One more stinking article done. I can’t believe it’s come to this. But, hey, tomorrow’s only the first! I mean, it’s been, like, the 3rd and I haven’t even had the articles started before, so this is a piece of cake, right? I guess I’m just frustrated because every single dang month I pledge to not be scurrying around at the last minute the next month, yet here I am again.
I’m just itching to get down to Cape to see the newest member of my family. My cousin Easton had a baby boy this evening. So he’s my second cousin, yes? I don’t understand all that stuff. Or rather I should say that I don’t care enough to understand that stuff.
His name (the baby’s) is Jovarion. My grandmother was so cute. I was talking to her on the phone about his name and she said, ‘I don’t know if you know this, Beth, but the baby’s biracial.’ I was like, ‘Um, yeah. I kinda got that from the fact that most of our family doesn’t even acknowledge Easton anymore.’ Grandma said that she’s going to call him Joe.
This is something most people don’t know about me. My family is extremely bigoted. Not a big surprise for those of you familiar with southeastern Missouri. To tell you the truth, I have no idea how I didn’t turn out to be the biggest racist on the planet. Yet another bonus point for my incredible mom, I guess.
It’s just hard for me to understand why people even care what race people are anymore. I could make all kinds of excuses for Cape — it’s backwards, it’s conservative, etc. But they’re just that — excuses.
My cousin likes to date African-Americans. Big deal. I liked to date smart guys (married one of ’em too). Did my aunts and uncles ever care about that? Hell no.
Anyway, I don’t want to get up on a moral high-horse here. My family is what it is. You have to take the bad with the good, and all that. I’m just happy that Easton and her son are OK. If you are of the praying sort, though, could you say a quick one for them? With very little money, questionable support from the father and a community that is not exactly welcoming, they’ve got their work cut out for them. They can use every break they can get.
Thinking about Easton and her new baby reminded me of my first night with August. He was born at 6:21 p.m., so by 11, everyone was gone, including Tim, who I sent home to get some sleep. The hospital was quiet, my room was dark, and I was supposed to be getting some rest myself.
But I couldn’t stop staring at my son.
Just watching him breathe.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, lest he stop breathing at that exact moment. Eventually I did have them take him to the nursery, just so I could try to sleep for an hour or two. I ended up walking down there an hour later to bring him back. I couldn’t stand not having him with me, since he had been with me every moment for the previous 40 weeks. It was like telling them to take your right leg away for a couple of hours. Just didn’t feel right.
Plus, I figured that you never heard about babies dying from SIDS in the hospital anyway.
Now he’s so big. Starting to take those first Frankenstein-esque steps. Or as my brother says, ‘Having a toddler around the house is like living with a drunk.’ He points at stuff he wants to check out. He likes to hang out with his friends.
I can’t believe it’s almost been a year.