What I’ve realized of late is that I don’t just hold my breath at times. I hold my life. For the same basic reason. In anticipation. It’s a bad thing to do, I know, but it’s almost involuntary. Since May 12th, I have consistently held my life… as I introduced my body to all sorts of new things: Mitochondrial Energy Support pills, Co-Enzyme Q10, DHA, Folic Acid, Birth Control, Lupron, Lovenox, Progesterone in Oil, Progesterone Suppositories, Medrol, Estradiol, Gonal-F, Colace, Human Chorionic Gonadotrophin, Amoxycillin, Metronidazole, Ofloaxin, Terconazole, Phenazopyradine. *takes a breath*

Just to name a few.

Some pills. Some shots. Some salves. All more than this little girl takes in “medication” any given day. I rarely take aspirin for a headache (it’s got to be a REALLY REALLY bad headache). And the more meds I took… and the more I held my life in stasis… waiting to see what would happen next. All the side effects they told me would happen: moodiness, hot flashes, soreness, constipation, diarrhea, nausea, numbness, weight loss, weight gain, bloating, dehydradtion… you name it… I was suppose to feel it. So I held my life… held my breath and waited… because all of that was in anticipation of maybe becoming pregnant at the end of the cycle. So… smaller things in life took a back seat where they could – AKA in large part took a hit. Larger things became more magnified and took precedence and went under scrutiny… work, home life.

And here I am – on the other side of it all. Childless still – but with hope of trying several times again. In a new job that needs me and compensates accordingly. And refocusing on the things I put on hold. Detoxing for a little while and only keeping up with my vitamins and the diet on which I dropped 15 lbs… and finally

*exhaling*

*

As I slept, I dreamt about an island in the night. A small island, covered in palm and plants and the camera of my mind circled over the island. There was activity in the center the land… firelight… drums… an ancestral ritual and dance. Getting in closer, we find those natives dancing about the fire in ceremonial dress chanting and pounding the earth with their feet causing a unified noise through out the island. And the closer I got the more intense it became until one of the natives let out a blood curdling cry that announced the event’s commencement. I suddenly found myself in the center of this event in a bamboo contraption that perched me so that i was 4 feed off the ground, but it had no SEAT per se. My belly was HUGE with child and I had on a white linen garment with shells and beads – although dusty from the moving terra and dancers. In front of me…. my mother on my left side. my grand mother at my right. my right foot planted on my grandmothers left shoulder and she held me tight by my knee and my left leg on my mother’s right shoulder while she did the same. They both moved towards me which placed me in a squat position and told me to push. And although I was scared to push, their presence assured me that I didn’t have anything to fear. I pushed… but didn’t give it my all. I didn’t really feel anything. The drums beat louder and my heart was pounding in tandem. “POUSSER!!” my mother implored (which means push in french) and I felt her grip on my knee tighten and her move closer and this time i PUSHED and something came out… a red bloody mass attached to me with a long bloody cord… not like what I’ve seen on the stories or in books… My mother took the main mass (which normally would have been a baby) and carried it away which only gave my grandmother mere seconds to cut the bloody cord, which she did swiftly. No sooner did she cut the cord than was my mouth FILLED with blood… Cheeks puffed out trying to hold all the blood that was suddenly in my mouth. Not spitting it out because I sense that it was important to keep it there until the proper vessel was presented, I wanted to ask my grandmother who was still there – “where is my baby?” and she looked at me almost sympathetically, but didn’t respond. I looked at the bloody trail that was left behind by my mother carting away the bloody mass but couldn’t see any trace of my mother. I started to break down. The blood leaked out of my mouth onto my white, dusted garment and I fell to the floor where more blood began to pour out of me from all orifices. And the dancing became more intense with the chanting and the final scream of my grandmother with white shaman face makeup…..

And i woke up.

I’m shaken because my GRANDMOTHER normally comes to give me good news….

I have NO idea what this is supposed to mean…….

