Why do I keep thinking of post ideas when I'm at the grocery store? Today I was zipping through the 12-items-or-less checkout, with both hands full of avocados (10 for $10!), and this tabloid headline caught my eye: My Baby Saved Me. On the cover was a photo of a "real" ho.usewi.fe with her new little one. My eyes flickered over the image long enough to register her dark tresses, long enough to contextualize the quote.
Oh, she means her baby saved her from being a total prat.
As I passed out of the blessed, blessed air conditioning into the parking lot, my mind turned to other permutations of that statement.
I saved my baby.
Delivering my baby early saved my life.
My subsequent baby saved my sanity.
And I wished that celebrities and other people in front of microphones would think before using the word "baby" and "saved" in the same sentence. But they don't know what it's like out here.
Dumping my bag of avocados on the passenger seat and turning on the car (blessed, blessed air conditioning!) I wondered, has my baby saved me from being a total prat?
I try not to do this. I try not to look for meaning, or purpose, or lessons, or silver linings. But the fact is that she has changed me, and I can only hope to heaven that it is - or will be - for the better.
If I had say it, it would be this: Angel Mae has saved me from being a pollyanna, full of willing ignorance. She has saved me from being cavalier about other people's suffering. She has released me - at long last - from the myth that I can escape being human, that I am special and exempt; that if I just pray/meditate/dance/stretch enough and treat everyone well and eat organic food I will get to see the face of God and not have to deal with any of this mundane bullshit like dirty dishes and cancer.
My baby has given me this body - this fleshy, fat-ass, grounded body with heels that hit the pavement with force; this body that moves through real space and time instead of reaching lightly up toward some spiritual plane; this body with hips that still rotate out, marking me as a mother, giving me some swagger, sending the message, I'm coming through, I've got a kid and some shit to take care of.
All in all, I feel like I'm here now, on planet Earth, where I've always been but where my brain never wanted to be. Maybe I can finally get something done. Make something. Write something. Build something. Stop screwing around. Stop missing opportunities. Stop whining and get to work. Maybe.
I am still a prat. This week I bitched at Brian in Home Depot because an acquaintance volunteered to help move our furniture. Then I argued with him about average high temperatures for July. It is hot and humid, and we are surrounded by packing boxes, and crankiness is in good supply. Her due date is in less than a week, and I have nothing at all planned. I feel kind of crappy about it, but just quietly remembering may be the best thing. My lovely girl.
My baby saved me. (?!) Do I feel grateful? Not even a little bit. Would I change things if I could? Oh hell yes. But by consciously allowing Angel Mae's life and death to change me, I honor her. I remember her. I keep her with me as I step forward... At least, that is what my therapist says...
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longing...
"...for the vanished girl her mother searched and visited all lands in turn. Where the girl was she knew not, but she reproached the whole wide world, and in chief the places where she had found the traces of her loss. She roamed the earth over in search of her daughter, by day and by night with torches, from sunrise until sunset, hour by hour. Bitter pain seized Demeter's heart, and she sped like a wild bird over the firm land and yielding sea, seeking her child. But no one would tell her the truth, neither god nor mortal men; and of the birds of omen, none came with true news for her."
- Ovid, Homer, others, me
- Ovid, Homer, others, me
pre-term labor awareness
gifts
5 comments:
What an incredible post. So much in here just had me going yes, yes and more yes.
I too find it is when I'm out and about that a post comes to mind (that happened today - you can hop over to read all about that).
Sending love and understanding, Jenni. I feel like a prat right along with you.
Thinking of Angel Mae as you edge towards her due date.
xo
paige most definitely saved me. granted, it was like being violently ripped by the hair and throttled into the next stage of my beinghood via another dimension, but nonetheless saved.
it sucks ass in hell right now, but relish (?) the sweetness (?) of your raw, raw sorrow. it's not yours always to keep.
I've seen that headline. Reality television destroys your personhood, but redemption is possible through making babies. Is it okay to tell People magazine to shut the fuck up in your comments?
I thought Lucy's death kind of made me more of an asshole in some ways, definitely more self-absorbed. Fingers crossed that it has made me more compassionate in others. Hopefully, I am channeling my rage/creativity/grief/losses into something positive through art, but I hate to be presumptuous about that. I don't always like me now, though. And I used to, at the very least, accept me and my ability to adapt and grow. ANYWAY, see what I mean about self-absorption? Thinking of you and sending you much love as you approach Angel's due date. Quietly remembering sounds perfect. I will be quietly remembering her too.
I know the tab headline of which you write. And I had a similar reaction to it. I have a tough time seeing any of those stupid magazines as anything other than silent taunting from their racks.
But anyway, in moments of clarity I agree that Calla changed me for the better. When she died my husband and I decided that we'd start making "Calla changes." Sounds nerdy, but it's a way to honor her by trying to make our lives more productive, better, fuller, nicer.
But it's hard. And, like you, I'm not grateful, I'd choose a different outcome.
I'm not sure. Like Angie above, sometimes I think that G's death made me less of a prat, at other times I think it has made me MORE of a prat. I don't think I am as kind or as patient as I used to be. And grief has turned me inwards to a great extent. It preoccupies me.
Jenni, I know that I don't really 'know' you but I simply cannot imagine you as prattish at all! Either before or after. Sometimes I think of G's death as a lesson but I think I find it harder to see in the case of others. Those that I don't think NEEDED to be taught a lesson as it were?
I certainly identify with the body you describe. I think I'm similar now. Less afraid and my heels certainly strike the pavement these days.
This post has made me think of so many things but this comment is already getting way too long. Perhaps I'll go and burble on at my place!
Thinking of you and your lovely, lovely girl. x
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