jellybean...
DISCLAIMER: i feel the need to preface this entry. it was written in response to a news article. it is an emotional response. perhaps a bit irresponsible, since i don't actually know if my judgement is accurate. still, it sparked a very visceral response in me and i had to put it down here.
i remember the first time i saw my child on screen during my first ultrasound examination. i'd just found out and was only a few weeks pregnant, maybe 6 or so, and he looked like a tiny little jellybean. so that's what i nicknamed him. my little jellybean. i say him, but of course had no idea at the time that "he" was going to be a boy. he was just this tiny little thing growing inside me, making my boobs hurt and making my stomach growl from near-constant hunger. i still wasn't even exactly sure what to make of him, but there he was.
pregnancy wasn't so bad, but delivery was a bit rough. and then there was this little creature. mostly i loved him fiercely. i fed him from my breasts, i cradled him, rocked him, talked to him. but he was a demanding little thing and he simply didn't sleep much. especially during the day. and he cried inconsolably in the afternoons. for about 2 hours straight. every fucking day. and i was like a zombie, falling asleep while i was feeding him, falling asleep sitting straight up. and when i would bathe him in our tub in our old ugly apartment while my then-husband was at work or class or closing down the bars, it sometimes occurred to me how fragile he was. how easy it would be to simply allow him to slip under the water and do nothing as his little life ebbed away. and of course i would take a firm hold of myself, sigh, and gently wash his skin and hair. do it again the next day, and the next.
when he was about 2 or 3 i started partying a lot. by this time i had divorced my ex-husband and was back in college. i left him with a babysitter/neighbor and off to the bar i went. often. i used to daydream about leaving him with his father and just disappearing, maybe somewhere in South America. it would be so easy to forget. to just go away and be utterly selfish and not even wonder what his life would be like. if he was being well cared-for. i didn't do it. his father was even more screwed up than me. i couldn't burden my parents with it; no, he was my responsibility and i would care for him. lucky for me, i had a lot of emotional and financial support, mostly from my parents.
now, my little boy is 9 years old. i would sooner cut off my own arm than run away from him. but i remember. even while i miss those days of cradling him in my arms as an infant and laughing with him as a toddler, i still remember how desperately i wanted to get away from him sometimes. and i think most parents go through that, especially single parents. that's why it hurts me so very much to hear about the little 3 year old girl in Florida who was murdered by her mother. the little girl whose mother lied to the police about leaving her with a babysitter. who started partying almost immediately after the little girl went missing.
i could have had sympathy for her. for the mother. i remember. i have sympathy all the way up to the point where she took away her little girl's precious life. to the point where she started researching on the computer how to kill her, how to hide her tiny body. the autopsy cannot even show sufficient evidence of homicide to conclusively prove that her mother killed her. but i think i know. i remember. i hope they find a way to convict her if she is guilty. and i wonder if she's begun to feel remorse yet.
i wonder what might have made a difference for this little angel? i had loving, supportive parents. i had a babysitter who rarely said no and never charged me. and i had people around me who taught me how to be a mother to my son. i am more grateful than i can ever express. but what if i had not had those things? might i now be where this mother finds herself? i'd like to think not, but i've stood at the top of that precipice looking over into that abyss.
sleep with the angels, precious child.
i remember the first time i saw my child on screen during my first ultrasound examination. i'd just found out and was only a few weeks pregnant, maybe 6 or so, and he looked like a tiny little jellybean. so that's what i nicknamed him. my little jellybean. i say him, but of course had no idea at the time that "he" was going to be a boy. he was just this tiny little thing growing inside me, making my boobs hurt and making my stomach growl from near-constant hunger. i still wasn't even exactly sure what to make of him, but there he was.
pregnancy wasn't so bad, but delivery was a bit rough. and then there was this little creature. mostly i loved him fiercely. i fed him from my breasts, i cradled him, rocked him, talked to him. but he was a demanding little thing and he simply didn't sleep much. especially during the day. and he cried inconsolably in the afternoons. for about 2 hours straight. every fucking day. and i was like a zombie, falling asleep while i was feeding him, falling asleep sitting straight up. and when i would bathe him in our tub in our old ugly apartment while my then-husband was at work or class or closing down the bars, it sometimes occurred to me how fragile he was. how easy it would be to simply allow him to slip under the water and do nothing as his little life ebbed away. and of course i would take a firm hold of myself, sigh, and gently wash his skin and hair. do it again the next day, and the next.
when he was about 2 or 3 i started partying a lot. by this time i had divorced my ex-husband and was back in college. i left him with a babysitter/neighbor and off to the bar i went. often. i used to daydream about leaving him with his father and just disappearing, maybe somewhere in South America. it would be so easy to forget. to just go away and be utterly selfish and not even wonder what his life would be like. if he was being well cared-for. i didn't do it. his father was even more screwed up than me. i couldn't burden my parents with it; no, he was my responsibility and i would care for him. lucky for me, i had a lot of emotional and financial support, mostly from my parents.
now, my little boy is 9 years old. i would sooner cut off my own arm than run away from him. but i remember. even while i miss those days of cradling him in my arms as an infant and laughing with him as a toddler, i still remember how desperately i wanted to get away from him sometimes. and i think most parents go through that, especially single parents. that's why it hurts me so very much to hear about the little 3 year old girl in Florida who was murdered by her mother. the little girl whose mother lied to the police about leaving her with a babysitter. who started partying almost immediately after the little girl went missing.
i could have had sympathy for her. for the mother. i remember. i have sympathy all the way up to the point where she took away her little girl's precious life. to the point where she started researching on the computer how to kill her, how to hide her tiny body. the autopsy cannot even show sufficient evidence of homicide to conclusively prove that her mother killed her. but i think i know. i remember. i hope they find a way to convict her if she is guilty. and i wonder if she's begun to feel remorse yet.
i wonder what might have made a difference for this little angel? i had loving, supportive parents. i had a babysitter who rarely said no and never charged me. and i had people around me who taught me how to be a mother to my son. i am more grateful than i can ever express. but what if i had not had those things? might i now be where this mother finds herself? i'd like to think not, but i've stood at the top of that precipice looking over into that abyss.
sleep with the angels, precious child.