When my beautiful baby boy turned three, I stopped going to play group, swim at the Y, and "Mommy-n-Me" yoga. Cutting of his grandmother was harder, but not impossible. I purged our apartment of all his toys, diapers and training toilet. If anybody who cared to knew me cared at all, they would have been seriously concerned. It was far worse than they could have imagined.
Raising Calvin alone was not easy, and I abused myself every day with thoughts of how stupid I was when I had slept with his father. I barely even remembered the man, and he was a man. He wore a suit and everything. I was old enough to know better, and this guy was so professional, so pulled-together, I thought he was okay. He wasn't. Luckily, he never tried to contact us. He had to have found out I had a baby, but not so much as a peep. I say I was lucky, though I really could have used the money. Calvin and I lived in an attic apartment in the city, and it was cramped, even though we didn't have a lot. I couldn't imagine how women and girls who weren't educated managed when I could barely make it through social services application processes. I was persistent, though, which is why Calvin was enrolled in so many great programs. Not anymore, though.
It was the morning of Calvin's third birthday, and spring finally seemed to be around for good. I was up extra early to decorate and set out his presents (a real vintage Speak & Spell I found at a thrift store and fixed up, a stuffed dog that had to have been donated new, and some clothes--sorry, kid.) In the morning, Calvin usually woke himself and called me from his bedroom, "Mommy!" he'd call in a sing-song voice. "I'm a-way-ake!" Bustling about, taping up streamers, I didn't notice he hadn't called yet, and it was after eight. I wasn't a nervous mother, but of course I worried. I pictured him, smothered in his pillow. I pictured having a doctor explaining "sudden infant death" could happen to toddlers, too. I pictured him kidnapped by his absent father, whom I might not even recognize if I saw him on the street.
Calvin, however, was awake. I found him sitting up in his bed, staring at his hands. He turned them over and looked at the backs, then again to the palms. The look on his face frightened me because it was so awestruck and intense. "Calvin?" I asked from the door. "You okay, buddy?" My voice startled him, and my toddler looked up at me, stared for what seemed like a very long time, put his hands to his mouth and burst into tears.
I ran to his bed and held his shaking body. What in the world had scared my baby so badly? "It's okay, it's okay," I crooned over and over, rocking him. Finally, Calvin was down to sniffles, and he said something he had never said before, "Mom?"
"Mom?" I repeated, sitting back to look at him. I smiled, thinking that suddenly my baby at age three now thought himself old enough to graduate from "Mommy". My smile faded when I saw his glistening blue eyes searching my face so intently. "What is it, Calvin? What's the matter, buddy?"
"Mom... I can't believe it's you. I'm really here."
No comments:
Post a Comment