Flash Fiction

I've been looking through a genre called Flash Fiction to find interesting pieces for my students. This is basically a short short story, brief, concise, and to the point. However, it also contains the traditional story arc of longer pieces. As I combed through my own desktop, I came across this piece, which I wrote at some point this summer--it's a bit of a haze. Thought I would share it with you here, since it's based on my experience. Bear with me--I've never written flash fiction until now.

Hope

In that moment, as her daughter’s head brushed her own, she felt the smallest inkling of motherly feelings. She spoke, something generic like, “Hey baby,” but the intonation was husky, bearing the weight of her dreams. Her daughter looked at her—not an unfocused glance, like all the books had said. No, the blue, almost black eyes stared into her own, as if to say I know more than they think I know. I see you and I know you’re my mother and I am deeply delighted by that reality. No one else knows me quite like you do.

Months later, after the NICU bills begin to arrive, Isabelle knows that this moment saved her in the midst of wires and shots and Lumbar punctures and blood draws and EKGs and CT-Scans. This moment told her that her daughter would survive the Group B infection that threatened to hi-jack her tiny body. This moment held her up when the nurse practitioner voiced threatening words like, “mental retardation” and “paralysis.”

She pushes the stroller with her eleven-month old daughter safely tucked inside, away from the southern sun, and tells a friend about the birth, skipping the part about the nights spent in NICU as still too real to repeat. As they walk through the bird exhibit and smile at the long-beaked toucan, Isabelle says, “In that moment, I knew Selah was a fighter. I knew she would surprise everyone.” It isn’t until she speaks the words that she realizes the significance of that moment, that one look into her daughter’s eyes could convey so much truth. Strange it had yet to occur to her, but the passage of time often opens our understanding to a depth not yet realized.

She looks down at her daughter, encased in pink and brown stripes, covered with a shadow of the miniature stroller awning, and watches her knowing eyes follow the short flight of the colorful-beaked bird. She points and squeals, kicking her strong legs and flailing her arms in the direction of the caged bird. “Look. Bir’, Bir’,” she repeats as she looks back at Isabelle. In the still blue eyes of her daughter, she knows her hope has not, is not, and will not be cut off.

THE END

*Bonus points if you can find the religious allusion in the last few words of the story. :) I'm such a teacher. :)

Back in Session

School started earlier this August, and my life feels as if I daily press fast-forward from 7:30-4pm Monday-Friday and attempt to slow down and enjoy Tim and Macie the rest of the time. Today Macie came up to school (with Tim--she's not driving yet) to eat lunch "with" or rather "on" mom. The recent school policy this year is that children are not allowed on campus during school hours, and who should happen to run into me, my husband and my four month old? Our headmaster, of course. Thankfully, he was gracious and didn't attempt to remind me of the new policy declared in a first-of-the-year faculty and staff meeting. He asked a few questions about Macie and shook Tim's hand and let us do our thing--or rather Macie do her thing, which was to be carried across campus to a little room off the library, eat heartily, and then spit up.

Although I still haven't cried about going to back to work yet, I definitely feel the pull between professionalism and mommy-hood. I wish I could only teach while Macie is napping and then rush home whenever she wakes up. I also wish that I didn't feel this tug to be excellent at my job and excellent for my baby, but since the tug-of-war does exists, Macie always wins. Even if it means sneaking her on campus under my shirt. I'll just look REALLY pregnant again.

I'm sure Tim could tell (probably because I told him in no uncertain terms) that I felt irritated with him when he came home today. You know where he had been? Work. And Target. To get prescriptions. The nerve.

But me, I'd been at home doing dishes, vacuuming and hanging out with a baby on my boob. I knew my frustration held little logic, but I couldn't help feeling the NEED--yes, need-- to get out of the house. I'm up at my office right now, filling out health insurance paper work, thinking about how I need to print off a few coupons before I go to the grocery store, and loving every moment of my sense of freedom. I love my baby, but I must say that I love her even more after being out a couple of hours. Of course, that said in three more weeks I return to school full time, and I'm sure I'll be writing pitifully sad blogs about how much I miss her by then. Oh, the tugs and pulls of learning motherhood while maintaining self-hood. I know that's not a word, but my brain is on half-power (back from 25% before she started sleeping through the night) and my time out is quickly dwindling since baby Bird will want to be fed soon. Gotta go print some coupons. What a delight! For real.

The New Empowered Me

During my pregnancy, I felt weak and vulnerable. My back ached, my stomach developed indigestion nightly, and I walked (ie: waddled) slower and slower as my belly grew. I knew that in case of emergency, my options would be limited to waddling away as quickly as possible from danger. I would be unable to defend myself and concerned only about protecting the tiny life inside.

Here's me eleven weeks later, and I feel a strange sense of empowerment. Though I'm a self-proclaimed feminists, a few of the 60s generation women had it wrong when they claimed that motherhood somehow weakened the fairer sex even more. Pregnancy, maybe. Motherhood, never.