*

Baby Making

Seems to be the first thing folks ask me about these days so it’ll be the first thing I get out of the way. It seems that we are on-ramping for cycle 1 of the IVF treatments. They (the fertility clinic) currently has me taking 2 different types of heavy duty antibiotics to clear my system out from any harmful crap that might delay od derail the baby making; a horrid iron pill that repeats on me throughout the day with the most unpleasantness but is necessary because I’m anemic and my hemoglobin is way low; and finally birth control. Right – because they want my ovaries to rest. Remember when they taught us how birth control worked and what it’s purpose was ORIGINALLY? It prevented pregnancy because it tricked your body into believing that it already released an egg… Therefore, you didn’t actually release one. In the next few weeks they are going to pump me full of untold amounts of chemicals to get my ovaries to OVER produce eggs so they can extract a bunch of good ones for fertilization. So, the ovaries are being given a little 2 week vacay before that. So this cocktail of chems is swirling about my system, disturbing my natural systems – sleepless nights, no appetite , exhaustion and making me particularly moody. Those of you who know me know I barely take an aspirin for a headache. So this all is a touch unusual. All for the greater good I hope.

Earl and I were struck with an untoldl amt of giddy euphoria after the Dr.’s appointment last Saturday. He, because he read the beginning of us taking the meds and scheduling future appointments as the beginning of us making my family. Me, because when the Dr. looked at my ovaries on the sonogram he said “they look good”. A year ago when Dr. K looked at the same ovaries, he said “you’re a lucky woman that your right ovary is still functioning. Because the left on is almost completely destroyed.”. What a difference a year makes. He promised me he’d reconstruct my ovaries and do “plastic surgery” on my uterus. He’s definitely kept both promises. So we go for the apt to begin the Lupron (which I haven’t figured out what that does in the grand scheme of IVF yet – i know what it was for when I was researching options to shrink my fibroids) in 2 full weeks from today. I am speaking and breathing positivity and possibility into my dreams despite my overwhelming desire to be “realistic” (read: brace for the worst).

Work and the Pursuit of Progress

Work. Yep. Necessary evil. I regularly wish that in my next life I’ll emerge independently wealthy. A few bright lights have gone on in the long tunnel of recession. There are rumblings of our company going private (again). But it may actually happen this time. The company has begun matching our 401K contributions again and – oh yeah – I got a promotion . I am now a Director in the digital space over all three properties and they gave me a pinch more money. It’s not enough for me to be like – ooh, let’s buy a house, but it replenishes a touch of what’s been taken from us over the years. So I guess good things. I’m still looking to expand and improve the Victoria brand, so more me-controlled progress soon to come.

Sorority Life (not the fb game)

I’m the Secretary of my chapter now – it means big things – I’ve moved up in the ranks and I think I feel myself becoming a better leader. On a regional level, there are some things afoot, but I’m not entirely sure I can announce them yet. I am going to Boule this year – first time since Florida (as a registered participant) and also, I’ll be a delegate! That served the dual purpose of being a responsible team player in the chapter as well as a cost cutting measure *smile*. I’m in a good place with my sorority… I’m having fun, I feel like I’m making a difference and I enjoy my many interactions with my sisters.

Well, that’s a good hefty update. More regular ones to come

*

So, Tuesday, I got my period. (yeah – I wasted no time) It’s not something I share with the world freely unless I absolutely have to (due to lack of a pad or maybe commiserating with a fellow female or whatever). I did however inform my husband and thought nothing of that. During the day Tuesday (and when I say i just got it – we’re talking warning shots mostly….) I get a call from someone with a very thick Eastern European accent from Dr. K’s office. “Hello Victoria, do you have your period yet – you have it today, yes?” And I paused for a second and thought – why does she know me like this…. and hesitantly responded… “Yeesssss…….” and she promptly responded, “GOOT. We see you Thursday between 7AM and 10AM!” and I asked if there was any prep or anything to be done before the appointment and she assured me they’d let me know whatever I needed to know when I got there. I called Earl and told him what we were up for Thursday morning.

