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I had a dream early this morning that I was waiting for the elevator (at a hospital or hotel but I knew I was at work) and I was trying to get to the fifth floor for a big meeting I have today with the biggest two bosses at the bank and I was running late and these punk kids (like college kids or something with longish hair and jeans and t-shirts)
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Anyway, I have a box of things from when I was little, and I was thinking of you and looking through it, thinking some day you might do the same with your own kiddo's stuff. There's a couple of really cool things I'd like you to have; as you know, reproduction is off the table for Sandy, and so is religion - so I'd like you to have the St. Christopher baby carriage medal (I warn you, it's kinda tacky by my standards, but my mom assures me it was blessed by Pope John 26)so I'll leave it up to you). There's some other hand-made crap my aunt made (that sounds bad, but it's really pretty nice little girl stuff). Bibs and a little pink dress, all hand-embroidered, little hats- shit like that.
I was a little scrawny kid from birth, but it's still weird to see a dress that is so impossibly small but I still know I wore that to my First Communion - my mom made it for me (I have the pictures, and I have a black eye too - but don't freak - I wasn't abused that way - I got it playing). It's the only one I can remember of all my peers that had a "60's sensibility" about it - everybody else wore a ready-made from the same store we got our uniforms for C-school from- they were made of yards and yards of organandie and tons of veil, like little brides - mine was an a-line with a Peter Pan collar, and really, kind of a mini. It was totally bitchen, and I'll bring it to your shower (which I will attend - I may have to go in the head and do shots or something), but my long, convoluted point is that it was something my old lady did fror ME; we were broke and we couldn't afford those fancy dresses - I still remember her kneeling on the floor of our living room cutting patterns, a smoke in one side of her face. And she tried to off herself twice that same winter, so I guess she was fucking FOCUSED. So I think what I'm trying to say is, I guess motherhood is pretty powerful - my tendency is to only remember the bad shit - but my feeling is that, of course, you will be an exemplary mom, but it's this shit that sticks with you - my mom was so damaged herself, and still managed to do cool shit for me - with you as a together, great person, your little peanut will be great. Next time I'll tell you about how my dad didn't get that it was COOL if somebody tee-peed your house, and jumped in the Old Family Car to mete out Certain Justice to the Miscreants. Too shame-making...
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Wow. I know you don't want to hear about my pregnany hormones, but I am all sappy and choked up right now over this story and your willingness to share your St. Christopher medal with Maggie. So special. I want to hug you right now (but it's 6:18 am so I imagine it's not a good time).
Your story here was so great. A totally you, heartfelt and real (so very REAL) picture of your childhood, and a beautiful appreciation of your mom's love for you. My mom made my First Communion dress, too (no cash for the fluffy fluffy), and it was Holly Hobby style. As a 70s feminist (yet still grade 2) I refused to wear the veil, and insisted that I pin this Avon scarecrow pin (which opened in the back to reveal a touch of perfume solid) smack in the middle of my chest. Did the host used to make you gag when it stuck to the roof of your mouth?
I miss you, honey. I am so sorry you've been so sick and can't wait to see you soon. If I have to wear a face mask I will -- let's get together.
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