So much…

Man… there is so much going on.  I’m trying to hang on to the edge of the world whilst it spins around.

Of course the motherhood thing takes precedence.  What an abrupt change!  It really is literally overnight that your whole world changes.  And there’s NOTHING in the 9 – 10 months of gestation that prepares you for the rigors of the actual care and maintenance of the little one.  Actually, if you play your cards right the 9 – 10 months is probably the last bits of really restful sleep / “alone” time you’ll get before it all gets started and stabilized.  But it doesn’t matter.  It’s not like you can save up sleep from those days to carry you through the next few weeks / months that it takes to get a “schedule” going.  Thank God for maternity leave.  I was talking to a woman at work who back in the day had no maternity leave and she had her baby on a Tuesday and was back to work the following Monday.  I think my brain would have exploded if I had to do that.  It’s extremely good that you get those weeks to kind of ease into it all – so if the baby kept you up all night – you can manage to sleep it off the next day and not have to worry about deadlines and things needed from the thousand points of light that normally are always asking something of you.  I have about 5 more weeks to go of this “quiet” in the rest of my life.  But this part of my life is so noisy – I’m not sure it makes a difference.

We’re moving.  E’s mom has a rental property on the top floor of her brownstone and it’s twice the space that we currently have which would give the baby a room of her own and afford us a dining room in addition to the rooms we currently have.   Originally the set up was that she would charge us a discounted rate for the next year so that we could bank about 200 – 300 dollars so that the dream / aspiration of getting our own home could be closer in reach.  But after all the renovations, she is charging us so that we’ll only be able to bank 100 bucks.  So basically paying the same thing we pay now for twice the space.  There are several pros and cons to this whole situation.  The biggest con is that we’ll be living above his mother.  I can’t say I’ve ever seen ONE situation where this ends up with the mother and daughter in law being best of friends upon parting.  I thought it could be different with us.  But as the days pass… I see all the things creeping in that are going to make us fast enemies and put E in compromising situations.   Increasingly more comments about my parenting style… her deciding she wants to care for my daughter the way she wants to and not the way I asked her to…  constant referral to the property upstairs as “hers” (I mean… it is… and we know that… but our current landlady doesn’t show up every few times a week just to remind us that we live on HER property).  We asked her if we could paint the walls to which she responded “Yeah, you can – just don’t mess up my floors.”  Okay.  So I tarped the floors really good and we started getting busy – but E got wrapped up in being picasso for the baby’s room.  So i ended up painting a whole room by myself.  On one of my breaks downstairs to check on the baby and get a little air conditioning she asked me if I thought I was “overdoing it”….  No. I don’t.  When we moved into the current apartment we just started getting things into the house we never thought to paint it with all the furniture coming in.  The walls were and have been eggshell and white.  For four years.  I didn’t want to take the chance that should we be there for longer than 1 year that I’d be living in “heaven” again with all the white walls and ceilings.  But I’m taking it as her asking me if perhaps I can see that SHE perceives me to be going overboard with the painting by her standards.  I wonder if she would have asked a tenant off the street the same question.  This is just one example of MANY quick commentaries I’ve been fielding from her in the last few days that we’ve been at the house painting and preparing for the move.  There’s only so much button-lipdedness I can exercise before I say something……

Then there’s the family dynamic.  When you boil it all the way down and take the frills off of it and cut away the fluff?  I’m the only “stranger” moving into that complex when it goes down.  EVERYONE else in that building is family by blood.  Mother, Aunt, Brothers, Cousins.  I’m the only non-blood relation.  Even my daughter is their blood.  And boy – I’m really feeling it.  I understand that my family is really no where to be found because since I committed the cardinal sin of moving to brooklyn after getting married and away from my Queens based family that I no longer deserve their time / attention / travel to be around me and my family.  And there’s only so much reaching out in their direction I can do without any get back from them.  So decidedly, my little girl will know her father’s family better.  I guess it’s always one side more than the other.  Or at least in my experience.  My brother and I definitely knew my mother’s side of the family waaaay better than my dad’s side.  And that was for whatever reasons – they hadn’t traveled up to America – they didn’t really call a lot or make efforts to visit or ask for us to visit… so  Mom’s side DID – to the point where they lived with us for varied spans of time (which was good and bad) but we knew them.  I do truly feel that I’m all alone there.  I’m the only one not raised in THEIR way.  And so if I say something off color or kilter… I’m the one who’ll get the side eye like “who’s this bitch?”  I’ve never felt like more of an island.  I think that I won’t be able to be myself.  Sing loudly.  Have company.  Play my music on a Sunday morning.  Walk heavy – all for the fear of being reprimanded for… well… being myself.  Meanwhile – everyone else will be just fine.

The family dynamic brings another dimension – PRIVACY.  I believe that for the benefit of saving a whole $100 a month and for essentially living above Mommy-Day-Care for the baby, I am giving up every shred of my personal privacy and freedom.  I think that our apartment will be a veritable Grand Central Station for their family to just run up and down as they see fit.  I may never have time for me and my nuclear family alone.   I’m afraid to come out of the bathroom after a shower (bathroom is in the main hallway 2 doors down from what would be our bedroom) and find a family member of his wandering about.  And I think that enough of that? will be enough to destroy us.  We’re fighting as it is to make sure that we work every day – and that’s been in the vacuum of privacy that is our little apartment where it’s just us.   I am scared that moving in under the bright light of his family’s observance may break us.  I don’t want it to.  I just need to put it in writing to get it out of my head.

