Happier Times

Ayize finally woke up from his four hour nap (!) after swim class - teething is really busting his butt, too - and he'll probably get pissed off pretty soon if I don't end today's blogging marathon (how lucky can a mama get? I had to seize the opportunity it presented!) but I just want to add one small note.

BTW, this was inspired by a tear-stained quote I found scrawled on scratch paper in my computer desk from when I was reading Anne Lamott's priceless book, Operating Instructions (single mamas, take note. The book is exactly that. Highly recommended. And only costs ONE PENNY from Amazon!).

"Today a friend with a little baby Sam's age called, and in the beginning of the conversation, her baby was cooing and peeping quietly. All of a sudden I heard the baby begin to babble animatedly, and then she burst into tears. 'What on earth was that all about?' I asked. My friend said, 'Oh, the great god Dad just came into the room and then left, and now she's frustrated.' I felt a flush of many feelings all at once -- longing, jealousy, sorrow beyond words that Sam doesn't have a daddy. He will grieve over the years, and there is nothing I can do or say that will change the fact that his father chooses not to be his father. I can't give him a dad, I can't give him a nuclear family. All I can do is give him what I have, some absolutely wonderful men in our lives who loved him before he was born, who over the years will play with him, read and fish and walk with him, make him laugh and throw him up in the air until he is too big, men who will be his uncles and brothers and friends, and I have to believe that this will be a great consolation."

Those words had great impact on me at the time that I read them, and continue to reverberate months later. I try to remind myself that although the love has gone out of the relationship that Ayize's parents once shared, he was conceived, however accidentally, in a loving space, and born into a world of love, a loving "village", a global network of friends and relatives who continue that tradition of love, each in their own way.
Ayize's father and I never in a million years expected or planned to have a child together, except for his occasional jokes regarding his "seed"; we were friends and lovers, enjoying life, traveling frequently whenever both of our jobs permitted it, and living in and for the moment. I'm not sure that either of us even thought of our relationship in the long-term - everything in both of our lives was fairly chaotic because of outside forces.

The last thing we expected was to switch gears suddenly, and after only one year of dating, become parents-to-be. Our relationship could not stand up to the buffeting winds of stress, and though that makes me sad beyond compare for the sake of my son, everyone deals with the surprises life throws at us differently, so we both had to find acceptance in our own ways.
So, once the course was set, the baby decidedly on his way, and even as I found myself slowly beginning to sail solo, I knew all along that I would step up to the plate and meet the challenge, with or without support. I have no regrets. I pledge 101% of me to my son. Looking back to childless times gone or times that could have come to pass in a baby-free existence is an exercise in futility, and - I'm happy to report - bring me nothing but relief that this life, the one I've been given, and one so enriched by this amazing tiny human being - is the one I ended up with. I wouldn't have it any other way.
I'm gazing now at my son - my son - wow! still so amazing and strange to think on all that has happened - screaming with joy in his Exersaucer, bouncing around to Harry Belafonte ("jump in de line..."), shaking his little baby boody, and I know I wouldn't change a damn thing. So I'll end this babble now and keep to the star attraction in future posts. Oh, and his lowly assistant too. Yes, the one who's trying to type and chatter responses to the little guy and thaw breastmilk for rice cereal simultaneously.

We single mamas, we're professional multitaskers. "Work, work, work it, Senora!" the song tells me. And so I do.