar drumming of my heart as she grew, as she slept, as she moved in her tiny world. How important is this sound to our babies? Some researchers have tried to studied it, to measure the value of hearing the maternal heartbeat and of course, it's difficult to form a concise statement of importance. Newborns can't explain what they heard in utero and or explain what was important. But place that babe against your chest, with their tiny ears pressed against you and I have to wonder, as they settle down, if they aren't listening to our hearts, to the familiar rhythms that have surrounded them since before they took their first breaths.
  
   Late in the night, as Bean would wake asking for milk, I would feed her and then cuddle her against me, watching her chest move with the beating of her heart, with her even breathing, all working together in the rhythm of life.
   This would never change either, checking to see the heart beat, the breathing moving through her. Even as toddlers and young children, I would quietly tip toe into their rooms at night, before I went off to bed, watching these movements of life to reassure me that Bean and Abu were alright. They would roll over in their bed or flop around, clearly okay since they were moving and still, I would have to see that beat of their heart and hear their breathing before I felt like things were right in the world.

   And then I would cuddle with hero hottie, my ear pressed to his chest so I could hear the strong, masculine beat of his heart.

   From the moment we can hear we are surrounded by the heartbeat. When we are still and quiet, we can pay attention to our own, feeling it beat continuously, sometimes controlled by our emotions, for surely there has to be something about the heart being the center of our emotions. When I'm happy, my beat is sturdy and relaxed. When I'm excited or hyper, it beats frantically, as if to join in with my joy. Fear will make it race. And sadness or grief will make it feel heavy.
   Scientists will explain that the different hormones we produce in relation to our emotions affect the heart. There are physical explanations to all these different things. Regardless of this information, our hearts play a momentous part in regulating the beats of our life.

  We give our hearts away when we are in love...our hearts our broken when love is not returned...our hearts are bursting with joy...our hearts are fragile and vulnerable.
  
   Home is where our heart feels safe and loved.

Just a Musing...

Taking things for granted...Or do we remember to experience gratitude?

       During childhood most of us are taught to say 'thank you.' And typically we meant it, even if we had to work on getting the words right. To remember our manners. I certainty loved receiving a cookie or a special toy. At Christmas my siblings and I were taught to pay attention to the person giving us the gift so that we may show our gratitude and respect towards the giver. Perhaps it made for a more orderly 'opening of the presents' but we learned to appreciate what we were given. And in turn when a gift we gave was appreciated, we felt warm and fuzzy inside because we knew they enjoyed it and were full of gratitude.

      Now, gifts given by a 'giver' who wants our gratitude in such a way as to be controlling is an entirety different manner, left for another article. Because those are gifts we open with a hesitant heart and a wary soul. 

      Gratitude is important, otherwise we fall into the trap of taking things for granted. And unfortunately we don't even realize we take things for granted until suddenly something terrible happens. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all. But shouldn't we take a bit of time, before we leave the bed in the morning, or before we shut our eyes at night, to take a deep breath and remember what is important? To say 'thank you'. To remember our manners? 

       And not only for things such as clothes, food and toys but for the soil that our food is grown in? The rain that falls on our Earth and supplies us with life? For the sun that warms our planet? Should we remember to be grateful for the cycles of life and the joyful times of development our children grow through? Perhaps we could take a moment to be grateful for dogs because they are loyal and treat us like royalty when we do nothing more than give them pats on the head and puppy treats when they wag their tails?

        It's like writing. I grow frustrated because I haven't achieved my goals, I haven't found an agent or signed with a publisher even though I finished my book and edited until I could edit no more. But perhaps I should feel a bit of gratitude. Why? Because I could write. My brain could form words and sentences and ideas. Because I could embrace my creativity. Because my fingers obey the commands of my brain and type the keys on the computer that I want them to. Journeys of any sort can be difficult, taking our manners with us can help. A bit Pollyanna, I know, (the people that dwell in the world of negative are cringing) but gratitude is a spark of light which is always important otherwise we grow soul weary. And that just sounds like a tired state of being to me.

Writing Tip Wednesday

Since it's Thanksgiving tomorrow, I will be busy spending time with family, eating plenty of pumpkin pie and taking a nap from eating too much food. So writing is usually not on the day's agenda. But here's a writing tip that isn't so much about improving your writing as it is about spending time with family. 

  

     From the craft or scrapbook store purchase an artist sketch book or otherwise bound book with heavy paper. Attach a piece of scrapbook paper to the front and decorate it as you wish but something related to family. Then every holiday bring it out with some colored pencils and thin tip markers. Pass the book around and let every family member write about the day, funny memories, recipes, or other little tidbits of information. Or they can draw a picture. After the holiday attach some photos from the get together in the book. Which each holiday bring it out and pass it around. Soon it will become a treasured book and a great way to remember loved ones, far and near. 

Happy Thanksgiving and remember we make it a point to be grateful on this holiday but as someone important said to me, 'Why do we need a special day to be thankful? Shouldn't we be thankful everyday?'