Undergarments

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‘Tis the Season!

Some where in the Frigid Northeast of The United States of America, there is an infant shivering in the cold.  Like 5 degree temperature Fahrenheit, folks.

No, no, not in a manger with shepherds and  brilliant guiding stars, and angels singing on high from above, but on a sidewalk in a small town in the U.S. North with approximately one-half of the local citizenry as witnesses.  And canned, recorded, old Christmas music blaring over the local emergency broadcast system.

Mama and Dada brought their precious child to his first small town Christmas parade.

You know the parades where every fire company in a 50 mile radius cleans and decorates their majestic fire trucks.  Rescue trucks too. Candy is thrown to the excited children.  Tractor stores, Tree Trimming companies, Septic Cleaning companies, High School hockey teams, Veteran’s groups, Honor Guards, Local Churches, the Sheriff, the Local Police, EMS in the parade – it really is great to watch all of the small town camaraderie.  Lots of back slapping and reminiscing and laughter.  Other than freezing toes, I was really in to this small town expression of brotherly love.

Then, someone smelled a Poopy diaper, or maybe a bad ass fart.  Ah, poor baby got passed off to Mama to investigate and remedy the situation on the spot.  So sad for baby.

Shivering in the cold.

Meanwhile, Baby Boomer Mom is slowly backing up into me.   “We need to move further down,” she says.  OK, so we do.  Away from small baby.  And I’m thinking, “Wow, the smell.”

At a safe distance half way down the block, I notice Mom sneaking peeks at the family scene we just left behind.   “Damn,” she says.  “Those beans flat tore me up.  We just really needed to get out of there before they opened up the diaper.”

My mom.  Please, if there is a God in Heaven, forgive her.

Poor baby.

About 4 years ago…

Right Boob

A Rose by any other Name…

…Is still the Right Boob.  Duct tape worked for a while.  Then it didn’t.  We’re going to try plastic wrap next with soft adhesive in the back.  We’ll see.

I ­so get this.  My Right Boob is totally radiated…irradicated…whatever the correct word is.   Stage 0, so looks like I won the Cancer Lottery this year.  Get to keep the Right Boob.  All is well, even after radiation.  OK, OK, so it’s mostly good; a few bumps and scars guaranteed to entertain for at least another five years.

So, the kid comes to me half way during the radiation treatment, with her Right Boob all messed up.  “Are you sure it’s the Right Boob,” I say.  “Yep,” she says,”it is.”   “Duct tape,” I say, knowing it is a temporary solution.   OK for now, but she and I both know its days are numbered.

What can I say?  I love this kid.  I buy her boobs on Amazon, while hers still grow.  If they last 6 months we’re happy.  Mine lasted over 60 years, but who’s to judge?  My Right Boob doesn’t look this good even without duct tape.

So, out she walks, head held high and smile to match.  She’s going to a teen “event” tonight.   At sixteen, she owns the world; more importantly, she owns a second set of new boobs.  Yeah, I’m a foolish, old woman who loves to spoil her baby girl.

Tears come after she leaves.  I don’t want to show them now, not when she is on top of the world.  A party to attend, and closure on a personal issue that has been a black spot on her soul since…since when?  I suppose it began the day she was born.

Today she feels free.  Today she spoke the words she has wanted to say for most of her life.  “No,” she tells the person on the other end of the phone, “no, you are not my mom…you are my birth mother.”   And just like that it is over.

Only for me, there are tears because I know why birth mother didn’t keep her.  I know why auntie/momma gave her up at puberty.  The other two moms still call her by her birth name.  She isn’t that person, never was.  He never really existed, and when he did, no one knew what to do with him, or even how to love him without conditions.

“Send him to me,” I said to my cousin.  “I’d love to have another kid.  It’s all family.  It’ll be good.”   Yes, friend, insanity does run in my family.  None of us are spared.

And it is all good, and it’s golden, especially since he is she, and she is bold, beautiful, intelligent, and a challenge to anyone who meets her.  Those that can appreciate such rare combination of traits become her friends and family forever.  Those that don’t…well, for her loyalty is a sharp sword that cuts in both directions.

So why cry?  I cry for the two moms who came before me.   I cried because they wanted something else.  “A girl would have been nice,” she said.  “This one wasn’t really supposed to live, was it?” said the other.

I am so sorry for you.

And yes, I am still a foolish, old woman who probably cries too easily.

But I still have my Right Boob.   ~ Gean’s Mom

 

Photo by Gean’s Mom