I was 24 when my mom was born.

December 6, 2008 at 2:58 pm | Posted in writing | Leave a comment
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The first thing – past the uterine walls – they see is the bright clashing wallpaper. Ducks and llamas sashaying across a green background. The screaming follows.

The slightly dimmer scrubs and white gloves distract few from the repeated duck and llama poses. The artist undoubtedly thought This, this will properally usher the babe into humandome. Don’t tell me llamas and ducks aren’t stimulating. Oversized bills, exagerated cuddleability. The babe is lucky.

Countless mothers disagree. Semi-lucid, surrounded by the frolicking wallpaper. This, this is my child’s welcome. These hands, these walls. You were born in a manger of sorts.

The official document marking the birth hangs at the end of the bed. It’s clipped over the hospital charges. The line that asks Name extends across the page, intimidating. For ten minutes there, until you were cleaned and I held you, you had no name. I felt your lips, your toes, your kidneys. You existed among llamas and ducks.

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