Mommy Issues

Each time I see him he sizes me up, stands by me shoulder to shoulder turns and looks me in the eye “I’m taller than you,” he says with such delight.  Standing shoulder to shoulder, the way I’ll always stand by him, so proud of him and all that he’s becoming.

I see him age and I think “Aw, he’s so grown. No longer a little boy.” Can’t fight the pangs of nostalgia as they make my eyes water, nostalgia for the times when his smallness fit in my arms. How I’d drape his little body on me after a long car ride that rocked him to sleep.  With his head over my left shoulder I’d climb the steps, 23 of them I believe, feeling him get heavier and heavier and tighter across my body with each step till we reached the top, breathing heavy, walking slowly towards the door.

Carrying him like that reminded me of when I was a kid and mom would come home from the evening shift, around midnight, and pick my sisters and me up from the baby sitter’s. Our neighbors Patty and Lencho took care of us and put us to sleep with their girls until mom would come knocking late at night to pick us up. She too carried me, all the way from Patty and Lencho’s to the top of our stairs. The bobbing of my head as she walked up the stairs to our apartment always woke me up, just enough for me to see my sisters groggily in tow then I’d close my eyes again.  

He never woke up, I always managed to make it up the stairs and to his bed with him completely asleep and a spot of his drool on my shirt. I’d plopped him on his bad, cheeks flushed just begging me to unleash a string of kisses on them before leaving him to his eyes-half-open sleep.

I long for those days when I would walk into a room and he’d run to me and leap into my arms, his limbs clinging to me like Spiderman to the Empire State, not letting go till I filled his cheek with kisses as a leaned over to put him down. The last time he did that was 3 years ago (wow 3 years already?), when I went over to his place to pick him up, he ran out of his room “Claudia!” he said as he flew into my arms.  I caught him, my knees buckled a little but I caught him and squeezed him tight thinking to myself “this is the last time we’ll share a leap”. And it was. He was growing and I wasn’t; now he stands shoulder to shoulder with me.  

“It’s official,” he says as he runs his hand over his shoulder and on to mine to demonstrate how much he’s caught up to me; for the moment. He’ll outgrow me soon enough.

Yes, grow mi’jo! Grow taller than me, grow stronger than me, smarter. Isn’t that what all parents want, for their kids to be better than them, happier etc.? Even though I can’t twirl you around or lift you up, I can still drape my hand over your shoulder pull you in and unleash a bubble string of kisses on your cheek that leave the taste of your sweaty sweetness on my lips.

“You’re too much,” I tell him whenever he makes a wise crack the way smart butts know how to make. I used to think he was too much, too much to love, I didn’t know if it was smart to love a kid that’s not my own. I was scared, not sure if I knew how I would do it. And scared that he wouldn’t or couldn’t love me the same. Scared of how atypical our relationship was. Despite each year that passed and our bond grew stronger, I’d still wince whenever anyone would say “Oh, he still thinks you’re cool,” with a lilt; a very sharp question that resonated in my ears as “are they reminding me of my imminent fate: odd dyke out.”

But I’m brown yo! I got different kind of roots, I have different myths that keep me real. I was never in a nuclear family, not in this lifetime and definitely not in the previous ones. Brown indigena roots that value kinship over individuality. I never said this to anybody, but one day during my travels a woman read my palm. Or did she swing a medallion over it like a pendulum? The point is that she delivered a message.  Nilda se llamaba an anagram for Dilan, smart, sharp and chiquita. She was a colleague, we were both in the same line of work, adult education providing trainings across the country. We were in Atlanta out for drinks with a group of people in the gay part of town. It was an overcast day, a silly overcast day, so grey outside but muggy at the same time…like just before a tropical storm hits you. I wish I could remember all the details of our conversation but at some point she told me she had these powers, I wasn’t surprised, I’m brown I’ve had other brujas come out to me before. Nilda was  from Puerto Rico so I knew to believe her. Especially because she reminded me of a strong, smart Puertoriqueña that I already knew.

“Bam! read it and weep,” I said as I open-palmed my right hand before her. She took my hand, she saw a boy, a little boy in my life. Immediately You popped into my head.

You.

I told her about you. I hadn’t met you yet even though your mom had told me so much about you. I told her, Nilda, about you everything I knew through your mom’s tales.

“Si pero eso no es lo que veo.  I see here that he is your son. Un hijo que tu vas a tener. You have it,” she responded when I told her my situation about dating a woman with a kid.  

Exactly. I do have “it.” I have you.  If Joseph could do it, well I could too. He was the first step-daddy and he helped raise Jesus.

You are mine mi’jo. In your little or bigness, in your smile and in your game. Mine, from back in the day when I helped you write about snowshoe hares for school or nearly bit my tongue off playing WWE with you. Mine because of the laughs and hard battles we still share on the court. You are mine to your soul, mine to my soul that you forever changed that day we met now simply known as “our anniversary.” Mine again and again that day when you found out about the break up and we made a promise to each other to be in each other’s life.

That day, his mom had texted me that she had talked to him about our break up.

I was crushed thinking what the news must of done to your little heart. I got home from work already passed your bedtime, to find her on the couch mindlessly flipping through the channels.

“Where is he? How’s he doing,” were the first words that came out of my mouth when I walked in the door.  After checking in with her I went to his room where I knew he was still awake.  He wasn’t event lying down right, his feet were at his bedpost and his face was the only thing pocking out from his blue comforter. It was dim in the room but I could tell that he was crying. I got closer and kneeled by his bedside, when he looked at me tears rolled down his face. I don’t remember everything that was said, I know I held kissed him and caressed his hair, wiped away tears, we said “I love yous” and we made a promise that we still live to this day.

I walked out of your room and went to sit in the living room with your mom. Shit had just gotten real.  We were quiet for what seemed like a long time.

It was the most peace that I had felt between his mom and me in a while. I had missed it. It’s hard to see through muddy waters, and ours had run unclear for a minute. But in that silence everything made sense to me.  I didn’t need a bruja, no clairvoyant somebody to tell me what I felt in my heart, my heart that had grown big enough to love him, my mind that understood how to do it and my soul that didn’t know how not to.