A dedication...

I was speaking to a friend of mine the other day and she was laughing at a story I was telling her from when I was in second grade. It wasn't really that funny of a story - I think she just got a trip out of the fact that I remembered it so vividly. But that is the way I am. I don't forget, though I may forgive, and it is because of that vivid long-term memory of mine that every year, around this time, things get extra hard...

One of the things I remember from my pregnancy in high school is how very ashamed I felt for so long. I had never looked down on any of the other girls I knew who had babies before graduation - I kind of took it as something that occasionally happened, especially where I grew up. But on the day I took that e.p.t. in the bathroom of the Wendy's where I was working, I knew...I just knew that somehow, someway, I had fucked up.

It took me a while to get over that feeling. One, because I realized that - hey, you didn't get yourself pregnant so stop feeling alone - and two, I had choices... or thought I had choices.

Life, and love, had other plans.

I was into my fourth month when I changed from depressed and hopeless, to in complete awe of what was happening to me. I was very aware that my body was going through changes women for thousands of years had experienced. It was awesome in the most intense way, that feeling that you are not alone in your body, that there is someone else you are caring for, whose body and soul are being nourished by you. Being pregnant was like having an instant soulmate, because I truly believe that part of a child's soul comes from its mother...

And I was a mother. For nearly half a day.

Every year, without fail, my body goes through an emotional change, reminiscent of the trauma of that day. I feel pain, panic, heartbreak. I want to scream, cry, beg for my son to be returned to me. I want to plead, make promises that are too late to keep...and in the end, there is acceptance...and loss. Every day I feel his loss. The beauty that he was, what he could have been. The smile he would have worn as he entered middle school this year.

I see his face, sometimes young, sometimes older. And in my dreams he calls me mother and I cry in my sleep.

For years I kept that pain silent. I let people make assumptions for what happened. (Didn't you miscarry? You weren't that far along right? Maybe it just wasn't meant to be...) But I remember...as does he. The father of my first child. When I went into labor, it was just us, two scared kids trying their best to play grownups, to keep it together while the world went to shit around them. Who held their tiny son as he labored to breathe, knowing that no amount of prayers or tears would make it right. No do overs...

I believe that is one of the reasons why, despite everything that came after, I still have love in my heart for my ex. Not romantic love, not even forever love...but its in there. Our son's death wasn't the first step to breaking us, but never dealing with it, seperately or together, certainly sped the process along...

But I wanted to talk about beauty.

Adrian. Named after my best friend. My beautiful boy with the curly hair. My eyes and mouth. His father's nose and eyelashes... I remember his eyelashes and the smell of his skin, the tiny fingers I would have given my life to have curl around mine, even for a second. I remember the months before, that first flutter that let me know I wasn't alone. How I would sing love songs to him when he seemed restless. The book I wrote to tell him how his father and I fell in love, what we hoped and dreamt for him, what kind of parents we would be...

All I have left is a half-finished baby book, the outfit they dressed him in, a curl of hair. I haven't looked at any of that in years...because in my dreams he is alive. Smiling. Happy. Gorgeous. He smiles and charms like his father, and he's dreamy and romantic like me. He brings me flowers and whispers in my ear about where he's been, where he is going, and when I will see him again.

For my beautiful son,

I love you. Always and Forever.

It's Complicated...

Wow - it's been over a month since my last post. My life has been so full of ups and downs, expected and unexpected events, tears, laughter, and general awe of people, that it feels like the month of July must have had at least a hundred days in it.

Got myself a job - yay me :).

Papers are signed, sealed, and about to be delivered. Again - yay me.

There's still a lion, still a snake, no more hamster... what animal could I use for the doctor-to-be? I'm thinking the puppy. Yep, now he's named so let's move it on.

July was hot - for more than one reason. Somehow I started taking on a role, then when I looked in the mirror I had to ask myself - is this what I am evolving into or is this what I'm settling for? Had to step back, remind myself about my "fuck the rules - I'll make my own damn rules, thank you very much" ways. May not manifest in everything I do - its pretty ingrained in there to not be "trouble" - but there are times, especially this past month, when I've earned my two new nicknames...

My girl E - the fairy with the two little girls - she helped me create and name my new persona - "Corn Bread". Two words people. Mainly its the downhome, comfy, makes you want to put your feet up, just sweet enough, no Southern meal should be without it, kind of person I am sometimes. Plus - who wants their cornbread anyway but thick? Lol...

The other one... its the one that gets whispered to me. When I walk (sashay with a bounce and a twist really) anywhere on my heels, when I'm pumping gas at the station next to a fine-ass man, when I'm rocking down the grocery aisle with my iPod on, looking at the wine, making eyes at the bagboy. Trouble. Ain't no good, didn't see it coming, gonna need some therapy and maybe an hour in a confessional kind of Trouble. Capital T. That one... it reminds me of why the boys called me Hollywood in high school. That feeling I've always had that there's a reason grown men still talk about that "church girl" from back in the day. I think its hilarious, empowering, makes me feel like a damn sexual Amazon...

Which is a fairly big statement considering how very pocket-sized I am in real-life, at least height-wise.

So, there's lots of changes happening in my life. Hey, you never know, next week I might be locked down, somebody might decide they liked it so they're gonna put a ring on it (wink)...

Yeah...no. I've got some fun to have before THAT happens. I'm 28. I'm "fairly" single. I'm open-minded, adventurous, and have great bad habits. I've got soul in my walk, in my hips, and in the kitchen. I have a heart that is wide-all-the-way open, and if you're lucky - very lucky - I just might let you hold onto it.

This is me. New and improved...and sure as hell not simple.

Love you!!!
- Asha