I sit with Alice as S naps away. Everything about this newborn is so small and delicate. My eyes wander over to him throughout our conversation. He sleeps so peacefully, occasionally jerking his arm in response to whatever dream he is having. Looking back at Alice I’m in awe that she is the same person I have come to love over the years, and yet she has also stepped into a new role. It’s incredible that after 9 months and within a matter of hours, Alice is a mother now. S begins to cry and I assist Alice in changing his soiled diaper. I hold his little ankles and lift him up as Alice cleans him and lays a new diaper down. His cries grow quiet and I button up his onesie.
Later that night I lie in bed daydreaming about holding my baby’s ankles in my hands as I change them. I imagine speaking to my baby in a sing-song voice to calm them as they cry. I’m sure one day there will be exhaustion and frustration mixed into these dreamy scenes, but for now they’re envisioned through rose-colored glasses.
The sky is gloomy and rainy. I put on a dress and makeup in an attempt to speak “look good, feel good” into existence. I confess to my 6th grade students that I woke up feeling sad, although I tell a half-fib and say, ‘I don’t know why’. Lingering feelings from the night before have left their imprint on my morning. However as the day goes on the sun shines through the clouds and my 1st graders’ chatter and sweetness bring me back to my usual self. I sincerely love my job and how my students have each blessed me every single day with their unique personalities. Each interaction is a peek into who they are as little people and who they will become, and it is one of the distinct privileges of teaching.
Breonna Taylor’s case finally has a verdict and it tears open the hearts of everyone who hoped for some sort of justice for her death. I am heartsick for the Black community who has to face another disappointment. I am heartsick for the cops who were on trial and have to live with the public’s judgment and with the events that occurred on the night of Breonna Taylor’s murder. Mostly I am heartbroken for Breonna Taylor’s mother. A mother who loved and took pride in her daughter, raised her to adulthood, and then had her daughter taken away from her in a senseless killing. $12 million in compensation, but without any answers. I can’t imagine what she must be feeling. I cry tears for another mother who has to live with the absence of her child, and I cry out of frustration that there is so much violence.
There’s a birthday party in our neighbor’s yard next door.
Children are laughing, playing, squealing, and forgetting the isolation of Covid-19 for a while.
I’ve seen them play together before and I assume these neighbors have created a pod so their children have friends to play with. Babies are held on laps, curious eyes following the excitement around them.
My thoughts go to the day we can organize birthday parties to celebrate the life of our child.
I imagine our friends holding their babies on their laps and I hope that one day we will be able to hold a child on our laps too.
The tightness in my chest caused by these snapshots slowly subsides as I continue to walk Bella.
Perhaps these hopes that I have are not too far away.
Drops of Jules 