Pregnant

May 13, 2008

I came in from my walk with Seraph today and Mom was sitting at the kitchen table with this big grin on her face, like the sun itself was shining right out of her. I've never seen her so happy before except in pictures, and I couldn't help but get this sinking feeling that I knew exactly who it was about. I could just read it on her face.

Gavin.

Don't get me wrong. I love my brother, and I'll even admit I'm jealous of him sometimes. He seems to muster this indefinable, beautiful quality in Mom that I could never inspire in her. I love him for making her so happy, for bringing that kind of joy to her life, but I wish just once that I'd pull that kind of look from her, that she'd direct that kind of light at me for a change.

Things have been pretty rocky since she told me she didn't want me a month ago. We laugh, we joke, we pick with each other, but I can feel sometimes that we're not laughing with, we're laughing at. We're not joking with, we're joking about. We're not picking with, we're picking at.

Each other, of course.

I don't know for sure when our relationship started crumbling, but I know it was on a landslide way before she sat me down and had that talk back then. Something about the way we interacted seemed flimsy, only half real, and I knew back then that if I reached out and tried to touch it, the remains of our old relationship, of our good one, would scramble and fall away.

How long have I been living this half-life with her? As far back as I can remember she's always only been half-there, half-smiling, half-alive, and I know somewhere along the line that wasn't always the case. I look at these pictures of Mom when she was with Michael, when Gavin was her only worry in the world, and I know back then she was whole, she was substantial.

I know it's the real reason why there are about five times as many pictures of Gavin than there are of me. She worked third shift back when we were growing up, I know, so she was tired all the time. I understand that. And that was a good enough excuse until recently: she was tired so she didn't take as many pictures of me.

But I've noticed, whether she likes it or not, that I don't complete her, that I bring her both joy and regret. It's a twofold feeling that I recognize in her eyes, somewhere right there beneath the surface.

She used to sit me down beside her and show me pictures of Gavin, of how adorable he was when he was little, and she'd have this gleam in her eyes, this sparkle that I know I've never inspired. "I was so beautiful back then." She'd say, and she'd smile as if she was fine with referring to herself in past tense, as if she'd accepted the life before her held no beauty, no grace or gumption.

That kind of death, that slow dwindling of her soul, of her hope, used to escape me. I didn't understand back then that Mom is dying, that little bits and pieces of her are being cried out, but not through tears- through smiles and laughs. And I find myself wondering when the smile-tears are going to dry up, when they're going to fade away. Who will she be then?

She's a moth, and life is her chrysalis, and I can see straight through the shell, straight through and out the other side, as if she were never really there to begin with.

And as I was standing there, seeing her smile, I realized some of that life was back again, that she was a woman of renewed purpose, new hope. And it wasn't because of me, it was because of him. I could just tell. She didn't have to speak it. Her eyes held the shine, the one she reserved only for him.

There's a shine about her when she thinks of me too, but it's the equivelent of a lightning bug next to a supernova, and I know just by the wattage that something's happened, something that makes her proud to no end, that warms her to the bone.

And she says to me, "Call your brother." Not, 'How was your walk?' or 'Did you have fun?'

Just, "Call your brother." And she giggles like a school girl, and even though I'm crushed I can't help but smile back because I know in this moment she's happy, she's joy incarnate and she's stunning siitting there at that table. She makes the whole room glow, and I love her so much, so i pull out my cell and I start dialing the number.

And let me tell you, I'm thinking we've won the lottery, that I'm going to be coming into some very serious money, and as I'm dialing Gav's number I'm thinking of what I'm going to buy first, and for who. Taylor even crosses my mind, because I've just promised to buy him the ultimate set of music equipment and I've only just met him, and then that dream is throroughly crushed as I realize what all of the excitement is really about.

"Hey, there, Aunty." Is all Gavin says when he answers the phone, and I can feel the Earth spiraling to a stop, like it's never going to move again, and I'm still conscious enough to mutter out a "What do you mean, 'Aunty'?"

