By: Sheana Ochoa
Because this month’s theme is love, and feeling guilty after writing my last blog about my unmanageable (I think I referred to him as a “wrecking ball”) toddler, this writing is a kind of balancing of the scales, a love letter to my son, Noah. By the way, I’m happy to report my sister’s discipline advice worked and we are on the road to clear boundaries and understanding consequences, i.e. no more hitting mama.
August 22, 2010
When I told your grandpa I was going to have a baby on my own, choosing an anonymous sperm donor, he was quiet, taking it in. You’ll soon discover that grandpa is a lot of things, but quiet is not one of them. He has an opinion the size of a sermon on everything that concerns him. But this was a new concept for him, being a product of the 1950s and a first generation Mexican-American who graduated from high school, marrying grandma soon after. When they had kids, five of them, none were planned, least of all me, being the last of the clan who caught them completely by surprise (a euphemism for I was not exactly wanted). Like most families, they had kids not because the time was right, but because sex leads to conception.
Our story would be different: I planned you. So, ever since you were conceived, grandpa has referred to you as a “supernatural” child, partly because half of your genealogy is a complete mystery, but mostly because you were willed into this world on spirit wings straight from the depths of my heart.
You have enchanted the family ever since you were born. And it isn’t just family but anyone that comes into contact with you, whether it’s a babysitter or a cashier at the checkout stand. You just induce love-at-first-sight. And it isn’t because you don’t have a biological father (since most people aren’t privy to this information), but because the love we all seem to feel is in its own way “fatherly”: proud in a Willy Loman-type way that exceeds our expectations and is boundless. We would do anything for you.
Which brings me to an interesting revelation. Recently my boyfriend, Michael, and I started recording film reviews on YouTube to help people find good films to rent. Our last review was of a film where the protagonist was being executed under the death penalty. Michael asked me if someone murdered him would I want the killer to get the death penalty? Without hesitation I said I don’t believe in capital punishment and began my litany on how the United States has the proud distinction of being fifth in line in the number of people put to death under the death penalty after such exemplary countries when it comes to human rights as China, Iran, Iraq and Saudi Arabia.
Then Michael asked me what if someone killed Noah? My mind spun a 180 and without skipping a beat I said that I would kill the bastard myself (excuse mama’s language). That’s how unconditional, all- consuming, and clear my love is for you. Okay that’s all kind of morbid but the point is this: I have never loved another human being the way I love you. I never imagined love itself could redefine my most fundamental beliefs, could reach beyond my mind’s eye and consume my very essence.
Every day I fall in love with you all over again. Right now you’re in a phase where you wake up crying for your “baba,” screaming if I don’t get it to you fast enough. And even though my first glimpse of you is a runny-nosed, tear-streaked visage, it never fails. I take one look at you, lift your warm body out of your crib, take in your sweet baby smell, and I’m struck by the fullness of my heart. I see God in you, the beautiful infinity of love and light. And this love never falters; it’s infinite.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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