Color 4: baby blue

Two-and-half-weeks hiatus explained: not that I have many followers, it's hard enough to get my family to read my blog but in case anyone happens to miss me, here's why I was missing. A lot has happened in my life in the past two weeks. I became a grandmother at 29, I decided to refuse friendship to someone for the first time in my life, I reconnected with my old depressive self, I went one whole week without polish on my toes, I did not follow advice and went on a camping trip to the keys in the middle of the summer and I let my niece and nephews borrow my new puppy. WHEW! That's quite a lot.

I’ll elaborate on some of these things later but today I want to focus on the most important. This blog is not just an account of what's going on in my life. It's my way of sharing the spectrum of moral colors in my life. So let this one be about baby blue. Allow me to tell you a bitter-sweet story about the birth of my grandson Xavier Jayden. (What a cool name, right? It was supposed to be Ivan, as in the terrible, but I lobbied heavily for that not come about.) He was 6.1 pounds and 18 inches, long and lean just like his parents. So, how did I come to be a grandma at 29? Well I married a strapping man who is ten years older than me and he had a son who I took as my own. He lived with us most of middle school and all of high school. I did PTA, tutoring, cooking, booger cleanings, fever coolings, grooming and all the other motherly duties and I was only eight years older than him. I, of course, had no idea what the hell I was doing. I just felt this overwhelming feeling that I had to give him what he needed and not what he wanted, not what was easiest but what was most challenging. I had to impart discipline and structure. Every piece I read about children with learning disabilities emphasized the need to give these children security and structure, that is what I sought out to do. I relentlessly enforced the rules and ensured he followed a strict schedule. In the end, against all odds and beyond the capacity of the American school system, Bobby graduated from High School with a regular diploma. Not an attendance certificate which is what they wanted to give him. I fought claw and tooth to ensure he was not cheated out of his future.

Here we are now; he’s 21 years old, lives with his girlfriend and has a son. Regardless of the fact that people were upset at his decision to have a kid so young, I was thrilled to see this baby. However, I found it very difficult to bond with my son’s girlfriend. The only way to do that was to listen to her complain about my son and his wrongdoings. That’s not my style. I love my son and I will be damned if I sit there and gossip about him. However, other people do love to talk crap and those people got preferential treatment during the birth. I was asked to stand behind the curtain with the other step parent who just showed up on the scene a year ago. All of a sudden, ten years of dedication and love meant nothing and I was placed in a category with someone who takes a shot at my son whenever an opportunity arises. I had not been this heartbroken in a very long time. I can’t remember the last time I sobbed that way. I was gasping for air, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. My son’s exact words were “I just want to be fair.” FAIR TO WHOM? Not me, not my husband who was left waiting until I told him that the baby was born. I realize how incredibly awkward it must have been for my son to have us all there. And although we are all friendly he was faced with an incredibly challenging choice. He handled the situation as best he could but it hurt. So where’s the moral lesson for me? I realized something; I actually wanted something in return! Being a mother should be all about being selfless. Not that my mother was this way but that’s more of a reason for me to strive to be like that. I don’t ever want to tell my son what I have done. I did it for him not for retribution. I must say I was surprised to be so saddened by this. The situation threw me into a deep state of depression. I have cried more in the past few weeks than the entire year prior. Everything became a trigger for the waterworks. I sobbed and wept like a baby, go figure. Every visit to see the baby was melancholic and I had to choke down the tears. I had to sit there and see everyone’s happiness while feeling incredibly lonely. It sparked all my old insecurities. But what kind of mother does that make me? An incredibly selfish one… How can I ask my son not to seek the attention and love of the mother that left him? I am sure all he wants is her acceptance. How can I blame him for wanting the love of a mother who always chose everyone else over him? I feel the same about my father and even my mother. I remember being 11 and seeking the attention of my mother who was deeply in love with a guy at the time. I begged her to spend time with me, she refused. Her boyfriend said to me, “Your time with her is up; you had your opportunity and threw it away. Now it’s my time.” I turned to my mother hoping she would correct him and put him in his place. All I got was a nod. She stood up and walked into her bedroom with him. No one likes to feel second especially in situations where you think you are supposed to be first.

Children always have to come first. Bringing children into this world is a completely selfish decision. We do it to follow some society rule that says it’s the next logical step. Some do it to follow the mandate to be fruitful and multiply -- whatever. Most of us can’t keep it in the pants and bring kids into the world without really choosing it. Then, there are people like me. I feel like all these reasons suck and unless I make one of those mistakes my choice is to take care of the kids already here who were brought against their will and left to fend for themselves in this cruel world. With my son the choice was easy because he’s biologically my husband’s but it was still a choice. I decided to take on that role, to give him what he needed. I did it all expecting nothing in return. Therefore, I feel ashamed to say that I let the circumstances of the birth affect the joy of welcoming my grandson into the world. Although my son does not call me mom (except when mentioning me to others) and although my grandson may never call me grandma, they are both a piece of me. Like I tell my son all the time, I don’t love him because I had to; I love him because I want to. He’s not my son from my womb but he’s my son from my heart. No amount of rejection will ever change that. I unconditionally and eternally love my son. That bond is even greater than the bond of wife. If my relationship with my husband were ever to fall apart-- God forbid -- my son will remain my son.

Today, I feel better, I feel stronger. I draw strength from knowing I did the best I could. I remind myself daily I did it all because I love my son and not to earn his love. I also draw strength from the joys of life like holding that innocent baby boy who has yet to experience heart ache. I pray he finds strength and joy in every day that passes. I pray he has resilience to handle rejection in this world filled with selfishness. I pray he realizes how much I love him from the very moment I knew of his existence. I pray he never forgets how important he is to me. Ah, boys and their mothers.

Xavier, the day you were born I was the proudest grandma on earth. Seeing you was witnessing an amazing miracle and I feel blessed to be a part of your life. I have never felt so much love for someone I just met. – Tu abuelita.