But I know. I know already. I can see it on Mom's face while she's sitting there laughing at my facial expressions. "You're going to be an aunt." He says, and I hear myself blurt out the words, "Did you knock Brandy up!?"

How unceremonious of me, I couldn't help but think. How rude.

But all I can do is stand there and try to hold onto my body, because I'm sure I'm exploding, that the world is narrowing down to the size of a pea and I'm going to explode right there, in that teeny tiny little space that I've been given to breathe in.

And a part of me is overjoyed, because I see little visions of mini-Gavins dancing around. I see all of our childhood together flash before my eyes and I'm ecstatic because I think, 'Oh, little Nephew, do I have some kickass stories for you." And I know that It'll take a lifetime to tell him everything that ever happened between Gavin and me, and I'm already partially set up for that lifetime. I'm ready to hold him and feed him and change his diapers if I have to.

But the dominant part of my brain keeps flashing on Wal-Mart, and the way the mothers looked at me, the way the babies looked at me, and I feel my lungs collapse in on themselves right there in my living room, and my heart is racing like it will explode.

I feel this tidal wave of fear swallow me whole, and I get the odd sensation that I'm swimming, and it takes me a moment to realize it's not water that I'm imagining swimming in, but something similar to placenta, and my imagination is not my friend, because all I can do is stand there when what I really want to do is dry my body off, to freak out and throw a bitch fit right there in the floor of my living room.

Because I'm going to have to hold this baby. I'm going to have to feed this baby. I'm going to have to interact with it, and play with it, and breathe around it. I'm going to have to know this baby, and I'm terrified.

And I get these two dominating visions in my head where I'm standing there holding this little blob of flesh, this beautiful little creature of passion that my brother helped create and I drop it, and it shatters like porcelain all across the floor, and then it's back in my hands for a moment and everything is normal, and then it falls again and stops moving. And all I can do in my little vision is stare down at the odd angle its neck is at and the dilating pupils of one of the most beautiful creatures ever made, and I want to just go with it, I want to curl up, cradle that beautiful little head in my hands and cease to exist.

But I don't, and in my daydream I look up at my family surrounding me and the hate in their eyes, the loathe and the horror and the sheer pain-personified in their faces just crushes me, like I'm paper and folding in two, and I curse God as I collapse into myself because I know this is all his fault.

And the cruelest, sickest part of it all is I'm still standing in my living room, and Gavin's still talking but English is no longer a language to me. Speaking is no longer a normal thing, and it seems strange that this small little plastic box that's still relentlessly pressed against my ear is trying to communicate with me, and I want to burst into tears and laugh at the same time, and I finally take this long, shaking breath that pulls me back to the present, brings me back into my body and I try to express my joy, to tell him something that won't sound so harsh.

And all I can muster is "I'm going to be an Aunt!" And that, right there. That's an Oscar worthy performance. No one has ever muttered those six words with such false joy in their life, and I feel like a liar, like a cheat and a miserable sister but I can't help the next statement from escaping my lips. "Oh, God, I'm going to be an Aunty." I say, and the fear there, the complete, thorough sound that escapes my throat is the clearest I've ever spoken despite my tongue feeling strange in my mouth, as if it wasn't equipped with the correct muscles to utter those ten syllable.

And Mom and Gavin laugh at me like it's the most hilarious thing they've ever heard- the panic in my voice- but it's not, because in that moment I'm having this epic battle with my emotions, this Homer-worthy war with my thoughts, because I want to be happy and my fear swallows that longing, engulfs it into flames, and I end up losing the battle- the first internal battle I've ever fought and lost- and I get off the phone as quickly as I can and run upstairs.

What if I drop it? Will I have to stop cussing around it? I'm so loud. I'll have to learn how to control my volume. Will I be able to hold myself together when they visit? Will I have to stop smoking around it? How often do babies need to eat? When do they sleep? Will I be able to babysit it when Gavin asks without killing it? What if I try so hard to hold onto it that crush it? I'm so clumsy, I'll probably fall with it still in my arms. I'll land right on top of it and smother it right there.

