Notes of a She-Hack | Tiny Mantras

This is part of what I wrote for my son for his welcoming ceremony last weekend. I believe all children should be raised with their own mythology:

I want to give you something that my mother gave to me: the first of what I’m sure will be many larger-than-life tales about the wonderfulness of you. Someday I’m sure you’ll hear that I read at a very young age, that I was practically born to tell stories. Or that a psychic said, when your Uncle Andy was born, that he would be a leader and a great man that people were drawn to.

Both of my parents taught me, each in their own ways, that it’s important that every child knows that somebody believes they are remarkable and able to achieve whatever they set their mind to. And as much as your gentle nature, sense of humor and easy happiness amaze us more each day, you were also remarkable before you were even born.

Before we knew you were going to enter our lives, we went to Greece to see your Uncle Lowry and Aunt Sara get married. While we were there, your daddy, grandma and I visited the ancient city of Delphi on Mount Parnassus, which the Greek God Zeus said was the bellybutton of the universe.

Daddy and I drank from the Castilian Spring, where Apollo, the God of Poetry and Music dwelled with the muses. It is supposed to be a source for inspiration and learning for those who drink deeply from it. Daddy filled a cup for me and I drank deeply from it, so it was one of the very first waters that nourished you.

On this mountain thousands of years ago, there was also an oracle called the pythia. She inhaled vapors from a crack in the earth at the Temple of Apollo and told her visitors what was in their future. Since I don’t get the chance to visit the navel of all existence very often, I got as close as I could to the place where the oracle once stood and whispered what I thought was a very practical question, just: “what do I need to know?”

When we got back to the states and confirmed that you would be joining our lives in the spring, I knew that the answer to my question – the person who would teach me things I couldn’t have imagined, things I need to know – was you.

I went to a friend’s baby shower, carrying my son, face out and kangaroo-like inside his sling. His legs were crossed like a yogi as he smiled and cooed and showed off his determination to hold up his head on his own at two and a half months old. By the end of the party, he began to get fussy, I believe because he was getting tired but didn’t want to give up getting all of that kind attention. Few people are as loving with babies as people who expecting their first, or parents of older kids who miss their own children being small enough to hold in their arms. And nothing pleases Declan more than interacting with people who are pleased to see him, not unlike me or his dad.

Once I got him into the car, he was resting so peacefully that I didn’t want to go straight home. Instead, I drove by my childhood house, which is still the approximate tan color that my high school boyfriend painted it about 18 years ago. The stacked stone pillars on the front porch are still in tact, but now there is a fancy looking swing set out back, a new screened-in porch on the side and the gravel driveway has been replaced with cement.

When my mother, brother and I moved into the place in 1980, it was sunny yellow with white trim. My room was also sunny yellow with white trim, which I hated. I’d have preferred any shade of purple, a mellow green, or a calming blue, but divorce and the move from the east coast made money tight.

Besides, the couple that sold us the house had just painted the room in preparation for a new baby. But when the baby died, they decided to leave the house in a hurry. I never found out if the woman miscarried, if there was a problem in the hospital or if the baby died in my room, but I spent years covering those walls with posters and magazine clippings. I still can’t say that I’m fond of yellow.

Smooching infinity since 2005.

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Smooching infinity since 2005.