On top of ALL of that?  I’m having so much trouble bonding with my little one.  There were umpteen roadblocks stopping us from garnering this natural, ethereal connection that was supposed to be present at birth for her and I.  I couldn’t give birth vaginally.  I didn’t get to hold her in my arms for 6 hours.  I didn’t get to properly begin breastfeeding until 10 days later.   No one would believe that real bonafide side eye action that I get from this girl.  And I know it takes time for some folks.  I’m just worried that all this added “outside” interaction will water it down and I’ll ultimately become just a character in the background for her when she retells her life story.  Not that I wanted top billing?  But as this move draws nigh, I feel less like her mom and more like a glorified nanny who only gets occasional use.  Maybe a little more alone, quiet time together and that might change.  All the mothers I know assure me that this is 100% temporary and that I won’t feel this way for long.  All the articles I read told me that I really shouldn’t have taken on this many life changes post-partum.

I suppose it will all come out in the wash sooner or later.

*

Life’s New Arrival

Our appointment for the c-section was for 10:00AM but they advised us to be there for 8:00 and to report to triage and be prepped for the surgery.  We got there right on time with my Nininne in tow (as she spent the night at our home so as to be on time in the AM).  Once we got to Triage we got the message a few times that there were a few emergencies that came through and that all scheduled appointments were unfortunately pushed back.  So the first nurse we spoke to told us we could go downstairs and (everyone else) could eat and come back around 9.  Which we did.  Got back to Triage at 9AM and they started strapping me up with all the accoutrements of prep – baby monitor, IV line, hospital braceletes, designer open to the back gown, mesh cap for my hair, footie socks with grips – the whole kit and kaboodle.   And then… we waited.  Between Earl and Nininnie and Cora they switched shifts on who could be in the room with me at the same time (they only “allowed” one at a time but we broke the rules when they weren’t looking).  We spent the time just chatting and talking about the very near future (when we would meet this little cherub that was steadily kicking my baby monitors off of her booty or arm or wherever they were that she didn’t like them).  More people came in to talk to us… More emergencies were lined up before the appointment folks.  But I was assured that as soon as they had an opening for an appointment person – I was first up.  At around 12:30 they started to make moves to get me into the operating room.  They told Earl to go dress up so that he could be in the room with me.

I got to the room and everything was bright and white and there were some anesthesiologists there waiting for me so that they could perform the epidural.  They cued up Billy Joel’s Greatest hits and I sang along to “My Life” and “Piano Man” as they tapped on my back and asked me if that felt central or off to the side…  Constantly realigning my back (because of how long it was taking i’d slump to one side or the other).  Finally they started administering the medicine and I felt tingling going down my legs.  It got very hard to move and feel them so they laid me out and started prepping me for everything.  They put the blue curtain up so that I wouldnt’ be able to see what they were doing.  I never expected it to be so close to my face though.  They I felt them touching me on my abdomen.  And they would ask “Do you feel anything, Victoria?”  and I said “Yes, I feel you touching me… but that’s it.”  There was a giddy 3rd year medical student who was invited to watch the c-section in the room with me and by my head giving me encouragement.  She assured me that everything was alright and that soon I’d feel tugging and pulling and that was all normal.   Admittedly, at this point, I started to get really nervous.  Were they cutting me already?  Where was Earl?  Oh Gosh… this is really happening.  The anesthesia – although localized – really was affecting all of me.  I felt dizzy and nauseous at times and overall, I was fighting the desire to just sleep.  The door to the OR opened and in came my Earl who was rushed to my side.  I felt so much better seeing him because I was really starting to get scared – I began to cry when I saw him.  And he held my hand and assured me that everything was alright but that they’d already started cutting me.  I said “you saw that???” and he said, “Yeah… I walked right past it.”  GEEZ.

The next few minutes felt like an eternity… but I know it was only a few minutes because of the huge clock that was on the wall directly in my line of sight. All the big action happened between 1:12 and 1:25.  There was talk of suction not being strong enough…  Wait… there’s scar tissue here….  Okay… have we made it through that layer yet?…. More suction.   All the while the numbed poking and prodding was felt by me the entire time.  When would be this profound pulling and tugging I read about and that they assured me I would feel?  When would this baby be delivered?  GOSH I was tired… I just wanted to close my eyes, but I want to be awake when she gets here.  “Stay with me,” Earl encouraged as often as he could.  At 1:25 they announced, ” okay… here we go”… I felt one good tug and there was a flurry of action off to my left.  Then I heard it:  Her first shrill little cry and gasp!!  My baby was here!!!  Well, over there, but here in the world!  She cried and cried as they cleaned and weighed and poked and prodded her… then finally placed her swaddled body in Earl’s arms where she PROMPTLY stopped crying.  She was peaceful and quiet and BEAUTIFUL!    So plump and perfect…  My baby was here in the world… with me.  We took a few photos (thankfully) to commemorate the moment and of course – we couldn’t dwell on it all.   They had to rush her for more tests and more preparation and of course – they had to now sew up the gaping hole that was my abdomen.  They whisked her and Earl away and then it was just me again for a long while.  Getting sewn up.  In recovery (for an inordinate amount of time).  Then finally to my room 5 hours later where I could gaze upon my cherub goddess again.  And I haven’t stopped yet.

*

There is NOTHING like this…

Sweetest Goddess -

It is not like the night before graduation.  Or moving to another state.  Or like the moments before your wedding or any other sacrament in which you may partake.  Not the quivers before a major exam.  Not the day before a new promising job.  There are NO words to describe the feeling that I have knowing that today begins a new life for me.  Life as your mother.

