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I simultaneously feel powerless and as though I am a Goddess when I hold my son.

He is just bursting with infinity. Infinite potential. Infinite joy. Infinite growth. 

He is so strong and intelligent…connecting as much as an almost-4-month-old can.

He is so typical.

So atypical.

So perfect.

So confusing.

So amazing.

And so I talk to him and teach him and love him and hug him and hold him…and at times I squeeze a little tighter (but not too tight) because his fragility and mortality causes me discomfort (I.e., scares me shitless).

What if I lose my grip and drop him? What if I fall? What if a stranger tries to steal him from me? What could I possibly do to protect him from these things?

And the powerlessness sinks in. The fear and agony of the unknown. The tighter squeezing and the deep breaths and moments spent purging those terrible possibilities (or even the impossibilities) from my anxious mind.

And there are moments like earlier…where the hour inspired me to simply shower with my sproutling opposed to bathe. He was holding onto me and I had him firmly in my arms as I washed his hair and washed his new skin, the gentle falling of the shower drops soothing us after a long day and a scary dark car ride. Iyeoka’s voice filled the empty space between the drizzling with her soulful “Sometimes it Rains” and and my soulful Sun kept sticking his tongue out trying to catch the water.

He caught my eye with his; large brown and bright. “Heeeey baaaaby” I said cheerily and was greeted with an endearing gummy smile.

And so I was struck, right up throughh my ribs, as I thought “I created you. You are so perfect, and yet I made you. Amazing. Your so amazing.” 

And we giggled and became clean, and I dried him and my mother demonstrated to me the right amount of desitin to use on his burgeoning diaper rash. And then we snuggled and he nursed…and now he sleeps and I am still feeling that battle of emotions.

I can not be sure if every mother feels this battle. I wouldn’t be surprised if those who do feel it in their own unique way. But it is so painful to feel the possibility of danger touching my child yet exhilarating to know that, at the very least, I can bring him joy and teach him and squeeze (just a little bit tighter) and protect him as much as I may.

A woman.

A mother.

A goddess.

My god, this boy.

HE created ME, after all.

Reaching “Home” while Miles Away

When I was younger, expect 14 or 15 years old (the only thing I’m sure about is that I had pink hair), I spent several weeks over one summer in Cape Cod at my grandmother’s house with my Aunt Joni and her three young children. 

Ever since Joni moved from Boston to Arizona, she would escape the heat of a desert summer by coming to her mother’s house. This particular summer, Joni was battling thyroid cancer but still managed to radiate supermom-ness; it was incredible to see her, loving and understanding, with her children. She shown so brightly that she hardly looked sick. 

I got to know Joni that summer and was enamored with her children. Quiet and intelligent Lucas, spunky and adorable Dana, and little snuggly and shy Ryan. Who they are now is similar and yet completely different but that is inconsequential to those precious moments I spent bonding with them. Most in particular, Dana. We would snuggle and play (she must have been 6 or 7) and she would say those hilarious things 6 or 7 year old say.

One day she crawled into my bed with me and we were talking when she pointed to my breasts.

Dana: what are these?

Me: uh, well, they’re called boobs

Dana: am I going to get them one day?

Me: maybe!

At this point, Joni walks in and I tell her about Dana’s funny questions.

Joni: well, they’re called breasts, among other things, but if you’re like me then they definitely won’t be that big!

Oh, it was such a good moment that I always reflect on kindly, along with all the time I spent away from the hustle of the city. Fast forward through life and at 17 I fell in love with a man and could not bare being apart from him for more than a night. “Vacations” consisted of one (the occasional two) night over-nighters to new york city and once to the Cape but only on the pretense of celebrating my cousin Matty’s nuptials.

At 20 I got pregnant and on June 23rd of my 21st year I gave birth to my little Sun Prince. Cue two and a half months of being in my house in the city, laying around getting to know and nursing my lovely blessing. Then September rolled around, bringing with it the fall semester and rolling in the drama of inept and tactless teachers. My milk supply practically tanked and stress boiled up in my back. I got through days by rushing…rushing to feed, dress, and ready myself and my son to get to school to learn to nurse to get home to do homework and nurse and bathe (myself and my son) to (barely) make love and to (barely) sleep.

Big deal, right? That’s the life of a young mother, right? Well, regardless—even an atheist such as myself can be thankful for the Jewish faith this weeks, as it’s high holy days pulled away my philosophy professor. Even a socially conscious and active individual such as myself can scoff at and resent columbus day a little less as it freed me of classes for a whole day. Even an anti-war and anti-big military person such as myself can appreciate that my professor canceled class because her daughter just got back from basic training…all of these factors leading to a practically class-free week that allowed me to jump on an opportunity that I hadn’t been so eager for since I was 14 (maybe 15) years old.

(On a side note—I still believe religion is a farce, Christopher Columbus is responsible for the genocide of a beautifully intelligent and expressive people, and that our government spends way too much on a bullshit military for a bullshit war. But hey, that’s me.)

