MONDAY THOUGHTS: BLESSED

I was a little misty on Saturday morning-- the whole day, actually. It was my daughter's 30th birthday.

From the time I heard some poor woman's primal screaming and grunting, and realized she was me, until experiencing the peace that followed, as the attending nurse lay my newborn baby on my chest just long enough for me to hold her, I prayed, and have continued to pray, "Lord, please cover my child." 

I remember looking at her tiny face, and wondering what college she would attend--because she would definitely be going. 

She was a little Black girl in America. College was already on the table, although she was just minutes old. 

I remembered my parents' words to me, "You have to be twice as good. Get that piece of paper. It says you have potential."

I suppose, out of a centuries-long habit in the African-American community, I repeated the  same mantra to my baby over the years. My cousin Frances is right in her assessment. "I had never seen a little kid who would rather read than play."

I remember Dr. Monica 

Smith-Waisa saying, "It's a girl!". 

I replied, "I know". 

I wanted a little girl. 

I’d prayed for a little girl. God answered my prayer, and then some. 

In the early 80’s, they didn't kick you out of the hospital as quickly as they seem to do today. 

I had, both, kidney and urinary tract infections, and my baby had to be placed into an incubator. Fortunately, she was given a clean bill of health, and, I was reassured, the occurrence of Ulnar Polydactyly was hereditary, quite common, and required only a bit of black string and a several days to be corrected. (Amazingly, I had never noticed the small scars on the sides of her paternal grandmother and great grandmother's hands.)

There had been so many people in the delivery room. (Somehow it leaked that the woman in labor had 3 kidneys.) I couldn't breast feed because of the antibiotics I was taking. By the time I was off of them, she had become a die-hard fan of Isomil soybean formula. I swear she looked at my breast as if it was an alien. The puzzled and irritated look on her face convinced me that if she could talk, she would have said, "Lady, thanks, but would you please get that weird thing out of my face? Where is my bottle?"

For my entire pregnancy, her name was "Desiree". Her dad suggested "Melissa" or "Melonie". We'd liked "Janelle", but it seemed as if every little girl born in 1982 was named "Janelle". We decided on "Lisa". My cousin Lisa Trusclair, and high school classmate Lisa Aveilhe were two of the nicest people on earth, I'd thought., so was my middle school classmate Jimmel Dunn. That's how she came to be named Lisa Jimmelle. I hadn't even considered what "Lisa" meant. "Consecrated to God". 

I also hadn't considered the alliteration that would cause her classmates and family friends to call her, affectionately of course, by her whole name. 

Before she could master the "L" sound she proudly, and adorably introduced herself as "Risa Jimerre Rock".

The ride home from Washington Hospital Center, 30 years ago, was interesting to say the least. The route we took gave me glimpses of despair and trouble. Sirens were blaring, as police cruisers and ambulances raced through the streets. I saw thick exhaust coming from cars, trucks, and buses, homelessness, people shouting and fighting with each other, and drunkenness. 

Suddenly the colors, smells, and sounds of everything seemed different. 

While stopped at a light on North Capitol Street, a disheveled man came up to the passenger window. It was pre-mandatory car seat days. I was holding my infant in my arms, and the man, who perhaps days before would have seemed harmless, and would have even gotten a few dollars and a smile from me, instead seemed menacing. He frightened me. I wasn't charitable that day, and was happy the light turned green. I actually thought, "What have I done to her? What have I brought her in to?" 

I knew it was not about me any longer. I was on a mission. My baby had to be okay. She had to succeed. She had to be better, stronger, and wiser than me. I was a mother. 

I really prayed all the way from Washington Hospital Center to my parent's house back in September 1982. Mommy had insisted that her house be the first place I went, upon being discharged. She said I would need help. She said I needed at least 30 days to recuperate. That was the old-school rule. She wouldn't let me do anything. I wanted to wash my hair. She forbade it. I wanted to go downstairs and wash clothes. She definitely forbade that, and had a fit when she caught me coming back up the stairs after I'd defied her. She said, "You just had a baby!" as if I had forgotten. "You're not supposed to be walking up and down stairs!" I remember her mumbling something about a "hard head" and "You're gonna feel that when you're older".

I am a witness that God is faithful, loving, forgiving and kind. There are some things in life that are a complete mess. Your child just can't be included among them. Of all the people who abuse you, reject you, use you, disappoint you, break your heart, curse you, or leave you for dead, you pray your child/ children won't be in the number. 

You pray that you can live in a manner that won't make your child ashamed of, or embarrassed by you. Of all the things you screw up, fail miserably at, lose, give up on, walk away from, or leave for others to do, you just don't want parenting to be on that list. You never want your child to look at you one day and say, "You can't tell me anything." 

You don't get a manual; you just go with what you know. What I knew was that, at home, my needs were always met, and a relationship with God was essential. That was enough to go on, because there were days I actually wondered, "Can I do this? Can I really be responsible for another human being?" 

If I did anything right, I prayed it would be mothering, and fortunately, I had my own mother, Lisa's grandmothers, and other wonderful women to whom I could look for guidance. I was happy to talk to two of them by phone on Saturday morning. Betty Elzie and Carrie White always were great sources of wisdom.

Before I eventually became a single parent, I don't think I paid much attention to the struggles of women who, for whatever reason, headed their households. All I knew was mommy-daddy-children. 

Mommy-child seemed a little scary and uncertain at first. Betty and Carrie, by their own experiences and triumphs, helped me to see that I wasn't the only woman on Earth trying to, and succeeding in wearing so many hats. "You're not the first and you won't be the last, but you can do this.", they both told me. "Everything is going to be alright. You're going to look back, one day, and laugh."

 It is impossible to gloss over the role that grace and mercy play in your life, if you are a parent. Given so many factors; when you look around, even if you have the highest expectations and set the strictest standards, you have to know that, in the life of your child, there are no guarantees. Even in the face of success, you realize that it could have been the other way. You could have been the mother who was a regular at the hospital, mental institution, ICU, jail, or rehab facility. You could have been the one constantly visiting the principal's office, counselor's office, truant officer's office, probation officer's office, bail bondsman's office, halfway house, drug treatment center, penitentiary, or graveyard. You could have been, but you weren't. 

You, instead, attended awards ceremonies, receptions, assemblies, recitals, promotional exercises, graduations. You got good news.

There’s an AARP card in my wallet! It bears some strange new significance today. I have a wonderful 30 year-old. 

She is lovely, brilliant, generous, responsible, beautiful inside and out, wise, witty, caring, talented, loves God, and has never given me a day of trouble. (Well... except for the baby powder incident, but that was definitely payback for the brown face powder incident I wrought upon my dear departed Mother's white bedspread-- which she had to wash in a wringer washing machine, but I digress). 

If my daughter is 30, then that makes me...? 

Oh, never mind. Math has never been my ministry.

My baby has exceeded all of my dreams, wishes, and expectations for her. 

If she weren't my daughter, I would be honored to have her as a friend...: )