I have DREAMED of this moment… more than I care to admit.  One may think I’m obsessed with the thought, but your presence in my life has been on my mind since I was a little baby myself.  As a child you took the form of many a cabbage patch kid and pink bunny rabbit.  The name you were DEFINITELY going to have changed about 4 times during the course of my life.  Who I thought without a shadow of a doubt would be the best father for you PALES in comparison to who you will actually get to call Daddy.  This day is a realization that I haven’t been dreaming this.  Not this time.  I’m not going to wake up with just a shadow of your face burned on my heart and a vague idea of what you might look like one day.  Today is the real thing.  Today is the biggest day of my life.  And even though I’m managing to piece together words for you to read one day when you’re older and stumble across this blog… I’m truly at a loss for words.  When I think of how hard I prayed and how much I cried and the things that had to be done to allow for your reality… I am HUMBLED by your presence here.  I am a blessed vessel and dedicated servant.  While it may not always seem that way and you’ll be resigned to believe that your poor mother must be crazy my only delusion is the intoxication of love I have for you.  The deep devotion I have to making a better life for you and giving you an amazing chance at this world, at this life — for being the absolute best person that you can become.   If I stumble over it, it’s clumsiness that can be assigned to my wanting to overshoot the goal.  I worry about doing it wrong or not doing enough of anything.  I’ll learn with time because all crafts are a thing to be perfected.  I pray to wield this motherhood thing with the effortlessness that your Grandmother had.  And even she still made mistakes out of extreme love.

You are an answered prayer.   My wish on a star.  My hearts greatest desire.  When I call on your name it is a thank you to God for allowing me to have this dream play out in my reality.  I can’t WAIT to hold you in my arms and feel your love.

AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!

Athena.

Welcome, my daughter.

*

Week 39: Dreams of My Daughter

Well, that’s it… unless this little one makes a break for it this weekend, we are scheduled to meet her on Wednesday, June 29th at 10AM.  I’m super excited about it, a little scared, worried that I’ll mess something really important up and overall… OVERJOYED.

I’ve been wracked with weird dreams lately… most of them I can’t remember fully but always remembering that in them, I meet some version of this little cherub.  Sometimes good and leaves me feeling refreshed when I wake up and of course there are the dreams that leave me with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I did something drastically wrong.

I’ve been learning to be easier on myself with all that I think might have gone wrong with this pregnancy.  But at the end of the day – I took all my medicines every single day – give or take 5 or so days out of 10 months.  I tried to eat as healthily as I could and manage my cravings for things I shouldn’t have like sugar or excessive fat.  I made a concerted effort to sleep on my left side for the last 10 months to increase the oxygen and blood flow to her.  I lessened activity and started wearing flats around the 8th month so as to take it easy on myself.  I mean… I know that most mothers think this in the back of their heads but… crack whores give birth to healthy babies and don’t even try HALF AS MUCH effort.  Not that this should be the standard.   But the point being that I shouldn’t assume that everything will be wrong with this little one.  I did my very best.  And judging by how active and the measurements despite the adversities…. I didn’t do poorly.  She looks to be about 7lbs when she comes out this week – which is a good size especially considering I was battling GD and the risk was that she’d come out too big.  Her lung functionality should be in place because last week wednesday her L/S level was at 2.3 which should put her at above 2.5 when she comes out this week so, hopefully no NICU for her.  The blood flow to her brain ratio was 1.09 on Thursday which impressed the doctor – after we worried that the blood clots that were forming in the placenta might hinder some of that.  And overall… she’s been a calm (yet active), happy little someone in there.  We’ve both not gone through mood swings (except when it related to talks about my mom and grandma and how much I miss them).  Cravings were under control.  I have yet to see my feet swell from edema.  Not one mention of “bedrest” when I was sure I’d be laid up.

This? has been a GREAT pregnancy and I had wonderful professionals holding my hand down this path.  Even when they would frustrate the hell out of me with their sometimes lack of communication… they knew what they were doing and made sure I walked the right path to assure this little one’s arrival.

What a difference 2 years can make.  This time in 2009… I was recovering from my abdominal myomectomy.  What held up position in my uterus right prior were 14 useless masses of stunted growth and dreams deferred… stress and poor living.  Making it impossible to conceive and sustain.  Since them being cleared out and going through one failed round of IVF… Here I am – naturally conceived this little one… and grew her up…  Despite  the pitfalls…. Placental Previa.  Gestational Diabetes. Thrombophila.  Anemia. Clots in the Placenta. 4 Fibroids growing in there with her.   Despite all of that… she dances and twirls and poses for paparazzi when we do our ultrasound and even smiles.

THANK YOU LORD!!!  All things truly balance out in the world.  You promised me that after rain and the darkest night, I’d see the light and glory if I remained faithful.  All glory goes to you, GOD.  THANK YOU for this AMAZING gift.  I am HUMBLED and GRATEFUL!

4 days to go.

AMEN.

*

9 Months.

It’s really funny how all your life through media and family and every other source you hear that pregnancy is a 9-month event. But only when you’re pregnant do you get corrected to understand that it’s anywhere from that to a 10 1/2 month event.  42 weeks is an all the way full term baby.  And 38 weeks is the minimum for being considered a non-premie.    But all through life – you hear “9 months”.  Here I am at that point.

This entire experience has been so humbling.  I’m surprised and honored to have made it this far when there were so many things telling me that it wouldn’t happen.   But against all the odds – here I stand.  I keep saying it … it’s my way of thanking God.  All my life I’ve believed that fear and faith can’t inhabit the same body and so I would ultimately cho0se Faith and wait on the Lord.  I can’t say that He’s ever let me down.  He’s NEVER given me more than I could handle.  And if that was the case, he surrounded me with people to prop me up till I could get it together.  I have no reason to doubt or question him now.  And yet the fear of what’s to come in a few weeks has begun to envelope my mind.  The “What-Ifs” have converged to make me doubt all that I thought I knew.  Potentially by next week… my whole life will have changed in a way that I can NEVER come back from.  NO matter what happens – I will have gestated and birthed a child of my own…  I will be a Mother.  Blessed Vessel to deliver a new life into the world.  This is the change life SHOULD take.  What I’d been waiting for  - for what seems to be a life time, considering in my 16 year old life plan, this was supposed to take place when I was 22… I only missed the mark by 14 years.  What else would I be doing with my life at this point if I wasn’t pregnant?  No… this is where I should be.

