mind boggling process, indeed…

by shadymama

fresh baked bear

a friend of ours just had a baby a coupla days ago.  that event, the return of my own offspring from his papa’s house and winning this little piece of truth from here, has got me thinking about the cracked open.hollowed out

Time Of The Newborn. 

that Time that is seemingly suspended in air.  that Time that is suddenly turned viscuous like jello or heartache; a thickness undoubtedly planning to last forever, leaving you and yer babe swathed in something churned that tastes a lot like

self-doubt,

the way it sticks to the roof of yer mouth, all bitter crunch and chew.  the way there’s this whole new wrinkly wizened little being that just stares up towards you, and, well – you simply

have.no.idea.

because this person, this little.little person, is somehow so.so big – hogging all the mental space and breathing room the way yer ex-lover hogged the covers and all the good beer.  and you are lost inside the bigness.  barely afloat in the midst of a raging squall, on some leaking, mildewed raft of masquerading sanity and, well – yer feeling pretty much

completely.fucked.

not *exactly* newbornish, but you get the idea

or so you think, at the time.  how could you not?  just you and this child, bobbing along, as you squint desperately towards the horizon that is Any Time But Now; sleep-deprived and bleary, hoping for a glimpse of clear skies or calmer seas. 

oh.

it is so hard.  i look back at that new.mama.me, barely 23, completely in over her head, and i just want to hug her.  tug her dreads, bring her a beer and tell her “oh, mama.  hold on, girl, cuz it’s gonna come through.  one day,

one day,

you will look back and actually miss this Time that you are so anxiously trying to shriek through with yer eyes closed and yer fists clenched; this Time that threatens to never end? 

it will.” 

and, i would take that sweet.little.squashed.up newbear, breathe deep his milky scent and venture out with him, on a walk around the neighborhood, so his mama could shower and cry in peace.  and when we returned, i would send her out to the front stoop with her journal and some strawberries and whisper through the window,

“you will not fail. 

because you cannot fail.  the love that lives, seemingly dormant, inside of  you is bigger than we know and it will vine its sticky roots around yer ribs, it will push through sinew and sprout from yer hands.  yer lips.  yer eyes.”  and i would leave her to her words and her berries, both of them red, and cradle that child in my arms,

thankful

for his easy smallness, his downy hair, his quiet.  and when she was ready to come back in, get settled for yet another sleepless night, i would gather her into my arms and say, “brave.  this is what you are.      

and you will not fail.”    

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