Monday, June 26, 2006

Love, Mother Dear

Bassey - 30
New York, NY
1 little butterfly - En Route (11 wks)

This afternoon. They gathered for the love of. Sat me down. Fed me. Told me that there was no such thing as alone. No such thing as "single mother". They all gathered. Those that could be there. Those who couldn't called. Emailed. Said, "You are blessed. This baby is taken care of. You only need to be healthy. You only need to let us." Roger kissed the belly. Remembered the forehead. Lara, Mahogany, Lynnie, Marty, Roger, Tyren, Syreeta, Sabrina, Fish... who ate only steak. While the rest of us salmon and tuna and potato salad and this is what we will do and corn/mango salsa and Amari and word problems and jokes about BJ Wholesale and we are afraid that you won't tell us when you need us and strawberries and veggie chips and there will always be a somebody and Pom White Tea juice and whatever you need and I felt the baby for the first time this morning.She is nothing but wings fluttering in my stomach. Wasn't sure at first what it was. Felt like something I never imagined. Soft and constant. Felt like I fell in love for the first time with this something taking shape in my womb. This thing that pushes Chuckie aside and says, "Let me be." Today, there was a love like everything. Remembered Peter all day. Didn't cry for the first time in ages. Just smiled a bit. Thanked him for this. This family he helped create. This everything that I am now living for. These people that know me inside and out and remember me whole and broken. They teach me that it's okay. Taught me to breathe and take it easy..."Don't worry, girl. We got you."

Don't worry, y'all. I love you.

Right now. I'm in a penthouse on 12th street. Taylor and Marie Elizabeth recognized my need to not think about what needs to be done to the apartment. Only what needs to be done for my health. So they left me in charge. There are two cats here. "The Boys" they call them. They nudge me to put my laptop down so they can climb into my lap and purr. Their sound matches the flutter that has become my child. It's like they are speaking to each other. I want them to tell him, that we are ready.

It's Saturday night in the only place that matters.

Sometimes I want to push this thing aside. Live life full and anonymous. But where is the village in that? My parents worry because there is no husband and wife becoming mother and father. Just friends becoming parents. And friends remembering family. I could give this child one person to call father and one person to call mother. But I like it this way, I give this child 50 uncles and aunties and a variety of things to learn and ways to grow. This child will be stronger sooner. Will be kind and brave. Will be unafraid to ask for what it believes and needs. Will be beautiful and free...And maybe it didn't turn out the way the world suggests. But that's why it's only a suggestion.

So child,

I give you better than me, I give you a world full of people who wish you happy and send you love before your eyelids are properly
developed. I give you never alone. Never without someone to talk to. Someone to hold you. Someone to promise you that if they can't fix it or answer it or find it, then uncle someone will or auntie someone else will help you find the truth yourself. And Uncle Fish will beat the haters up. Or teach you the strength that poetry takes to avoid the fight in the first place...
You will learn what it means to love all people and expect the best. Because it's important. People will try to talk you out of your nature. Fuck them. Follow your heart. Believe.
And there is so much for you to love.
And your mother and your father will always provide for you a world full of colored things.
Until it is time for you to build your own world... create your own colors.
I want you to believe in the impossible.
I want you to believe that it is all possible.
I didn't think you were possible. I didn't think I could fall in love with someone I never met.
So don't worry, kid. Work on figuring out your genitalia. We got the rest covered.
Love and stuff,
Mother Dear.
P.S. You don't have to be a doctor if you don't want to, Auntie Lara is just talking crazy. But I will have to stage an intervention if you become a Republican. That's where I draw the line.