So why am I so scared?  I’ll be in charge of a whole other human life.  For her care, nurturing, cleaning, loving, teaching, handling, well being, sense of self, family and purpose.  What if I screw it all up?  I wish my mom was here to ask questions.  She did SO MUCH with so little.   In my humble opinion, she did an amazing job and I’d love to pick her brain about the minutiae now – how to stop a colicky baby from crying;  what are some old school Haitian remedies for diaper rash;  how to hold the baby so that she doesn’t spit up;   what secrets are there to avoid blowouts…. (even though, I remember her telling me the story of her first blow out experience with Dominic.  She thought the poor boy exploded in his crib over night…. and the story of how she cried on the train on her way back to work because she didn’t want to leave her newborn baby son.)

So maybe even the best of moms… don’t always know what to do.  But they always end up doing what they feel is best.

I worry that she won’t like me… or not latch on, or have some kind of developmental issue – all that could have been avoided if I did something different.

But this is the one time in my life where everything I did got me to 9 months.

I emptied my head of the “What Ifs” to Earl last night and he fired back with a few of his.  As confident and as steadfast as he’s been, he listed them without hesitation.  And I looked at him and thought… as long as we’re both in this together, I guess it can’t be so bad… or so frightening that we can’t lean on each other to figure it out.  Jenny assured us that between her and Mo and my MIL and countless sisters… there’s no way for me to feel that I don’t have a support system.  Now I just have to trust what I’ve always trusted.

Peace out, Fear.

If there was no room for you in this body because Faith was already there… there’s even LESS space now that I’ve made room for my baby too.  I’m sure you’ll peek your head up again soon, but you’re never ever welcome and I will NOT make a way for you.

*

The Art of Gifting

I no longer believe that someone has to intimately know you in order to be able to feel what is important to you.  They just have to pay attention every now and again.  My philosophy has always been that PRESENCE weighs more than PRESENTS to me anyday.  It will be the memory of you by my side making me laugh or helping me along that will warm me in the days that I find it hard to grasp on to reality more than the material things you may have thought to give.  And while the gifts help a LOT – I don’t want to discount that at all – memories always have meant more to me.  All my life, I have consciously made memories.  I’ll be in a moment and think to myself… “This is one of those memories I’ll always call on to warm me when life seems cold…”  I am actively archiving my life.  This blog is a part of that.

We recently had our “last grown up night out” (also known as the baby shower) and in true Me fashion – i didn’t want the typical.  The wicker chair, the measuring of bellies, icebreaker games or the hat with the ribbons tied on.  I wanted a true to form celebration.  An all out party.  My being in this position at all in this life is a complete miracle that transcends frills and games.  I needed everyone to come out and party and have a good time.  And that’s what we did.  Folks traveled from near and far and came to pay respects to this little one on her way.  And we (they) drank and ate and some danced and chatted and made a joyful noise in her name.  I couldn’t have asked for it to be better or any other way.  At the end of the night, we went home with what we lovingly refer to as “Mount BabyMore” which is currently erected in our living room – a dazzling assemblage of …. pretty much EVERYTHING we asked for off of our registry – a lifetime worth of pink & green & brown & yellow clothing for the princess and gobs of delicious Haitian food!  If we’d ever thought for a moment that we weren’t part of a loving community, our faith was again renewed that we have a true VILLAGE around us and surrounding us that will be there for her.

Today, I got a gift that rocked me to the core.  A chapter Soror of mine sent me a note on Facebook telling me she found the perfect book for me.  Which at the time I poo-pooed… thinking it was probably another copy of “Good Night Moon” or something along those lines.  But I couldn’t fault her generosity.  She thought that much of me at all so I was grateful.  We made arrangements for her to drop the book off to me at my job.  The mail guy delivered it and I mused on the phone while I unwrapped the gift.  I hung up the phone and looked at the cover:

Ladder To The Moon

Beautiful artwork.  This definitely wasn’t Good Night Moon….

I opened the jacket and read the first few words of the book:

One cool new evening,
Suhalia asked her mama,
“What was Grandma Annie like?”
“She was like the moon,” her mother replied.
“Full, soft, and curious.
Your grandma would wrap her arms
around the whole world if she could.”
Mama gave Suhalia a hug.
“You have Grandma Annie’s hands.”
she said.

Within seconds, the uncontrollable tears and sobs rolled through me.  I raced to shut the door to my office before my team saw me in such a condition.  How did they know?  How would anyone else know how to describe my little mommy so perfectly with so few words? I stared at the cover again and regarded a full figured, light skinned, long haired, openhearted woman that reminded me so of my mom… and I cried more as I thought of reading this book to my little one… trying hard to make her know her Grandmother from afar.  I flipped through the rest of the book thinking of all the parallels.  They likened her to the moon… which now when I stare at the moon, I think of the night she died when I did the same.  And something told me she was up there.  She used to always advise me against sleeping under the moon because I’d go crazy (lunacy) – but I told her she was my moon, lighting my path in the darkest night.  And she never warned me against the moon again.  And in the book, she visits her granddaughter and takes her up to the moon.   Just like my mom visited me in my dream and swept me around Haiti one night and showed me her homeland from her perspective.

This WAS the perfect book… and it amazed me that Soror Ann didn’t have to be my best friend in the world.   She just had to pay attention a little and follow her heart.  I want to buy many of these books so that I’ll always have one to read my babies so they’ll always have a connection to their Granny Ti’Den.

Thank you, Soror Ann… Thank you.

*

Lessons…

Little one?

I’ll just teach you to validate yourself.  And let that be the priority to you always.  No one else’s say so … should say so.

that alone will free you from many of the shackles I’ve already worn.

