Sunday again. This day must take on a new meaning for me, a new feeling. I can’t keep waking up with the same sense of dread and melancholy as I have for years, for forever, since before I even knew what Sunday was. I think My Son feels it as well or maybe he just feels my discontentment. We are so ridiculously attached, his mouth an almost permanent fixture upon my breast, his eyes search my face in wonderment without a bit of judgement, my arms wrapped around his warm body, my hair tangled around his tiny fingers. He deserves Sundays free of this stigma of mine. He deserves his own story.
I could write so much more, I am dying to write and write but my Son demands my attention and goddamn he is a powerful commander. I am…..
Used up and sucked dry,
my inhibitions discarded along with my placenta.
Who is this shirtless woman, carelessly loading a washing machine,
no consideration for mismatched colors.
Fabrics in need of special care must now fend for themselves.
I sit with a moment, a first it seems. The past few weeks a blur, a waking dream, a challenge like I never could have imagined, a challenge I took on and fucking conquered as only a Mother can. I haven’t slept more than an hour in over 3 weeks yet I haven’t gone a day without makeup. I haven’t sat down to eat a meal in weeks but who the fuck am I kidding, like I have ever wanted to sit and enjoy a meal. Eating the occasional protein bar while changing a diaper suits me just fine. Cleaning my house with one arm hasn’t been too difficult an adjustment nor has breastfeeding while doing paperwork or pumping breast milk while typing this very sentence. My baby sleeps next to me, quietly contemplating his next uproarious complaint. It’s tits or shits, that’s about it these days. Kinda boring actually. I am looking forward to the days of chasing him around the yard, cleaning scraped knees and learning everything there is to know about this gorgeous little man.
I unapologetically would like to state that I will not be sharing any pictures of my kid. Some shit is just too precious to send out into this “world”
P.S. (I will be writing more regularly from now on)
Last nights dream
Breastfeeding while everything falls apart around me, chaos and destruction. I keep walking with this tiny baby latched onto my breast. I have no idea where I am going yet I am not afraid and I do not hesitate. Men are scrambling for cover, an escape. I keep walking. Booming voices call out orders. I keep walking. There are explosions in the distance and the not so distant. A plane takes off near me, people are running for the door trying to climb aboard and falling out as the plane takes flight. Fences are being erected on all sides of me and are being torn down just as quickly by the frantic masses. I am oblivious to the mess which surrounds me, my only focus is to nourish and protect the tiny baby with my own strong able body. And I keep walking.
A dream from a few years ago
I was at a carnival and saw a sign that said “Morgan Freeman Sundae Special” and I knew I had to have one. I walked up to the booth and ordered the special. I was handed an ice cream sundae the size of a human head. It looked exactly like Morgan Freeman but it was made entirely out of ice cream and candies, whipped cream and chocolate sauce. It had little chocolate chips for his adorable freckles on his cheeks and his eyes were made out of marshmallows. The chocolate ice cream was cold and delicious and I was especially excited to find strawberries inside his head as the brain! It was the best ice cream sundae I had ever eaten. I don’t remember it having a gold earring like I have recently seen him wearing. I wonder if I accidentally swallowed it?
I haven’t had a silly dream in quite a while. I used to dream about ridiculous stupid shit all the time. I have written down thousands of dreams starting from when I was about 7 years old. My earliest dreams were those of cartoons, like a variation of Scooby-Doo and Sesame Street. Grover joins the gang and Scooby gets jealous, shit like that. I also began having nightmares (night terrors) around the same age or earlier. I still have them and it scares the shit out of anyone near me when I wake up with a scream. I never remember what I am dreaming about when I have a bad nightmare, I really don’t want to know what could possibly be that horrifying.
So, where did my silly dreams go to? Is this what it really means to grow up, to be an adult? I dream about awful shit and weird shit, but no silly shit, like eating Morgan Freemans head or Michael Myers as an interior decorator who has an unfortunate way with blood that his clients find a bit off-putting but are too scared to complain about. Or Ricky Ricardo joining a “Biggest Butt” contest and all the antics of Lucy and Ethel trying to enhance his rear while stuffing ice cream and butter into his mouth. I miss the nights where I woke up laughing from my dreams. Seriously, nothing beats the shit out of laughing in your sleep so hard that you wake yourself up.