He’s sleeping, covering me like a mermaid tail
snug and deliciously comfortable
sea and foam
sea and foam
sea and foam
toes tucked into my belly
he belongs nowhere else in the world, but here.
I’m getting ready to transition back to work in less than three days. I kept telling myself we’d get a schedule, but baby B and me are Bohemians. We sleep till noon some days and eat when we’re hungry. We snack a lot too on daydream fairies that fly in our mouths and make us gasp on excitement, We pick wonder berries along the bushes of embellishment. We skip along mountains of diaper poopy panties (we run from the poopies actually) and we do it hand in hand, heart in heart, holding each other.
As he snuggles like a turtle breeze on my left shoulder, I kiss him elegantly. I shutter in the fact that at this time in 3 days I’ll be engrossed in workshops and setting up my classroom, getting ready to nurture someone else’s children.
I remember sitting in the teacher’s lounge and two mothers were having a conversation about how having your own children makes you a more compassionate teacher. How it makes you more kind in situation where school age children can be oh so bad.
I jumped out of my sandwich eating shell like a scallop and raised my childless, at the time, infertile voice, and chomped down as hard as I could – “I don’t think you have to have children to understand your students. and be compassionate. I’ve seen plenty of teachers who are parents belittle students and yell at them.”
Little did I know… I want to side with my old self. The one who was a champion for childless adults who was the bully beater when it came to the infertiles. But really all I was was another bully trying to beat up the childful parents. I wanted so desperately to have my own child. We went through it all to get here – two IUIs, fertility drugs, awkward room sit ins in the “sperm deposit room,” baby making mechanical sex, the depression, the heartaches, the glances of glowing parents fresh and fumed from parenthood. And now we’re here – our three-month old son in my arms, draped over my shoulder, head to head thought to thought, heart to heart.
Thank God I’m a righty and Baby B loves my lefty shoulder. We just match up.
So I have to prepare to leave my nestled heart in his, abandon it during the daylight hours to go venture off to find worms to bring back to the nest.
I guess what can guide me gracefully is all the parents who do it daily and do it again every time they drop their kids off at school. In the meantime, I’ll open my nest for twenty-eight little ones to nestle in my nest where we all adjust to our new location.
memomuse is a teacher by trade and a writer by heart. She lives in Eastern North Carolina with her husband, baby boy, two dogs, and a whole mess of journals. Someday she’ll be working right here from her overstuffed armchair where she can write essays in her lap while her lovebug baby boy sleeps nestled on her left shoulder.