My poor grandmother has been struggling with heart problems for years now, and a little over two weeks ago she had another heart surgery (considered not invasive…but, I ask you, how can any outside hands on anybody’s heart be considered not invasive?). Her 7 children, along with the spouses of those who are married, garnered together to distribute time to be with her so that she could do what she wanted to do most-go home to that beloved home in the Cape. This week, my mother got Tuesday-Friday off so as to care for my grandmother and she asked me if I wanted to come.

At first, the same old things tugged at me to stay. All that I have here at home and snuggling up to my beloved Mars King at night. But then it hit me. I couldn’t be there. I needed space to breathe. I needed time and space to enjoy my son and spend time with the grandmother whose house (home) I love but I’ve been avoiding for trivial reasons. I want to feel more useful. More liberated. More fulfilled. And Boston didn’t do it for me.

After a lamenting blessing from his father, Sun Prince, my mother, and I were packed and on the road. About an hour and a half later we arrived and spent a splendid night with Aunt Jonie (who had flown down for a few days with Dana) teaching little one piano, encouraging him to roll and crawl, and eventually lulling him to sleep. We chatted and laughed and man it was good. However, Joni and Dana had to creep back to Arizona in the wee hours of this Wednesday…a Wednesday that was quietly delightful in its own ways.

Before bedtime I spent time watching the Wheel and Jeopardy with my mother and grandmother—appreciating that my grandmother has habitually watched these same shows for many years but never once tries to solve to puzzle or give the answer. I was practically in awe.  

Before this, we had an amazing dinner consisting of cooking from all three generations of women. Mom had to encourage grammy into the kitchen to make her special meatloaf. Although my mom did much of the work for her, my grandmother’s skills were definitely at play.

My mom made a delicious smashed cauliflower dish and I followed up on the veggie trail with some sauteed sesame soy snap peas. Yum, what a meal!

As much as I loved my bonding time with these women, nothing could compare to my mid afternoon walk with my Sun. 

That summer I spent here with Aunt Joni, I would walk with her or by myself to Bayside Beach. It is a good 15 minute walk—10 if you tread fast, 20 if you mosey. On those warm summer days, we often mosied, soaking up the sun rays and juicy conversation.

Today, it was a cloudy October day but it was not with out Sun rays, as I soaked up the joy my child brings me. 

Mostly, I wear him in my ergo babycarrier, but today my mother and I finally assembled his carriage and so I decided to put it through its paces on a trip to Bayside.

I wish I could say it took us 20 minutes to get there, but it only took ten, as I ended up wearing a crying child and strolling the carriage at the same time. He wanted to nurse and we were already closer to the beach than to home when the fussing became wailing.

He calmed a little bit, soothing himself by sucking on his pointer finger, as I bounced him with one hand and pushed the carriage with the other. 

Upon reaching the sands, I kicked off my shoes and plopped down on the beach and began nursing my distraught little one. That is when peace hit like a dagger. A moment so beautiful and calm that it almost hurt.

He quieted and nestled into the blanket his great grammy had knitted for him. The sands were soft and refreshingly chill, as was the wind…and the sound of the rolling waves and view of lush greenery across the way could not have been more tantamount to perfection.

When he was satisfied, little one got to scrunch his feet in the sand and survey the beach. He looked almost concerned, but he was quiet. Holding onto me and looking at all that he could see. It was new but perhaps he felt connected. Perhaps. But I was definitely connecting to him in this moment. Finally able to focus only on him. Finally creating a memory in one of my favorite places with my own child who could ask me one day all about boobs. Finally taking that step away from perceived loneliness and appreciating a peace beyond Zen…something deep inside my heart telling me that I could never be alone, especially not with this gem that I created being part of my life. Perfection. Utter, mind numbingly, soul soothing, heart thumpingly perfection.  

I am glad to say that our walk home, after the arrival of a fisherman who was friendly enough yet still disturbed the Mamma/Baby bonding time, took a solid 25 minutes as I sang to my Little Prince who fell asleep, just before we reached home…

A skiddamarink-arink-arink

A skiddamarink-adoo

I looove youu

I love you in the morning

And in the afternoon

I love you in the evening

Underneath the Moon

A skiddamarink-arink-arink

A skiddamarink-adoo

I looove youu

I love you truly

I loooove youu

Oh yes I do

<3

How heartbreakingly fitting…my Sun fears the dark. not loud noises, nor strangers, nor animals. That oppressive blanket that rears confusion and turmoil: darkness? bbut does it?

his father’s skin is dark. chocolatey brown. gorgeous. he loves his father; babbling and cooing at him with abandon. 

His papa’s eyes are dark but he stares into them with admiration and adoration. yells for the attention of those eyes.

Behind his eyelids there must be darkness…but he does not stir when his eyes are closed and he is nestled into my bossom. he breathes deep, tired, peaceful breaths. he is not fearful. he is dreaming.

But strapped into a plastic, cushion-lined box and zooming by landscapes and other features of the outside world—yes, this motivates fear.

So perhaps it is not darkness but the bleak desolation that grips the soul in the absence of light…

Or perhaps he is not secure in his existence with out the ability to catch someone’s eye.

Whatever it is, those sad eyes that break my heart will find comfort, give him this promise, because i will always endeavor to reflect that light which he shines on me back unto him.

I promise.