Yep – today. Well, we didn’t get there for 7AM as we planned but signed in at 8:00 AM and hunkered down for our at least 1 hour wait. We try to be pros at it so it doesn’t make us angry. And I’m thinking… THEY KNOW I have my period. So there can’t be an exam happening today. They’ll probably start me on a whole bunch of pills or whatever. Massive speculations abound as I’m sitting there aging in the waiting room with Earl. Finally they call my name and start to lead me to an exam room. And I’m thinking to myself… they must want somewhere quiet to talk to me or take blood (from my arm) or something… But when I got into the exam room it was all prepped with stirrups and a sheet to put over my nether regions. And the nurse informed me that i was to undress from the waist down. And I said defiantly – um… y’all ain’t ready for what this is like… it’s a heavy day… and my flow ISN’T measly… She waved me off and made it sound like “whatever… basically do what I just told you to do.” I undressed in everything from the waist down except my diaper.

Brief History of me and my experience with this female cycle we call menstruation: I’ve NEVER had it easy. First off, I got my first period when I was 10. I was in the 4th grade. I mean. C’mon. Then to add insult to injury, my flow was never ever something to sneeze at. I learned a hard lesson one day on the way home from school one day when I’d not accurately planned for the arrival of my “Aunt” I only had one pad and I wasn’t my typical extra double wide super long magna absorbency with wings and tabs and extensions. It was just a 25 cent one from the vending machine in the girls bathroom at SFP. Put that on at 2:00. Bell rang at 2:37. Got on the bus and train to get home – about a half hour commute. It was the fall. I had on: my pad, my panties, a slip, my uniform skirt, a long sweater and my wool fall coat. When I got off the 7 train at 90th street, I looked down at the seat I left behind and there was a HUGE bloody smudge all over the seat which made me know that the back of my grey coat was telling of who left said smudge there. I RAN from the train to my home 2 normally short blocks which seemed like an eternity for me and cried for HOURS. From that point forward, I took many measured precautions to avoid that kind of thing from EVER happening again. But there’s only so much planning you can do for stuff like that. As I got older and the fibroids grew, the flow got heavier and the ways for precautions within the realm of the reality of a young lady who gets her cycle regularly became strained. Doubling up on overnight pads through out the day. Changing my pads every 2 hours. ANYTHING I COULD DO to avoid another embarrassing accident. But through out the years, I had my fair share. Bloody butt prints on chairs at work, family and friend’s carseats, restaurant booths… Opting to stand became the regular for me – because I’d rather inconvenience myself to spare what was left of my dignity. One day when my father was dying and after all the years of watching me strain, my mother finally suggested that I try using the adult diapers that my father had in the house for his incontinence issues. She assured they were designed to hold more liquid and could very well be the solution to my problem. I was so reluctant out of the sheer embarrassment of having to say to MYSELF that I’d now resorted to wearing a diaper because of this flow. But the embarrassment of the ever growing instances of accidents shamed me right into that bag of Depends. And that was working famously… till the day I bled through one of those. (that’s when my trek to get the fibroids removed began). At this point, I probably wear them more out of fear than necessity. My flow at present after all the surgeries seems to be 1/3 of what I was used to once upon a time. But I want to be sure I suppose. The anathema of my period all these years is BURNED into my soul. It isn’t something that takes a week or a month or maybe even a year to break out of.