An example: About a month ago, I had reached the end of one of my many ropes, and I handed Macie to Tim and headed to Jamba Juice, merely for the sake of alone time. I headed to the one closest to home, even though it was dark outside and I've heard that the area is known for occasional drug deals amongst the posh addicts in Houston. When I rolled in, the parking lot was packed with bikers, teens, smokers, chatters--a rather eclectic group.

During pregnancy, this kind of busy, festive atmosphere made me a bit nervous, in part because I felt crappy enough and didn't want to deal with crowds and in part because one just never knows what could happen in a crowded parking lot at night. But on this night, I noticed the shift that motherhood had brought. On this night, I parked close, wound my way directly through the web of people, feeling the entire time as if my invisible super-motherhood cloak kept anyone from bothering me. I'd been to hell and back a few weeks earlier and no one was gonna mess with me, The Mom.

I've experienced this same sensation in a couple of other settings--with and without Macie. I know that realistically, I'm no more invincible than ever. But in semi-threatening situations part of me thinks, "What the heck are you gonna try that will remotely resemble the kind of pain that comes from being cut open without receiving the proper pain meds until hours later? How are you gonna say anything more frustrating than sleepless nights and days in NICU? Can you even begin to understand the fierce protection I feel for my baby--and myself, since I'm not wanting to leave her side anytime soon?" If I encounter anyone stupid enough to try to mess with me (or Macie, God forbid) during a superhuman-mommy moment, good luck to them. I'd just smile and say: Bring it on.

The Younger Generation

I know several couples who have recently attempted or will soon attempt a fertility procedure. All of the women attempting these procedures range between 25 and 30 years old. The "reproductively challenged stereotype" is transitioning from the mostly late-30s to mid-40s range to a wider spectrum of ages. Is this the inevitable result of better technology? Are women now more proactive at a younger age because the options seem doable? Even semi-affordable? And fairly effective?

I'm excited to see friends attempting (successfully) to expand their family through IVF and IUI (and adoption!), but it saddens me that so many must go through painful moments to finally meet their child. I've also noticed that because of the infertility struggle, I often pad comments about having another child with "If we have another child . . ." or "If we are able to have another child . . .". I believe (and I hope) the reality of the complexity of creating life will never escape me.

My thoughts and prayers are with my many unnamed friends who are currently on the expansive road to meeting your child. Check out this editorial for a reminder that you're not in this alone:

http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/families/article5599066.ece

Many women walk the same road.

The Critic in Me

Mornings are my favorite time with Macie. Whether it's 4:30am or 10:30am, she is typically happiest in these morning moments, smiling and cooing and wooing me into a state of extreme, mushy in-love mommy-hood. Often, I lie in bed and watch her sleep and I wonder if, when she is older, she will believe that I love her so much that I can't stop staring at her. These moments make everything--the costs, the lack of sleep, the change of schedule, the poopiness and spit-up worth the effort.

However, in my emotional gushing, I don't want to downplay the difficulty of parenting. Tim and I are now glad that God gave us six years together before inserting a baby into the mix. One of the recent struggles came with being criticized-for the first time (to our faces at least) about balancing a baby with other commitments. Our friend's statement to Tim referenced, "how hard things are now with the baby." A seemingly innocent and obvious remark, but once I spoke with him and delved deeper, I found that the remark wasn't so much the fact that he noticed how hard parenting is but rather that he noticed how hard our parenting has been on fulfilling our previous commitments. I appreciated his forthrightness, but I didn't feel that he appreciated the utter exhaustion (and hormones on my part) that leads to forgetfulness, irritability, lack of logical thought processes, etc... But perhaps I didn't appreciate these either until I experienced them for myself.

How many times have I criticized someone in a circumstance completely unlike my own? How many times have I spoken unkind words because someone let me down, and I didn't feel the reason was justified? May this criticism serve to remind me to be patient and thus quell the critic in me.

Time

Time has taken on a whole new meaning with Baby Bird. It's strange that it took us almost three years to get to this place of parenthood. It felt sooooo very long waiting and trying and waiting and being disappointed. Now, it feels as if those trials were truly momentary and fleeting in the face of my baby girl's smile each morning--that's usually the only time of day that the smiles happen. She's definitely not like her momma in that way--morning is the only time I usually do NOT smile--until now.

Even daily routines seem to have taken on a whole new dimension of time. Once upon a time I was able to dress and get out the door in twenty minutes. Now, I know to expect at least double that amount of time, and if I'm really in a hurry, triple it. This morning I was on my way to SBUX--where I now sit typing with her by my side--and after bathing, dressing, and then bathing Macie, she proceeded to have a blow out #2 in the towel I was drying her off in--all over me, the towel and her once-clean feet and legs. Suffice to say, we didn't leave for another hour or so.

People keep telling me, "Enjoy this time. It goes by fast." I'm sure it will, though it doesn't feel very fast right now--probably due to sleep depravation. But I don't mind this kind of slowness after the waiting to see her heartbeat, her tiny body, her face. In my opinion, each day may pass as slowly as possible, keeping her hands tiny, her head bobbing, and her mouth grinning every morning. I'll enjoy this baby-era as I await the next.