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Today, when I saw the shadow of Louise and myself on the bike, I thought: “here we are, that’s another stage of carrying”.

I used to love to have Louise in the baby carrier, snuggled against by body. Then, she became bigger and I started carrying her in the baby carrier on my back. She was like my fun backpack, trotting around this part of the world with me.

As she became heavier and heavier, we started to use more and more the stroller. There, while she can play, eat, take a nap on the go, for us parents the pram becomes a kind of extension of our bodies. We take space on the pavement and on the bus, we go over puddles, we fill it with groceries, we master techniques to take it up and down the stairs - we are tired, but nothing can stop us. Many times, one hand on the stroller and another hand of the phone. We carry her, we carry on our lives, all at once.

However, I have been carrying her much before that. For nine months, inside my own body. Maybe, even before that, in that half-her that was my eggs, the possibility of her, the dream of her.

I once read about the concept of “carriance”: “all humans carry the memory of being carried. ‘I am thence I was carried. I am therefore I will carry’. (Bracha Ettinger).

Also, a video with words by Maira Kalman shows very powerfully women carrying things, “the home, and the children, and the food… the friendships, the work, the work of the world and the work of being human”.

In this journey, Loulou and I are going through stages of carrying.

It is about carrying

It is all about caring.

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a Loulou mamou, dormiu, eu permaneci uns 8 minutos deitada do lado dela enquanto “All so well” tocava, e então rolei para o lado e saí da cama dela.

Coloquei o dragão do lado dela, ajeitei a coberta sobre ela, e estou aqui ainda, sentada, no quarto escuro, só a luz vermelha do abajur acesa, som da respiração de sono pesado da criança que brincou o dia inteiro, e “from sleep” tocando no ipad.

queria ficar aqui pra sempre.

paz.

❤️

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of tucanos and processes of musical co-creation

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of tucanos and processes of musical co-creation

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Last month I took part on the Grieg Research School Spring 2024 at the University of Stavanger.

Louise, then 20 months old, still needs me to sleep. Therefore, I had to bring her. My husband could not take days off to come. So, there we go, solo parenting at a conference again.

This was a small and focused event, with all the participants seated in a circle, and we were assigned to give feedback to each other.

During the sessions I stayed with Louise on the floor with her toys, books, snacks, etc. She behaves quite reasonably, no screaming, no crazy running around (is she used to it already?). But, still, she IS a toddler, she makes noises with her toys, she… sings! it seems that it’s becoming more challenging to keep her there than it was a few months ago.

When the session that I was to give feedback and present my work came, I sat at the chairs assigned to the presenters, Louise with me, with her colouring book on the small table in front of us. When we were about to start, I sensed the smell… Louise had pooped. The other presenter - who is also a mum - saw the situation, then graciously said “go change her, and we begin the session slowly”.

I run to the bathroom, changed Louise - who was giggling all the way through - and went back with her to my academic task.

I then caught up with the presentation, gave her my feedback, I talked about the first year of my postdoc research - “music as an invitation”, and received feedback. During it all, Louise coloured the tucano in her book (me: “yes, a tucano! … so, about processes of musical co-creation…”) asked for tètè (there we go, breastfeeding and discussing liveness), played with the pebbles in the decorative plant (my sharp eyes on her - “please don’t swallow anything” - while talking about traditions in classical music).

At the end, everything worked alright, we laughed about the multitasking situation.

Recently I started reading Andrea Liss’s “Feminist Art and the Maternal”, which discusses artworks that represent motherhood in a way that “renounce patriarchal, sexist, and racist attitudes that separate the body from the mind, the intimate from the political, and human beings from each other”. She shows artists who “strategically rethink traditional aspects of the maternal to create artwork that challenges the conventional place of the mother”.

Later on I apologised to the organiser, and she beautifully said: “Louise is ALWAYS welcome ❤️🥰❤️”.

Thank you, so much!

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Eu me lembro de quando eu era criança ouvir minha mãe falando: “esse nome deve ser doce…”

É que eu e meus irmãos realmente ficávamos o dia inteiro chamando “mãe, mãe, mãe…”

Faz poucas semanas que a Louise aprendeu a me chamar de mamãe. E é muito mágico. Ouvir a vozinha de bebê falando “mamãe” realmente vai lá dentro do coração. Até quando ela chama às 2h da manhã, o cansaço é gigante, mas a urgência em atender esse chamado é maior ainda. “Mamãe! Mamãe! Mamãe!”

Na verdade eu não sei o que ela entende sobre a palavra “mamãe”. Ela aponta as mães dos coleguinhas e fala “mamãe”. Sim, mamãe deles. Ela vê a coelhinha do livro e fala “mamãe”. Ela vê o desenho de uma mãe no outro livrinho e fala “mamãe”. Então, talvez ela entenda que essa palavra não se refere só a mim. Mas, mesmo assim, quando ela fala daquele jeitinho, sou eu. E também significa ter comida quando está com fome e bebida quando está com sede, conforto quando cai e faz dodói, refúgio quando alguma coisa assusta, descanso quando está cansada, distração quando está entediada, segurança no meio da noite ou a qualquer momento do dia.

“Mamãe, mamãe, mamãe”.

Sou eu.

E, por você, a cada dia eu sendo também muito mais que eu.

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(hopefully not in full!)

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“I am always carrying something small that was supposed to be big (or who will become big one day)”.

That thought came to my head this morning when I was on my way to a training session for a big research application while carrying my toy piano, as I had to sneak out for a rehearsal in the middle of the day.

I remembered the many times these past 19 months when I entered a conference room, or an HR meeting, or a career development session, carrying baby Louise with me.

There’s something about a baby “invading” an environment for adults, or a toy piano “invading” the space of the grand piano.

Both are portable: they can be taken virtually anywhere - to appropriate and not so much appropriate places. Both, for their tinyness, provoke smiles of surprise - approvinly, or not . Both can be cute, also can be hysterically loud.

Both are small, but get our hands full.

In my situation, they can be a portrait of my octopus moment in life - I am doing this, but I am also doing that. I am here, but I also need to be there. I am a researcher, but I am also a mother, and a pianist.

If I get stuck to open a door, please bear with me (and lend me a hand if you can). I’ve got my hands full. I am carrying something/someone [not] small.