*

Worthiness / Creating the Pull

A conversation held between me and the hubby the other day:

Him: The baby is going to LOVE you.
Me: You think so??
Him: HECK Yeah!
Me:  *screwface*  I mean… what makes you say that?
Him: Well…  did you love YOUR mom?
Me:  Are you kidding?  LOVE her?  I worshipped her.  She was my idol.  There was no woman prettier, smarter, more amazing or kinder in the world.  She was everything.
Him: *”i told you” so look on his face* – well. There you have it.

The verbal conversation stopped there, but in my mind, I responded – but… all that my mom did… she fully deserved that love and admiration from me, my brother and anyone else who crossed her path.  The selflessness.  The sacrifices.  They were all apparant to me all my life.  What will I have done – outside of the surgeries and procedures to GET me pregnant (which might seem … well… self serving from a given angle) that will match that kind of angel-like behaviour that will merit admiration and love from this little one flipping about inside?

When I was an Amway Distributor, one of the philosophies they taught us was a concept called “Creating the Pull”.  They were grooming us all to be leaders, but what’s leading if you have no followers?  What’s worse – if you have proclaimed “followers” but no one wants to be where YOU, in particular, are.  So the concept of creating a pull – put enough distance between you and your “followers” in the achievement and attainment of dreams that makes it look like you are further ahead and wish they could hang with you but they’ve got x-amt of work to get done before they can achieve your success.  Accomplishing this by sending postcards from beautiful places that you’ve managed to be able to go as a result of your hard work and wishing they could be there… but they haven’t reached the success level required for them to earn that particular trip.  Or cars or clothes or free time… all the things they dangled before you as rewards for your work.  I’d gotten many a post card from tropical places “wishing I was there”.  And it made me want to work harder so that I could participate.  I wanted to belong to THAT group.

In a lot of ways and without any kind of effort on her part, my mom “created a pull”.  She didn’t tell me too much about herself.  She just carried herself with poise, grace, determination, pride and love.  She was all the things a grown woman should be in my mind and in my eyes and without dangling it in front of me… she made me want to be as much like her as I could possibly be.  There were some things about myself that I’d never be able to shrug off that were quintessentially ME – the social butterfly, the commensurate performer, the boy-crazy little girl…  Those were just parts of me that I had to know were uniquely mine and not like her at all.  But everything else?  I wanted to emulate her.  The wit.  The style.  The mystery.  The cool-under-pressure.  Personality wise, she was a female James Bond (to me).  And of course – while I learned more and more about her very human personality and flaws as the years passed, it took a very long time to get me to the point where she wasn’t just about able to walk on water in my opinion.

That same mystery brought certain distance between us though.  While  I was always aware that my mom was never supposed to be my “friend” or my “pal” – I felt she left the earth without me really KNOWING who she was.  There was a whole other woman that existed before the married mother I came to idolize.  There was the single, gorgeous,  adventurous youngster growing up in Haiti who had a penchant for wearing short things and was always thinking about her cousins and family and showed it by visiting and chatting with them often.    The woman who existed before my father married her.  I only get glimpses of her in stories from her counterparts and cousins who are still with us.  Making the myth of my mom even more elusive and glamorous.

I don’t know what this little one is going to think of me.  I might be so busy wanting her to love me as much as I loved my mom that I’d do all the wrong things… say all the wrong things.  She’d just end up being a Daddy’s Girl… and maybe not thinking much of me at all.  I know that I think she’s the bees knees already…  I guess… I just have to be myself and hope that she loves me just as much.

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31 Weeks

aaaaannnd counting!

Stuff is starting to get really real  now.  As if it wasn’t before.  I constantly feel this little one jogging a marathon in my belly… she’s ALWAYS having the hiccups, which renders me feeling completely helpless because there’s nothing I can do to help her with that.  I’ve been told that it’s positive and encouraging that she’s having them because it means she’s practicing her breathing and getting her lungs mature enough to function outside the womb.  So I guess… hiccup away…  It gets a little surreal to feel after 20 minutes or a half hour.   I managed to piece together some semblance of a registry and have finally nailed down the details for the shower – enough to hand over to trusted friends an sisters.  We built the crib yesterday and are now fawning over it in lieu of fawning over her.  Things are moving along.

Ended up in Labor and Delivery on Saturday because there was this constant pressure happening in my lower abdomen all day that would spike and become extreme and then subside but back to the regular hum of pressure.  Since this is child #1 and I’ve never experienced a contraction before, we headed to the hospital after calling the OB and got put on a monitor to make sure the kid wasn’t making an unplanned escape.  She wasn’t.  No contractions.  Cervix is long and closed.  So… then… what was I experiencing?  No one knows.  But I was sent home in as much pain as I got there which was disheartening.  With the orders to stay hydrated and relaxed, that’s how I had to spend the rest of my weekend.  I wished I had gotten a little more direction or help – but I supposed in these cases, it’s a bit lofty to do either.  If it’s not contractions or the kid trying to slide out, then we just don’t need to deal with it might be the philosophy at hand right now.    My main concern is that SHE is alright in there.  Shortly after we got to the hospital, she started moving around a lot (she had been pretty sedentary when the pain was in full swing).  She took a special joy in kicking the baby heart monitor in particular that they placed on her.   She pinpointed exactly where it was and would give it a good whack every few seconds as if to say “get this offa me”.  As long as she was moving, i was fine.  But the search continues on my part to find out what the source of this pressure may be.  Growing pains?  Was she laying laterally?  I may never know.