So I sat on the edge of the examination table with the sheet over my yet still girdled loins and cried. Earl was trying to hard to be sympathetic. But what could I tell him that he’d understand? They want me to let loose the flood… and sit here in my own blood until they come to examine me in front of my husband. It was a level of embarrassment I’d not yet dealt with yet and didn’t have much time to learn how to deal with. So I cried. The nurse came in eventually and asked me what was wrong. And in brief I said, “I had no idea that I was being examined today… I have my period… It’s very heavy…. I wear an adult diaper when my cycle is on. I’m very embarrassed.” She said in a soft tone but still being very professional, “we have to look at the ovaries 2 days into your cycle. We do this all the time. Please try to believe that we’ve seen pretty much any scenario that you can imagine. I’ll give you a few moments to take the diaper off…” She left the room and I quietly asked Earl to please turn around so he didn’t have to see me remove the object of my mortification. I slid them off and centered myself on the blue pad that was now on the edge of the exam table. She came back in and asked me to lay back and spread my legs. And conducted the exam like nothing. She took measurements of my ovaries and then asked me to get dressed and get ready for them to draw blood…. *sigh* I thought – this is just a blood centered day. I put a fresh diaper on assessed the damage on the table, which wasn’t as much as I’d expected… and put my clothes on. Sat there quietly and the next technician came in with a tray of 17 vials. I figured… I’d have to fill one of each color. Nope. They had to have me fill ALL OF THEM. 17 vials of blood. Blood. Bloooood. BLOOOOOOOOOOD. (sorry. Had a tiny breakdown just now).

Then it was off to the nurses’ station for my next orders. 2 prescriptions of antibiotics, 1 prescription of antibiotic cream, 1 prescription for birth control, 1 prescription for antibiotics for Earl. Go. Fill them. See you on the 2nd of April. So, yep… the process begins. I’ll try to blog more frequently because I have a feeling that I’ll need to. I found solace in talking to Aisha after it all. She’s unwavering. Just calm and focused. I’ve gotten 2 incredibly great lines to always remember in the last 2 years. One that Auntie INA gave me on a refrigerator sticker that reminds me that “God is at work in you” and today Aisha reminding me, “Do good things to your body… your body will do good things for you.”

I’ll just step and repeat.

Lord Help me.

*

Greene Light Photography - Hayden Greene

So the latest in Victoria fashion is that I seem to cry alot at baby stories. I watched a few shows of that nature last night with the hubby and ended up bawling every time a baby made it into the world. Used to be something that was so far fetched for me… the idea of giving birth. But it’s become more and more real as of late that the possibility of doing it all makes me feel… empathetic to what the women on the screen are experiencing. More and more though, I know I’d like to have a midwife and a home birth. I use the “home” part loosely. I’d like to have a natural birth in a peaceful setting with minimal pharmaceutical intervention – not necessarily in my apartment living room. If we manage to have a HOUSE by that time, then yes. I’d love to have that.

I watched this documentary put together by Ricki Lake called The Business of Being Born that I was flipping by casually one day cause there was nothing on tv. And it just so happened to be while I was on my 6 week medical leave. I walked away from that documentary knowing a few things for sure 1) Women have an innate knowledge of what the birth process should be like… even if we don’t experience it all the time 2) Women (mostly american ones) have NO IDEA what birth really looks like because all we see on TV are women laid out with their feet in the air screaming for an epidural. It does NOT have to be that way AND? that’s more of that culture of fear. 3) There are always choices but we have to be knowledgeable. We research more for the car we’re going to buy, or the laptop we want than we do for our birth options. In 2005, c-sections were 1 out of every 3 births in America. C-sections are MAJOR Surgery and are SUPPOSED to only be used in dire emergencies. But… I don’t know ONE WOMAN (and I know a LOT) who has recently given birth vaginally. NOT. ONE. I remember noticing this trend back in 2000 and it peaked my interest then. But then it just snow balled. So I’ve always had my antennae up about it.

But I believe and feel more and more now, the reality of having this little life will be my image on the screen one day (edited, of course) LOL And that makes me all teary eyed and happy.

Can’t wait!

*

Everytime I find the meaning of Life, they change it
- Unknown

Luckily for us, Humans are designed to change. It’s through change that we grow and evolve and become better (and sometimes worse). But to expect that we’ll always stay the same is a fallacy. Even the most stubborn, non-changinist person in the world is changing every day (and I am calling ONE person into my mind that I know…) and how does he change? By becoming more stubborn and more entrenched in his old ways than ever. That’s still change though.