And my mind is racing while I sit there at my computer while I try to dial Megan's number, because surely she'll know what to do, what to say, but it takes me a full seven tries before I realize I don't know her number by heart anyways, that I'm dialing stranger's numbers, so I sit for another five minutes trying to understand why 'Megan' isn't in my phone book. Why she isn't right there, between Mark and Mike'N'Ike. And when I finally realize she's programmed into my phone as 'Jesus' I let out the first laugh since everything began, and it's this horrible, brittle sound that fills my ears like sandpaper, scraping against my eardrums and it's such an uncomfortable feeling that I have to close my eyes, bite down on my tongue to keep myself from becoming hysterical, because I'm still so irrationally terrified of what kind of harm I could do to this baby.

And she finally answers and we talk, but I'm sure she doesn't understand what I'm saying because not even I can understand the meaningless garble falling from my lips, and I know distantly that I sound like a wounded animal sitting there, trying to tell her without proper speech that Gavin's pregnant. Gavin's gone and made something. Gavin is temporarily God.

And bless you, Megan, but you slowed my pulse a little, you made my mouth a little bit wet again, and that kind of friendship is what I value most, because in that moment, even though I don't remember a goddamned thing that you said, I felt secure again, I felt solid.

I'm not even sure how long I sat there afterwards, talking into the phone even though she'd already hung up, we'd already said our goodbyes, but I realized that everything will be changing. Everything.

And that calms me some more, if only a little, because I can do this. I can adapt. I can improvise because I'm a fighter, so I sit there and try to sort out my thoughts, but I keep running circles through my mind, coming back to this one particular, heart-wrenching thought.

I have to sort this thing out with Gavin. Not the baby thing. Our lack of a relationship. The tension between us when we're in the same room together, because that kind of atmosphere is not condusive to raising a baby, and despite all of my fears I want to be a better person for this baby, I want to be the best Aunt I can be to this Gavin/Brandy-clone.

Because Gavin and I haven't had a solid relationship since I dropped out. We still haven't accepted each other, or so much as apologized to each other for what we've said and done to each other since last year.

So I have this whole new batch of fears as I sign online, hoping someone is on- Fernando, Javen, Kaylin, and (ridiculously enough) Josh. But Josh is dead so he's not on, and of course neither Fernando or Javen have decided to grace me with their presence this evening, so I turn to Taylor and Kaylin.

And I'm sorry, Taylor, for being such a wreck when I IMed you. We don't know each other enough for me to have dumped all of that on you. I don't know what I was thinking when I IMed you. There were other people online that I could've IMed instead. I probably should have waited, at least, until I was calm before I tried talking to you.

But you tried your best to chill me out anyways, and I'm sorry if I offended you.

And Kaylin, dear sister/cousin, you said these words to me:
Kaylin: No you wont! Dont you remember when you were playing with Bryson at new years??? HE LOVED YOU!!!
Me: i cant make elephant noises for the rest of my life, Kay.
Kaylin: lmao just for a year or two =p
Kaylin: Ive never seen him so happy as when u played with him. You have a knack for entertainment, I tell you.

And that was the hope I needed right there. So thank you.

And I went to Wal-Mart. I had to go, to face my fears. So I went to the baby section and while I'm standing there I realize it's not so bad. I have a lot to do with myself, and a lot of parenting books to read, but everything is going to be fine.

No one's going to let me drop the baby. No one's going to let me light up right there in front of it and blow smoke in its face. No one's going to let me kill it during a fatal clumsy moment of mine.

I'm going to live, and so is the baby while it's around me.

I damage everything I touch, but I won't damage this one. I won't damage this one, sacred, beautiful thing, because I know no one will let me.

Kaylin: And think of how protective you are over Tristan now. Ik you always have been but still. Youre gonna be MORE protective of this baby and you'd never let yourself drop it.

I haven't prayed in a very long time. A very long time. But I'm praying now.

And it's not even my kid.