Got some 3d pics of her this past week.  FINALLY.  The little gymnast hasn’t liked being on camera much so she’ll fancy herself throwing her feet up in front of her face.  To which the technician would say “can’t take a picture of her like this, you’ll just see two big black things in front of her face… it would be a waste.”  So the night before, Earl consulted the belly.  Begging her to just give us a look… a quick one… and he would make his famous homemade strawberry shake for her (which she loves).  Sure enough, when we got to the technician and saw that her feet were crossed Indian style away from her face, we took the opportunity to get a few 3d/4d pics of her little face.  Here’s a sneak peek at the love of my life:

Used to be that these pictures really creeped me out… But, I guess when you’re really looking to know that little one inside… they aren’t so creepy… you’re just looking for what you recognize.  My (mommy’s) nose.  His forehead.  A hybrid of mommy’s lips and his lips.   His cheeks.  Jury is out on the eyes till she opens them.  And her mom’s hammyness – hand poised right at the chin and cheek as if she was posing.  Little  superstar.  Earl can’t stop kissing the picture and my belly.  And I just stare.  Still in awe that any of this is happening.  That I can say aloud “I’m pregnant” and have it be true and enduring for the first time in my life.  It’s all still so indescribable.

I love this feeling!

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Mortality

Once you’ve lost one loved one… and I mean a really close loved one – a parent, a sibling, a best friend – you become painfully aware that you are at risk of losing them all one day.  And it’s inevitable.

It changes how you look at everything in life.   How you react to folks and interact with them.  Nothing is ever interaction for the sake of living life.  You start to look at it (or… at least I do) as the memories you’ll look back on one day when this person isn’t around anymore.   And I try harder to hold on to these images in my mind so that I have something to keep me company in those times.  The memories for later that I create now.

I touch the madonna chain my mom… left to me – because she didn’t give it to me.  And my hand drifts down just a bit to touch my belly, now full with expectation.  And I find myself stuck in between.  Right in the middle passage of this strange cycle of life.  The loss of my mom’s life… the anticipation of a new one to start.  And I am living moments between them both.

Sidenote: Hindsight makes you examine things a little more carefully when you have new information.   Nightmares are sometimes harbingers of good tidings – but you place them in the frame of your current knowledge and they scare you because you don’t have all the information.  I look back at that dream and realize, they were mentally removing everything chemical… everything artificial… making way for the natural miracle that was about to take place.  I see that so clearly now.  But with lack of information and foresight… their presence and actions in my dreams scared me to death.

Grandma used to tell me that nothing is forever in this world.  And I heard her… but wasn’t listening.  I didn’t want to believe that good things weren’t forever too… wonderful people and happy experiences and the tangible personal warmth of bodily affection in the form of hugs and kisses and tender moments with your loved ones.  As good as all those things are – they HAVE to be forever…. right?

No.  But the memories of those things and the actual feeling of love created from those instances I sincerely believe transcend this existence and go with you… wherever your spirit is.

My heart is heavy and hurting right now as I observe a dear friend and sister go through what I went through.  I wouldn’t wish it on a mortal enemy.  And while we tell ourselves we know of the possibility of the outcomes – we’re NEVER prepared for the instance that takes the physical presence of our loved ones away.  There is a deep seated hurt / numbness / inconsolable void that takes over your function and while the words of comfort from the community swirl about your mind and soul – none of them can say what you want to hear.  “She’ll be back.  This is only temporary…”  or “Here’s a number to reach her while she’s gone”  or better yet – “this is just a nightmare – you’ll be waking up soon”.

I am trying to empty my head so my heart will function today.

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Dear Drizzy,

I know… it’s been a long time since you heard from me. I know that you’ve missed me a little….

It was wrong of me to just drop off the face of the earth like that.  But when you think about it – our relationship started out in much the same way so it’s poetic in a way.   But there’s a very important reason you haven’t heard from me and I’ve gotten up enough strength to tell you to your face…  well… in a letter.

This summer was a whirlwind.  When we met, I was feeling pretty low on myself.  Even though I would dress up pretty and make my hair do beautiful things it could have never accomplished with a perm, I wasn’t getting any feedback.  Feels like the only person that was telling me anything was me in my own mirror.  That had me feeling pretty down every day – so behind my smile there was all this sadness.  I was in a stressful position at work at the time… things were just rough all around.

But then you came out of nowhere… and told me that I was the best… the best you ever had – and I believed you, because I wanted to and I really needed to.  So I started to listen to what you had to say more carefully.  You were always talking about rolling with Young Money, being up all night and making the high life sound like where it was at!  Somehow you managed to take Sade’s musical melancholy and blend it with the party-downstairs feeling of muted base and blurred lights that I’d always lived for and spoke words I needed to hear over it all.   I took a good look at you and you were boyishly cute.  Never thought I’d fall for your type, but your swagger and demeanor had me sold.  At the end of the day, that’s all anyone has forever.  So we started to go steady.  You kicked game to me every day in my car telling me how fancy you thought I was and when I was getting ready for us to go out on the town, you instructed me to put those fucking heels on and work it girl – let that mirror show you what you’re doing.  I won’t mention what you told me to do when we got home… Straight fireworks.  I hadn’t felt so light and pretty and wanted and sexy in a long time.  You were MY favorite, even though you kept bringing up that Minaj girl.  I can’t hate – she’s beautiful, talented and IS from Queens, afterall… how can you resist?  But I knew that I was your number one when we spent my birthday night signing and rapping to each other.  It was a concert was just for me and the thousands watching were just observing to see what real passion looked like.  I was on cloud nine then… The city was ours.

But I have to come clean to you finally…  You haven’t seen me because I’m with child.  And it’s not yours.  And as much as you made me feel young and pretty and wanted — the life I’m preparing for now is the one I always wanted and need to get my mind right for.  You have years ahead of you full of fun, frivolity, fame and carefree living. But I want you to know that you saved me from me and saved my swagger this summer when I thought I’d lost it all.  I’ll always be grateful for that because now I can teach that to my little baby girl when she gets older and she’ll be all of those things without ever having to ask for validation or permission.

I promise to always give the world me – the real me.

Thanks, Drake.