Last year about this time… I had received a bunch of baby shower invites that I summarily ignored. Just having lost the first love of my life (mommy) and not knowing what the hell was going on in my body made me bitter and angry. I couldn’t find any enjoyment in other people’s successes and happiness. And although it’s not Christian to be that way… it IS human. And it felt like these announcements were coming out of the wood work. EVERYONE was having a baby. EVERYONE except for me. And I’d forgotten the lessons I’d learned in the past. There was a time when EVERYONE was getting married. EVERYONE except for me… but I’m married today. You’d think that would give me comfort. But it didn’t.

Around this time last year a dear chapter Soror of ours passed away. Soror Delores. And I’d sworn off of going to funerals because I felt I’d had my fill of them for a life time. But Soror Delores deserved me being there to pay my respects to her. So I trudged out there in the snow to partake in her Ivy Beyond the Wall. But her service was so packed with people.. there was NO parking ANYWHERE. And circling around in Queens is never an easy task. By the time I found parking and jimmied my way into it past the ice and snow and made it to the funeral home, I’d missed the IBTW. But Sorors were still there, chatting and milling about.

One Soror came up to me. My dear Soror Alex (for whom my love and respect grows daily!) walked up to me and came right out and asked what some folks may have not wanted to. “I sent you an invite to Georgie’s baby shower and you haven’t responded – that’s not like you – what’s going on?” I had a choice. I could lie and say I didn’t get it. Or that I’m much too busy to attend. But before I could make a real decision about what I WOULD say… the truth came spilling out to her uncensored. “I can’t,” I exhaled….”I just can’t take it, Alex. EVERYONE is pregnant but me. I don’t know what to do and I’m not sure how I can continue along celebrating for everyone else and never for the making of MY family. It’s destroying me inside and I can’t even muster up enough real joy to put a smile on my face for everyone…” I caught myself right then. Oh LORD… did I just SAY all of that??? That’s the stuff of inner dialogue if anything!!! I thought she may have been like… “Oh… I see,” not knowing what to make of it… and maybe walked away. I forget sometimes that she’s a trained psychologist… and a GREAT one – one who actually cares. She sat me down and asked me what I’ve done to try to find out what’s going on — have I been to doctors etc? And at that point, all I’d really gotten were run arounds. Doctors who would diagnose then disappear or who would recommend watchful waiting. But I was feeling worse and worse. She listened attentively and then said she’d heard of a doctor that was in Brooklyn who was really good. She told me a few stories of Sorors she knew who had gone to this Doctor and now not only had they been pregnant but some were waiting on their next child. I suppressed the over excitement in my heart and said “let’s see before we get our hopes up”. She jotted down the name of the Doctor and phone number and the name of one of the success story Sorors and her number. She said, “Just try… you have nothing to lose. And feel free to call me if you need to talk.”

It’s no mystery that the number she gave me was Dr. Kofinas’ number. And we’re all mostly familiar with how this is turning out.

I bumped into her LS Georgie at chapter meeting yesterday who told me how excited she was to hear my status updates about the Post Op appointments and began giving praises to God. And looking at this lovely woman – the same one whose baby shower I’d hidden from going to, more inner dialogue creeped out, but i didn’t mind it. I said… “Last year at this time, I’d given up, Georgie…” and she quickly responded, “Oh… I’d NEVER given up hope for you!” And her assurance filled me with emotion. It was all I could do not to cry. Happy tears though…

One year can make so much of a difference. I’m a completely different person now than I ever was then and I’m so happy for it. I have renewed hopes and dreams that I thought were dashed to the ground because I had a lapse in faith – which is human. But THANK GOD for change and the ability to rise up from those hiccups and fear.

And thank you Alex and Georgie from the bottom of my heart. I’m not sure there will ever be a way for me to truly express how your presence in my life has made such an amazing difference. But PLEASE know that it has!!

*

He laid me out on the table and this time let Earl have the birdseye view of what was going on. Usually Dr. K makes Earl stand so he and I are both looking at the same monitor. But this time he had Earl looking at the whole thing from his perspective. Showed us the ovaries which he said look perfect. Earl asked “Are those dark spots eggs?” and the Doctor was like “yep, those are eggs, the little black holes” And Earl proceeded to inform the eggs “You’re coming home with US soon! I see you!!” That made me chuckle. The doctor moved that thingy around in me to reposition for a different view and said he saw 1 submucosal myoma (fancy for fibroid) that he said “it’s no problem, we can remove vaginally” (he has a VERY thick Greek accent). So he asked me to get cleaned up and meet him back in the office. Asked me when my last period was – I told him it had just ended. He expressed it was important to go in and take care of it right away and this was the prime time in my cycle to perform the surgery. So he said “Wednesday?” And I said “… you mean… of THIS week?” He barked an emphatic “YES”. Well… if you’re that excited, I thought to myself… how can I say no. So we scheduled what he referred to as “emergency surgery” for Wednesday the 18th. He assured me it was an outpatient procedure and I’d be back to work the next day. Fine. Let’s get it over with.

Wednesday: Earl and I got into to pre-op at 8:30AM waited there till about 10:00 entertaining ourselves on our iTouches with the lovely free flowing Hospital WiFi they had coursing through the air. They came a few times to ask me a million questions I’d answered before about allergies and reactions to anesthesia, etc. Around 9:30 / 10:00 they came in and gave me 2 pills for post-op nausea and 1 antacid. And then we waited some more. We waited a LOT. We waited till 2:30PM when they finally called me in, laid me down, IV’d me up and I woke up 2 hours later in recovery. Feeling very wonky and out of sorts (not my typical reaction to anesthesia). My face was completely swollen and I definitely had some floating going on in my head… felt like my eyes were swimming in their sockets. I found out later that the swelling was due to the extra intravenous fluids to keep my blood pressure from tanking and since the operating table they had me on was tilted so my pelvis was raised, my head was lower than the rest of me… and thusly, the fluids rushed to my face. The nurse in recovery told me that I had a catheter in to help remove the water and that the doctor had given me a Lasix to help with the removal of the fluid from my system. Earl mentioned that the swelling had gone down in my face but my eyes were still puffy. And I went to touch them and they hurt. Hurt like… I’d been crying all day and rubbing the tears away with harsh tissues all night. That RAW feeling. AndI found out later that they had taped my eyes shut to protect from corneal abrasion but I suppose in ripping the tape off, they scarred my eyelids. It was definitely some new kind of anesthesia they gave me because I could taste it in the back of my throat every hour or so… just there and reminding me that I wasn’t 100%. At about 8:00 they told me that I was good enough to go home. So i slowly got out of the bed, assessed my situation, put my contacts back in and started to dress. Got home… showered, noted that the water burned my eyelids and my regular day and night face cream burned it even more. Had a couple of bottles of water and laid still in bed till I fell asleep.

Woke up the next day and my eyes were the size of golf balls. Put in a few calls to the Anesthesiologist who told me all of the above resulted in the swelling of my eyelids (the fluid, the taping). But to monitor it and let them know if it gets any worse (which it hasn’t swelled up again, but I have these really big scars on my eyelids NOT. CUTE.) It really took the full 24 hours to get the anesthesia out of my system. I could taste it in the back of my throat up to yesterday afternoon and the only strange thing about the operation itself is that I’m bleeding more today then I was immediately after the surgery. I haven’t spoken to the Dr. yet about it but suspect I’ll be talking to him today. He showed my husband pictures of the one fibroid that he removed which E described to look like small chicken cutlets before they’ve been cooked. *shrugs* I guess that’s what all muscle / body fiber looks like when you get right down to it. The doctor explained to Earl that this isn’t a new one that grew in… it was one that was “hiding” amidst the swelling and the presence of the 14 others that we were all focused on. But that should be the last one.