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Third Trimester

Here it is… the final stretch as they say.  And when I thought I couldn’t be anymore humbled… I am bereft of the words that can explain all that’s going on.

When i lie in bed at night getting ready to sleep and rejuvenate… this little one rolls around and animates my tummy… and it literally tickles to the point where I laugh out loud – to my self… by myself.  And as I listen to the echo of my laughter fade away into the silence, I think about WHY I’m laughing and then I’m figuratively tickled…  I have a little baby inside of me…. I do…  one that looks like she’ll make it out of there … healthy enough for me to feel her movements and little limbs stretching and tickling my lower belly…  healthy enough for me to observe the quiet rhythmic jump of her having hiccups in my womb and every time I sit and think long enough about it… I’m reminded… There’s a little baby inside…. OF ME….  My baby.  Finally.  What a wondrous miracle.  What amazing blessings God is capable of.  And usually as I quietly entertain the fears that normally take over anyone in my position  – I pray that I’m ready… I don’t have all the elders to ask the questions to that raised me, how will i know what to do…  i hope that all that I’ve done and eaten in the last 7 months has allowed her to grow healthy and progressively and I’ve not done something to harm her… Am I too old for all of this… it’s all washed away by the amazing humility once she moves.   Or kicks.  or thumps.  And I know it’s not a lot… but right now?  It’s everything to me.  She is everything to me.  Everything else I’ve ever striven to accomplish or complete hasn’t had near the significance of these months.

Still so much preparation to complete.  Is anyone ever truly completely ready for a little baby to come into their lives?  I just trust and pray that I have all the internal tools ready so that they will manifest into anything she needs at all.

28 weeks… and counting.

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Trade Off.

I had a seriously strange dream last night.  I don’t remember a lot of the details, but the gist of it was this.  I was given the choice to exchange pieces of my life time for a chance to bring back my deceased loved ones for that period of time.  So – if I gave up one day off of how long I was going to live, I’d get to see my grandma alive again in this instance for 24 hours.  More time given up… more time to spend with that loved one.   In the dream, I deliberated it for a very long time.  There were so many factors that I needed answered:  Would the person be in the same health as they were before their demise?  Would this be a wrenching of their soul out of heaven?  I weighed options for so long in the dream having just given birth to my little one… thinking – the time I’m taking away from her having me as her mom on this earth… but… she’d get to know and see her grandmother…  It was such a huge conundrum because I know at the end of the day it will NEVER BE ENOUGH.  And I’ll experience the loss all over again when she has to go.  The first time around I know – even KNOWING the end is coming doesn’t cushion the blow.  And now… so will my daughter – because I know she’d LOVE my mom… there’s no question.  But at the end of the dream… my mom was there.  I don’t know how much time i gave up, but i fear it was a LOT.

The dream kept me tossing and turning all night long as my heart who longs to see my mom again wrestled with my mind that knows it’s best not to unearth the dead… literally.  So I asked the question on Facebook to see what others think.  I’m sure some movie house will steal the idea for a movie down the line – they always pick at my brain for the best ideas *snickers*  But it was such an interesting situation… because I always say I’d give anything to see my mom again…  But would I?

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Gifted and Robbed

(This is my first test post from my iPad WordPress app *crossing fingers*)

Gifted: because this wasn’t supposed to be me. It looked like i was not going to get to this place. Not naturally anyways. Babies weren’t meant to survive in THIS womb. But through some medical intervention, a little wholistic therapy and a whole lotta belief, here I am. Waiting on this child, who’s newest habit is to find spots in my back ribs to lodge herself into and give Mommy a reason to holler. Through the day she gently kicks me as I work to remind me she is in there. I have never taken better care of my self mentally, physically or emotionally as I am in this moment. And the whole time I feel completely surreal. Thus far it has been the very best parts of most people’s journeys that I know of all scrunched into one. I am extremely humbled by all of this and hope that I am ready to receive and deliver this little human to the world.

Robbed: in comparison, I shouldn’t even mind this small technicality. I should be singularly focused on all the miracles that brought me down a path that leads to this amazing place. But this scheduled c-section that I have absolutely no choice about is a downer. Most women would be practicing their breathing or researching midwives and taking classes or looking into Eco pools. I am one of THOSE types. The kind that DID NOT want an epidural or pitosin or any kind of intervention. I wanted to feel every part of this miraculous process. The immense pain and the reciprocal ecstasy … Deliver my little one and hold her in my arms immediately. Not me cut open, cauterized, lay prostate as she is yanked out of me and then have to wait hours before I can touch her. It’s all putting a major damper on me as I approach the final stretch. Everything is, “oh, your having a c-section? Then you don’t have to worry about doing this or learning that or feeling anything”. Auntie Ena has NOT given up on the possibility that I would deliver vaginally. She prays it onto my belly every time she sees me. A trained midwife all her career life, she would want to see this go as naturally as it possibly can. What I think us missing from her vast repertoire of knowledge is this new brand of expectant mother. The heavily worked on, cut up and sewed back together again that has so much potential for bleeding out at birth that a natural birth with contractions isn’t an option if everyone (mother and baby) want to make it out alive. Her endless hope has me wishing it was a possibility. But no dice.

Truly in comparison to the blessing… I should have nothing at all to say. And I don’t anymore. I just had to put it in words to get it out of my mind. I just wish there was more information/ preparation given to expectant c-section moms as there are for the way God intended…. That’s all.

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26 Weeks

Time is starting to slow down again.