I haven’t been in any pain per se – a little short of breath when I’m walking, though. I hope to get more answers soon. Beyond all the minor discomforts, I’m excited to be fibroid free and hope that this clears the way for the baby making

*

I thought I’d write to you today since it’s been a year that you left. I don’t want to take up too much of your time because I know that the afterlife is great for you. I’m positive of this because of the amazing works you did while you were here. I have to KNOW that you’re enjoying your rewards more than ever. But you are deeply, terribly missed.

… every time I write that I just stop. I don’t know what else to say. I’m confined by the strictures of language to express something that would only properly be articulated by me falling to my knees and screaming at the top of my lungs to the point of exhaustion. But that would be pretty harrowing. It’s the sound of this whirling wind pillar of emptiness that is always there now in the middle of my being. I find myself pushing it aside all the time so I can function normally. So that I don’t melt into tears all the time… or sob at silly family oriented commercials. It’s natural for me to miss you so. I know how much you missed Granny when she passed. (Tell her I said hello and thank her for the visits, recently).

I’m still battling some strange things… like wanting to call you sometimes… and actually picking up the phone. Having nothing to do on a Saturday and thinking… “I should stop by mommy and see how she’s doing…” The toughest thing yet was to celebrate my birthday without me making my midnight phone call to you to thank you for giving me life. Dominic tried to fill in and did a good job. He told me the story (for the first time) of what it was like the days around my birth. I still remember the last time YOU told me that story. And how your face lit up about how animated I was and how you were inspired by how ready I was to live this life. I hope that the way I’m living my life continues to make you proud and give you inspiration. Everyone is pulling together to help ease the pain. Again, Nininne was an amazing choice and Tante Sisi is still your biggest cheerleader (next to me – cause you know… I’m the long standing president of your fan club).

Before I drone on… I’ll end this way. I know how much you wished for your life to be better. For you to be stronger and more adventurous and smarter and happier and wiser about your life’s decisions. Every day, I strive to be that much better so that your dreams are fulfilled. And through being better… I hope to make my child’s life one day that much better and so on. I hope you are pleased, Mommy.

Put in a good word with God for me about this baby making business and I’ll see you in my dreams.

I love you.

*

I dreamt that my hubby and I were getting married… but it was our first time getting married. NOTHING like our actual wedding. There were far less people involved and I want to say that I was pregnant in the dream, but not apparently to the world… just he and I knew. And we were both overwhelmed with happiness and excitement. So all of this seems pretty normal — except that I didn’t normally dream about the man laying next to me… cause you know… he’s right there, and why dream if i can just turn over and tahdaaah? But lately, when I close my eyes… there he is. Wooing me and loving me even in my dream world. So when I do wake up and roll over, I’m just doting on him. And he doesn’t mind that one bit. In my dream world he’s a much more verbally expressive person. Everyone who knows my husband knows that he does use few words unless you know him extremely well. He lets his actions speak for him mostly and he is true to both. But the dream hubby version of him has mastered the art of self expression and does it regularly. What I love most, though, is that my dreams are a manifestation of my reality.

The man I married is evolving right before my eyes and it’s a wonder to witness.

Who says a man can’t change? You certainly can’t FORCE him to… but when he’s ready? Look out!

*

Then she asked a question that I’d not been asked before and it really got me to thinking.

“Who is your support network once the children are here?”

And I paused… I knew what she was asking. Who was really here to help me with the children. What family members (particularly of a female kind – sorry guys) would be able to lend a hand on a regular basis? The standard answers from most folks would… “My mom, his mom, my grandma, his grandma, varied aunties and tanties and countless female cousins.” But I ticked off that harrowing checklist that I’m now the owner of: No mom. No grandma. No dad. And then added to it 1 sick auntie that I trust. A few aunt in laws who have huge families on their sides. No girl cousins. I could tell by now she was seeing the wheels turn in my head and started to get a look of concern on her face. And I finally turned to her and said… “Well, I’m most certainly excited that I decided to join AKA all those years ago… ” And she giggled warmly. I told her that outside of my Mommy Cora (my mother-in-law) and my Auntie Ina (my auntie-in-law) I would mostly lean on the very close knit friends I’d had the fortune to make in life, several of which are sorors. That was a satisfactory answer for her.

I used to feel so envious… There’s a close friend of mine who whenever anything happens in his family, his wife’s family swoops in around them: birthdays, christenings, barbecues, graduations… whatever… here they come from the 4 points of the earth to surround her with assistance and love. Varied Aunties and Tanties… Countless girl cousins. And I would wish to have that. But my immediate family was like that so long ago… and now everyone is so old… the idea of my 1 blood Auntie climbing 2 flights of stairs with her bad knee to help me with my babies breaks my heart. And my uncles… well, I’ll be real – the one uncle I know who WOULD want to partake, is terribly sick as well. The other uncles are so ensconced in their own soap operas… one of them didn’t even bother to come to my wedding. (I’m referring, of course, to all the siblings for my mom – as all the siblings for my dad passed before he did, so they’re really all I have left). And ALL my cousins (1st and blood) are BOYS. I have not ONE girl cousin that I grew up with or who taught me to braid hair or play double dutch. So then, there’s that. I somehow doubt that there could be any REAL joy out of my giving birth from my family due to the fact that they have so many other problems going on… facing their own mortality, trying to get their own affairs in order after witnessing the death of their eldest sister… my mommy.

There was a time when my family WAS that kind of family. The swoop in from everywhere family. And there were varied aunties and tanties and all my mommy’s countless girl cousins would come and help roll out dough for Haitian patties and caramelize sugar for tablette pistache and bring all their confectionery tools to make glorious 3 and 4 tiered cakes with the silver sugar balls. And when it was their turn, mom would scoop me up and we’d swoop to them… and I’d help sew little heart shaped pillows for wedding favors or tie printed ribbons on a communion keepsake. And I was going through all that in my head while I showered the other day when I realized… most of these varied aunties and tanties and countless girl cousins… when I became of age to understand the tree that is family and started to ask about them to my mom… were BARELY related to us… if at all. A lot of “their great grandfather and my great grand father were 2nd cousins” or “we’re not blood relation… we grew up on the top of the hill together” or “we went to school together and roomed in Brooklyn while we got on our feet when we first came to America”. And I started to get VERY excited… because that means that I DO have varied aunties and tanties for my babies and COUNTLESS girl cousins that currently call best friends. And they have PROVEN their “swoop in” to me… in more ways than I could ever care to count… from silly heart breaks over worthless boys to life altering changes like losing a parent or a first major surgery.

So okay – they may not know how to make all the Haitian goodies… but they know how to make Jamaican ones and Southern ones and African ones and Indian ones and Trini ones and Grenadian ones and Italian ones and Midwestern ones and Colombian ones and French ones… and they’re ALL treats my babies won’t have to wait until they’re in college to experience. They’ll have grown up well rounded with this network of women that if I didn’t tell them any different – they’d be SURE that we were all related.

I thought about what I’d want these babies to call my network of women… out of respect of course – the ones closest to me, they’ll know as their Aunts. But they will call them “Tati”. My one blood aunt – we were trained to call her Tante Sisi (her name is Elsie and Tante means aunt in French) – but as kids you’re always talking fast and so it became Tati Si. So they’ll lovingly call you all Tati. And for the men they’ll call you “Mon Oncle” or “Oncle” (pronounced on-cler) before your names (which means “My Uncle”). And I know my babies won’t learn Creole and French from the onset, but they’ll have bits and pieces… until they decide they’d like to learn more.

I know I write a lot of posts about this network of friends and sisters. I know I dote on them quite a bit. But I owe them so much… when they’re present and when they’re not… for saving me from myself in despair – for offering their hearts up to help when i don’t even ask for it – and for their presence being SO strong, that I can call into mind this GLORIOUS future that I have waiting for my babies to come thanks to these PHENOMENAL Women (and Men) that I call my friends.

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