In the first trimester, it would go SOOOO SLOWLY – mostly because every  moment is riddled with anxiety and nervousness and fear about if you’ll make it through to the 2nd trimester.  2nd trimester goes by at a normal pace.   You’re worrying WAY less… you’ve managed to let off some steam by letting people know the good news (and bad because now you can be all sorts of sick and anxious w/o feeling self conscious).  But then the ramp up to the big show begins.  The 3rd trimester is just out of touch and I feel that I’ve been at this 25 / 26 week mark now for about 3 weeks. LOL  It’s in my nature to rush things along…  I guess ever since I was a little child, plaguing my mom with questions about what it’s like to be a grown up and what it would be like to have my period and what it would be like to get married and move out and have a job and not be in school anymore.  You would think by now that I’d have the time and patience to just wait for stuff.  Trop presse pas fait  jour l’ouvrie. I know mommy.  I’m learning to be more patient.

I had a SERIOUS bout of missing her last night.  My dear sweet godsend of a hubby decided it was time to “tackle the office” – he’s not a pack rat.  AT ALL.  But I am.  And he witnessed how bad it can get by having to help my parents through their packrat-ism.  Or at least my mom.  Dad wasn’t so bad with his… but he also wasn’t as willing as Earl to help mom dig out.  So every month or so, he dedicates a good amount of time to helping me dig out of my own paper grave.  The office has been stacked up with stuff for a while.  Originally, we were going to clear it out to make room for a nursery.  But we cannot, no matter what we do, control the temperature in that half of the apartment.  So the nights that it’s cold… our little baby would freeze.  And summer nights, she would bake to death.  So we’ll have her in our bedroom until we move out.  But he wanted the office to be clear because as my belly gets bigger – it’s MUCH harder for me to scrunch over and do the freelance work I need to do over my computer.  So he dug out the space around my old computer (did a FANTASTIC job) but in the process unearthed some more memories that I wasn’t quite ready to see yesterday.  A small white envelope that has seen it’s share of wear and tear.  On the outside in crude black marker it exclaimed “To My Mother: The Maker Of ME”  This was obviously one of my many exercises in learning to write… so I had to be about 5 or 6 years old.  In my brief homemade thank you card written on a 3 x 5 piece of index card in blue pen I thanked for all that she’d done for me: “making me, giving me life, buying my toys” and professed that she “made life so satisfying”  and that I loved her.  (silly me with my big words).  I broke down.  This is the reason I don’t give cards anymore.  It seems terrible of me.

When grandma died and we had to go through her apartment, there was a huge envelope – you know for those absurdly large greeting cards that they sell at Hallmark.  We’d given her one of those through the years.  But inside that envelope was ANY AND EVERY CARD my brother, my mom and I had ever given the woman.  And in all the years of writing these cards, I never thought for ONE MINUTE that I’d be taking them back.  It warmed my heart to know that they meant so much that she kept them all (i mean ALL of them).  But it hurt too profoundly to have to reclaim them.

So i cried for a good while yesterday, missing mommy with all my heart.  Wishing she was here.  I had way less lonely moments when she was around because she was always available to just chat about nothing.. or let me listen to her watch tv.  But this bottomless feeling is just without resolve.  At the end of the tears and the feeling sorry for myself and the wishing I could call her – there’s no resolution.  I’m still without her and always will be, no matter how many tears or breath taking sobs.  No amount of pain I’ll feel will revive her … or wake me out of this reality where she’s actually still here with me.  And every day, more of her shows up in me that I can’t control; good things… bad things.  All her.

2 more weeks until the 3rd trimester.  Maybe I’ll learn to slow down and document everything happening so that I can regale the little one with tales of her arrival and focus less on the pain and sadness.

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Special Phone Call

Ritmo Speaker System

With all that I’m reading about what you could and can do to make your baby more intelligent, more intellectual and more responsive from the womb, the one that I’ve latched on to (of course) is playing music for the baby.  So I ordered one of these Ritmo Sound Systems that has four little baby sized speakers that go on your belly strategically to create “surround sound” and a little controller that makes it so that you can’t ever have it be too loud (because it’s totally possible to over stimulate the baby in there with too much interaction or noise that’s too loud.

So on the night of the SuperMoon last Saturday, I played a little Moonlight Sonata for her and she enjoyed that along with some Nutcracker Suite selections.  She was just flipping around in there and loving the music.    I picked the system up though, because I read somewhere that you could pipe your voice through it somehow.  I thought this would have been an easy task w/o too much technical know how but they didn’t make it easy for the non techie to figure this out.  Thankfully… I’m not a non tech .  When I did the first music session, I plugged the Ritmo into my computer and played selections from my music library as well as from YouTube if I wanted to play something I didn’t actually posses.  So there was a way to bring a voice through… primarily Earl’s.  I know she can hear him peripherally but I want her to REALLY know his voice when she gets out here, just like she’ll know mine intimately (not much of a choice in that one for her… but you know).

So finally it hit me… SKYPE!!!  I plugged the system into my lappy and pulled up Skype and dialed out to Earl’s cell phone.  That way, when he talked, it piped right into the speakers.  Man…  when he picked up that phone and said “Hello little one…”  She kicked me SO HARD like  “HEY!!!  That’s Daddy!!!”  She’d never kicked that hard yet and there was nothing I could do to stop her from flipping around for the next 10 minutes as Earl sat back and caught her up on EVERYTHING for the last 6 months like he was talking to a long lost friend.  It was really so beautiful that tears just streamed down the sides of my face freely.  Real tears of joy – not ones tied into any kind of misery or self pity.  I was just so overwhelmed by the happiness felt from within and the joy emanating from Earl’s voice.  This is it – my little nuclear family.  The one I dreamed about.   The one I prayed for.  And worked extremely hard for.  It’s coming to pass right before my eyes.  My only wish is that my Mommy could have seen…  But she’s supervising from the great beyond and helping to keep a good word up for my dreams and prayers.

Earl chatted to the baby to his heart’s content and ended the call by saying “It’s getting late now, I’m going to let you get some sleep – I love you so much… I’ll call you tomorrow!”  LOL  I couldn’t help but have a good belly laugh at that.  Because he will and will always want to talk with her and to her.  I can’t wait to meet her!

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